That smile

Where do I belong when she refuses to take me in? Do I stand in the foyer, glancing all around to find a place to step in? Will I just walk my way out & disappear into the green alleys of a park nearby?

When the newly found adulation for post rock is echoing in my ears & quite oppositely, my white shirt refuses to attract any warmth within the cold walls of work place, I look around desperately for her warming look & assuring smile that I always fail in finding at.

The informed, the gifted and the revered are constantly trying to soothe me but her absence is too large for them to compensate.

I belong now to such a world where people pretend to be happy or perhaps, are they really? I walk with drooped shoulders & my hands disarmingly tucked into pockets, staring at unnoticed pebbles that decorate the path to cafeteria. I feel the pinning smiles of acquaintances on my back. I tilt my head to blow off those smiles but the oxides of carbon I blow out of my mouth only adds to the proliferation of those fake.

The left vertex of my lips slightly extends into its left which denotes a faint smile.

That smile, they think, is a response. That smile, I know, is a retaliation.

One of those little niceties.

Monsoon invades the city. Living through the first downpour of the year took me back to 2011. What a fantastic years 2011 was? Things were way too perfect to complain about. Rooting back to present, I drive through shimmering rain whose drops gleam when vehicles' lights pass through them.

I see the roadside vendors pulling back their showcasing planks of hand made products from getting drenched. One downpour can actually snatch away their monthly earnings. I smile from inside the car which fails to penetrate through the semi tinted glass of my car's window to reach one of them. They stare at my car with a fear in their eyes, anticipating a wheel splash of stagnated water. They clench their fists to close their eyes to live through one more four wheeler's ominous stunt but I fathom that fear. I decelerate my car  while its tyres stylishly land into tiny pits of water & emerge ravishingly, yet harmlessly in pursuit of another ones. Water doesn't splash & then, one of them rises on his knees to peek his head on par with my shoulder level, locate my car & waves a hand with a giant grin across his lips.

I catch the sight on the rear view mirror, smile to myself & drive forward in search of another footpath entrepreneur to reassure him that he is actually cared by somebody. 

Something about self on a dry wednesday afternoon

How many days has it been I have written about myself and the advancements in my life? Too many. I suddenly get this dejected feeling of not devoting enough time to think about myself.

I am slowly settling down in the new company. Its walls don't seem strange anymore and the road to office of which's manholes and speed breakers, I am aware of their presence of.

I have always thought every year of my life as a formative one so far but the real formative period is this, trust me. My behavior, my state of being are taking meandering curves, surprising everyone, sometimes pleasantly and sometimes, not so pleasantly.

I struggle everyday to make a stand, often do I fail but then convince myself that the initial times are turbulent and all this is not uncommon.

My hope for her return still resides safely inside me, though the outer being doesn't express it any more. Its just like an unheard musing of the self.

Almost no alcohol, sobriety is slowly consuming me. I have my set of problems but this time, I feel a little optimistic to myself because I am making peace with the fact that all those can be solved.

Anger needs to be addressed.


Later then.

She did it.

2 years. And she did it. Not many people believed in her but those disbelieving accounts of people did not hold me back from believing in her. I knew she'd blow it away, this strong, as strong as she has blown just a day ago.

State 8th rank in Post Graduate entrance. Doesn't that sound surreal? I know it does, it surely does. But she's too mortal to stay away from surrealism. Fate held her back for a year but she mustered up all that it takes to hit back with hot breezes on vengeance in fate's face. Time curses itself for holding her back and irony abuses itself for still being alive. That hard she struck.

Undermining acted as a boon in disguise in helping her let herself free from all the expectations that formed as a result of previous performances.

She is sending strong signals to all those who mocked at her skills and capabilities and warned them silently that she's on her way to achieve something big, to accomplish bigger tasks and to establish the biggest target one could ever achieve in her circles. Or to that point, in the whole state.

I take pride in her that she once fell for me. I hold my head high for being loved by that person once. I expand my chest in happiness for her chest once held me as its cocoon.

All ya out there, she did it. Yes, she did it.

Cricket & its school of thought

After travelling a good 50 miles all day, I reached back home to watch the eliminator battle between the Rajasthan Royals & the Sun Risers Hyderabad. Commentator Navjot Singh Sidhu was found yelling in the commentary box saying Rajasthan hasn't lost a battle in the last 7 clashes but SRH has also, on the other hand, defended their targets ranged between 125 - 140 thrice this season. So that called out for an exciting battle.

