Words

had been in a class today which told us more about emotional control and critical thinking. I was consciously gazing at 4 corners of the room waiting for the clock to strike 1.00 pm so that I could make my way back home.

It got back to me now. After four hours. To make your way out of people disturbing their clan with smooth but firm waves isn't a cheesy deal I say. You gotta have that emotional balance, not emotional control as emphasized. And one more thing, one just made me earn a very valuable pebble that adds to my bag half of them. Words are really priceless. Just don't scatter them everywhere possible. If you really want to rejoice, plug in you pod, light up a stick and jot down something if you really care about doing. Silence is solitude,everytime, I take back my word of saying it is,only when it's wine time but not, it's always, its anytime. Just smile when you feel like poking somebody and within a couple of minutes , what not? you feel like you've done a good thing I say. People were not mad men saying that.

I regret wasting my words recently. Shouldn't have done that and I admit it now, next time you come back to me, you'll find a whole new me. The effortless action of a human being is watching something, thinking of communism at the same time and smiling no matter what.

As said by Tyler Durden," We are the bye products of life style obsession" and social networking is a piece of cake of it too .

This thing, emotional balance comes with one spark ignited by a strong driving force from behind kicking on it's ass so as to meet the point. That may be a person, that may be from within too. I see Sandeep gorrepati, keeps smiling and keeps thinking about something that appears foolish to reality. I see Rajeev sarathi, soberness personified and he floats in the eternal theories on Buddhism. That appeared stupid to me and folks, you aren't wrong. That thing of staying dreadfully serene at times keeps you balanced emotionally and what not,you won't lose words.

What more is a quality time, you sit with your old peers after an year or so over few bottles of whiskey, slowly pushing down the liquid and sucking in the ambience thoroughly along with those Indian made sticks and you all smile seeing faces of each others for few obvious accidents happened and the third person would never know and there you live your lives.

Talk less. Live more.

turn on, plug in stuff and die in peace.

okay now! As I gulp down a large dose of winter beer, suck in a large volume of Mayfair and cut the call made to Ashok,I sit down to write this. To be honest, Ashok didn't disappoint me. He was successful in proving himself as anti social and susceptible to vice.

And to Shikhara,my love, I was always brutally honest to you but spare me this time,ain't I. I intimated you this as my signing off note but this isn't. In fact, it's a signing on piece. Alcohol had always been kind to me and I expect it to be too, in the coming future,if at all my bad pair of lungs wouldn't burst out the smoke.

I am pretty aware of the fact that people exist with limitless amount of intellect oozing out of their pens but being a human,I too possess that unhealthy obsession of giving anything that 'one' another try. I know a bunch of wannabes trying to be someone else losing out all their lives and I wish to tell them only one thing said by Kirk Hammett of Metallica. Forever trust in who we are and Nothing else matters. Reading Chetan Bhagat would never turn you into an asshole as long as you keep laughing at his works but as soon as you start seriously desire to become Syan or something there starts the collapse eventually.

This always comes back to me. To pour myself onto a piece of paper. I just don't know and don't want to too why I feel like writing only when I am high. It's again instinct. I believe in instinct rather than in intuition. Just like having faith in Tendulkar rather than in Dravid which is fragile and fugitive but what can one do? Sachin has become God and this had become a habit for me. Helpless and better if left untouched.

Each time I place a pint glass infront of me, I strictly warn myself of staying away from pen. Later, I slowly gave that up as I thought that is the only time when I can actually be myself without shrugging in disgust to meet others' demands. Turning out into a sensible chap from a reckless asshole is basically a lot of thought process articulated and stretches out its hand for more foregoes for which one would be ever ready. That is one valuable and costly lesson I've learnt so far on this West front.

As I keep ressing return button n this mini key board I am losing the so far slutch from on this post and I strongly know that this post is going to be a fucked up one never mind! Oops ! hold on! Nothing else matters!

Plug in your music machine and keep listening to metallica getting ready to face your final avert with so much of solitude in your face so that it scares the hell out of the final foe and be ready to rest in peace.

In the mean while I have a conversation left in debt with Ashok would finish it and yea the last two pints of beer too and I would join you along in the chorus of "Aaaand Nothing else Matters."

Advent of riegn

written on : 22-09-2010

Here I am, in Delhi's International airport ready to take my flight to one of the world's busiest airports which open the doors out into a city which is enriched with bulks of cultural exchange over decades. London.