But what really caught my attention is something different. There were times when I used to bunk school to watch Team India play either Down Under or other first class cricketing nations. Those were the days filled with hope - a never dying one. No matter how many wickets fell, there used to be an unending hope inside me that somebody would perform in the match and would help the team reach the shores of victory. That added so much to the manna of the sport and got me bound to it. A true cricket fan who always hoped his team would still make even it was 6 runs to yield out of one last ball.

Last night was totally different. To be very honest, this was the first game I watched with my skin tickling, blood boiling and senses involved. Every wicket that fell of RR was thumping adrenaline inside me. Every RR batsman who walked his way back to pavilion injected some more hope into me. I rejoiced the maiden - wicket over from Amit Mishra like I've won back the love of my life. I clenched my fists when Steyn went back to his run up after a cold blooded stare at James Faulkner.

I was absolutely relieved after than stunning over in which RR could only conceive 5 runs; the penultimate over by Thisasa Pereara. Owing to astounding spirits Darren Sammy had been all through the match, I went to refrigerator, pulled out a water bottle, guzzled down the entire content and laid back to watch Sammy do the magic. IN fact, he let Brad Hodge do one. He made it easy and swift for RR. TV turned off and I hit the bed.

I couldn't sleep for the next 2 hours. Cricket has been the mirror of retrospection. Times were there when I used to go back to bed in vengeance and grit filled hope that my team is going to make a comeback, this time a rather hard one. That positiveness always put me sleep.

Where is that? Not to be seen any where. I hung my head down in despair and prompted myself to make peace with the fact that SR Hyderabad is actually out of the tournament and I got to wait for another year to pull out that jersey from the wardrobe and wear it to cheer my team. I couldn't feel hopeful. I couldn't see any glint of hope. I don't see Team India as my team now. I forget that Champions Trophy is just a week away to hit the screens and woo its audience.

If I see Team India versus Australia, I only see a silent brotherhood between wicket keeper & his second fiddle in the first slip as two rivals who stared at each other between CSK & Kolkata Knight Riders. I just plainly can't digest when Mitchel Johnson and Sachin Tendulkar chat and smile between balls; as my eyes which are fed with  a decade long of true battleship fought between Ponting, Tendulkar, Lee, Mcgrath, Gillespie and not to forget Warne.

Is it me as an individual, who has grown either too sensitive (or rather insensitive) towards everything & predominantly cricket? or is it IPL that consumed a cricket fan like me to hate the whole institution called Cricket? Or is this just a pointless ranting of a success deprived fan of a lost team?

But Why?

How does one grow old? Holding that hand which has always been there? If yes, how careful must one be in choosing that hand? I've done a terrible mistake in choosing mine. I've gone for a completely materialistic, artificial and i - am - good - means - the -  world -  is - beautiful person. Change didn't peep in. There are few qualities in every human being which they bring along while they come only to take them away while they depart. Be them good or bad, any attempt to change always ends up in vain.

Self realization is the only mantra to being in a self borne change. But self realization requires ruthless self denial & periodic introspection. They come through education. Not my friend, degrees & merit certificates happen to be education. Education happens to be the manifestation of good and bad.

As long as parents stuff their car dash boards with money & visit every college to buy their ward a seat, education is going to be a mere commodity but not a substance.

Generations will never change but only inherit the diseased blasphemies from their fathers, only to take them forward to their kids. The world is going to be a bad place my friend, its going to remain as a bad place.

A quick sneak.

Okay. Been a little too long I posted. Occupied with distraught on the personal front and cataclysm on the professional one. I almost forgot that I own a blog. Nevertheless, here I am. This one's just a reminder that Identity is alive but just hibernating for a while.

I type this sitting on a new desk in a new work station with the same old fingers dancing on a new keyboard. Yes! There's a job migration that consummated its process just a few hours ago. I am now a representative of a new organization. Don't ask me how it feels. Same shit, Different place, Indifferent cynicism 'cause of corporate slavery!

A lot of reading is going on, too much being suckled but not much omitted in return. I hope the overload will be dealt and there shall be an overflow in the opposite direction as well. I am just waiting it to happen, with all my weapons held in a brandishing manner, ready to embrace the slaughter the moment it arrives.

I completely shunned the social side of me, which speculatively is fetching fruitful results of solitude, peace and I no longer serve a serf for unwanted anxiety that runs in the lives of half the living. (I guess at least 3 billion people have facebook or twitter or other accounts in this world)

Figuratively, vague ideas are bouncing all over in my head but the real juicy task is to give them a shape. To channelize the inspirations and to inject a form to the bothering ideas. No day - No night. Almost on the verge to finish a month filled with reading and there's a break that's going to be taken. Time for reproduction of ideas.

What else? I don't think I have missed out much by staying away. The world's the same as ever.

Later bud.