Somewhere around 7 months ago, I was busy celebrating my birthday ,which is presumably my last in India for the few of the coming years. I didn't knew that it would be last one by that time. Then things took rapid and steep curves ,too rapid and too steeper that they went out of my control, left me as a silent spectator pondering with some bewilderment .

Earlier,I used to have an idea of how events would unfold in the following one week at least.That clarity always helped me to stay out of ambiguity. As said,"Clarity precedes success." But its 11.20 am now and I am not sure what would be this big time loser doing in a city that never sleeps once a millennium if destined to. Wandering aimlessly among the streets of London,with mouth of jaws being dropped half of the time,because of astonishment of the monumental creations and wondering when creators in sub continent would work such an astonishing builds some day. Never thought,education would make such a difference.

Noodlewok, Switch,blah blah...are the names of bake shoppes and juice outlets in the airport.I just feel so bland and left out of feelings to articulate. What exactly makes you feel so strangely numb? Change of place? Change of skin tone? Change of linguistic flavours? Cultural exchange?(never scared about cultural exchange as we had that experience at Lemon tea trillions of times). And now ,I notice this 'always self conscious bastard' wearing all the shirts that could fit his wardrobe at a time to want people to wonder about the count.

One of my glorious bastards said," along with the liberty ,comes the responsibility." Yes. they both do go hand in hand. Look at me. I have money. I have time. I have no people offending me from doing what they call anti social activities. Still I don't feel like doing them. Some thing is holding my back tight.

Till I figure out what it is, Good Bye for now!

Wrecking West and Envious East.

My dream of finding out a proper cafe' which deliberately serves Indian trademark tea and its varieties has come true. I was having another 60 minutes of time in my hands before my college started and I seriously didn't want that time to be ruined.I was searching for some shop which provides me the much required warmth(by fluids) to fight against this climate(not alcohol,this time). But kind of chai and all. I was lucky enough to find one just some 100 yards away from my college.It's name is Cafe' Donatella. They had some 20 varieties of tea listed on their menu ,which got me excited at the very first go.Here,I settle down with some decent music in my ears,warm cigarette sticks and yes,my all time Lemon tea.

I start sipping my tea as the first chilled drop of winter falls on my arm. The contact of drop on my hand prompts me to consume a large gulp from my cup and it all started. 40 minutes passed by and another cup of lemon tea was placed on my table. Then,I find some gigantic creature passing over my head,which dominates the sound of my music machine too.I look up to find that it is an aeroplane tilting towards Envious East.I kind of miss its ambience and warmth ,of late.It strikes my mind back,when I eat a burger,It pops up when I have a dark chocolate,otherwise would be having nice Amma made south Indian meal and a delicious Irani chai. As I write this,'Under the bridge' is playing in my ears.It sings somewhere in the middle,"the city I live in ,is the City of angels.Lonely as I am ,together we cry".That may be true with California but it isn't,with London. London never cries along with you. It makes you cry and it laughs along,when you cry. Great language,glowing lights,glittering nailpolishes,gleaming faces,everything is pretentious. Everything is pretentious. Every thing can be accompanied with the word 'pseudo' before it. Beneath all those,lies the original,dark side.It craves for wealth,wealth and more wealth.If wealthy enough,London is one of the finest places to live and definitely NOT,if you work your ass off for a piece of bread on your table at the end of the day.It isn't of my type. People do their breakfast in tubes. Such a fast place to maintain pace with. People's mindset is like this: If they waste some 10 minutes having a peaceful breakfast with their loved ones,they're gonna lose some £10. What a life ,which can't enjoy a meal a day? I seriously don't understand what makes people run like a Marathon.I used to stand up and resist the crowd running leaving me behind. But as my journey in London is moving,I slowly gave up and you know what the worst part is? I started running along with them too. I fear I have to run all my life to stop and look behind and laugh whole heartedly someday. I started losing hope that,that day would come. To rest back on some fucking sunny day,do I have to run past some 15 or 20 cold winters through which I may live through??

Trainspotting.

It got back to me.Yes,this time,fierce,It got back to me when I am hell scared about the thought that,may be I can't write again my lifetime and yes,It got back to me now,when my palm lost the sense of non violent and yet,the most appealing weapon. I guess,this is some 12th time I watched this cult plot,it was always like something new and fresh to me ,as if watching for the first time. Need not mention,this time too. It had always provoked some deeply concealed,incomplete,shapeless,vague thoughts which would wash off with one expel of smoke from my bad pair of lungs. It took its plunge this time so hard,I gave it a try to wipe off those formless thoughts and surprisingly,as the early morning fog's intensity increased,it became equally and increasingly clear.

Change. Change is ubiquitous. This is what Trainspotting preached me this time. But in a much more effective way than my father or mother or whoever. I didn't get brushed off myself with serious drugs anytime as Rents does in this cinema. But there used to be many other motherfucking addictions,which costed me time,money and people too,to get rid off. Referring me as the most plain plain bastard ever,another bastard gifted me with such a precious possession called "Trainspotting" by Irvine Welsh,but ain't I lucky enough to gather such an

imaginative feast,while my eyes moved down. A moving picture always catches me better. Because,gifted by the most loving bastard I ever have, I have it a hard try and watching the flick after reading the plot is such an eve,I say. I had been warned by the same bastard about people,society and all but it didnt,however,got into my head properly,but now when watching Rent walking off with £ 16k stolen currency,it didn't appear as a crime to me ,because to be honest,everyone would do the same thing in that context. But the whole point is,he is walking off,heading towards the most brightest and unseen horizons of life. Whoever watches Trainspotting for the first time,cannot think of such an ending. A normal human brain might expect all of the four junks doing Heroin all their lives as they did earlier. But as the years roll down into the history,even Adolf Hitler wouldn't be the same as one. Who cares,asking about four fucking jerks,who always wish to be in dopers' paradise . But they have changed. Tommy too changed,who used to be a decent boy-next-door,died of excessive intake of Heroin while the remaining three lads found themselves doing some serious businesses(not drugs,though). That makes something's for sure. And I am glad ,that the same 'something' is 'Change'. Change is quintessential and its inevitable.

And now,I can connect this to myself pretty well. I am wanted to be changed ,by few people. I am supposed t be changed,by nature and I will change,by myself. This time,definitely on a positive take. And one more thing,that demanded a lot of time from me to get aware of,is Individuality. I,no longer care how people around me are,no longer judge a person by the way he lights his cigarette and no longer expect anything out of anyone.

I change.I acquire.I live. Everything for myself and by myself.

Lame introspection

okay now! its 1.12 am. And I am still awake. The disturbing mid night smoke that always tries to creep into my room is trying its hard best to keep me awake and I should admit,its being succeeded.The smoke,brings in with it,scary thoughts of fear,ambiguity and amusement too. I stress the word amusement again,because,at some point of every day ,I laugh at my stupidity to feel frightened by the thought of staying away from my people. What exactly defines 'my people'? I dont know,though. Why should I be scared? The white skins who look at me,the every other day,with a feeling of hatred and alienity(here,i coin the new word,defining the presence of aliens), reminds me of my state of being.Then,I plug in my pod which instantly plays 'Under The Bridge' which is specially written for soul searching bastards like me. I wish my girl would be here,along with me. I dont bother even either the presence of psycho mantis or semi urban punk or dirty harry would do.I came across a beautiful liking liked by my beloved brother Jai Simha ,it goes on like this,"start liking yourself,because you are the only one who is going to stay with you till the end." That makes some sense. Really. I fear I am running out of creativity,my words are lasting and running out of phrases to fill in. As I strive to fit into this new life and get accumulated into new horizons waiting in the line,I never thought this would be my signing off note!

all I can say,Cheers!!!

The Great Indian Dream comes to an End.

This is pretty expected as never. Some 100 hours down the lane,and here I am ,seven seas away from my motherland. Countless hours over dirty,used tables in cafetariae, consuming zillion cups of Irani chai, laughing over pointless conversations. Sharp wind slaps me hard on my neck , leaving me helpless as I try hard to turn back, to steal a look of my pals going on with their usual 'nicotine fixation' , with my presence being filled with void. It leave me perturbed , though. What does it take to make this tiny state of mortality meaningful? Or else , to be called 'immortal' forever till mortality exists in this planet. Stepping in a foreign courtyard and working your knees off?? When people run away in need of their beloved ones to find some coupling for their empty palms to be filled with warmth when gusty winds take their toll,otherwise would be occupied with a stick of tobacco.

Ambiguity surrounds me all over and in the mean while,The Great Indian Dream comes to an End

!