Its been raining outside continuously, anonymously. The drizzly silhouette of a couple under an umbrella behind the smoke of the raindrops is what I can make out. Someday, I would like us to walk in this drizzle, at this time of the night, anonymously, chippering and chattering along, with the sides of our shirts getting wet, escaping the large puddle formed in the road crater and swearing at the car which just went by, splashing the dirt flowered water soiling our wet feet. And then we would have a corn cheese sandwich and walk back lusting for some hot tea, and then stopping at a tea stall, and sitting on the wooden planks, more rotten than wet and shivering slightly and smiling lightly. And then, we would walk back the same way, and we would again get wet in the rain which is now something more than just a drizzle. And you would feel warm in just the way I would hold you and walk.
Saturday, November 05, 2011
Saturday, October 01, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
I am a blasphemy.
Mayhem rules me.
Once upon a time,
I was the one who every country big and small desired to be.
Again, twice upon a time,
I was the one who became the plasma for creation.
Again, thrice upon a time,
I was worshipped for my tenacity and struggle and fight for independence.
I had pots of sculpted gold.
I had hands scripting delicacies.
I had grey matter innovating.
Why is it I am veering towards the past?
Why is it I am using the past participle to evoke that emotion?
I am in the present, yet I was?
I am independent. I need you all to rise up. I need you all to start saying the right things. I know you are, already. But now, I need you to stop saying those right things, and start working. Words catalyze, actions sustain the reaction.
I have reached the bottom of this bottomless pit. You have to accept this. I have no able administration. I am just a couple of doors behind absolute anarchy. I have been able to redefine the boundaries of corruption. But all is not lost, and that is, because, you are there. It's time.
Why are you all staring around? Have you not been able to understand it's you who I am talking to? Yes you, and you, and you...
It is only when you all will account yourself to yourself with the same intensity as you blame the other rascal, that I will be what I was again. The future beckons. For the first time, I have referred to future. Don't disappoint me. You have to stick it out. We have to stick it out.
I will be where I was.
I am India.
Sunday, August 07, 2011
I have always felt "My heart will go on" would sound incredible in a male baritone. Celine Dion with her soundtrack never fails to raise the goose-pimples on me every time I hear it. But I would love to hear it in Ronan Keating-esque or a Scott Stapp voice.
Some YouTube scrubbing, I fail to come up with a satisfactory answer, but what I found was a somewhat funny sounding power metal cover and a few digitally lowered pitch versions.
Weird are the people who upload the digitally altered versions as male versions and weirder are those who click like on those.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
" There are success stories among failures. There is hope among chaos, promise among problems. We are one billion people with multiple faiths and ideologies. In the absence of a national vision, cracks at the seam keep surfacing and make us vulnerable. There is a need to reinforce this seam and amalgamate us into one national forum. "
- A.P.J Abdul Kalam
On another note.
" For great men, religion is a way of making friends; small people make religion a fighting tool. "
-A.P.J Abdul Kalam
2 hours. Powerful. Dreams.
Friday, July 15, 2011
A long story.
An old bearded man.
A lonely boy.
A hairy giant.
An all knowing friend.
A red haired git of a pal.
A good looking rival.
A horrific past.
A slimy evil.
A scarred destiny.
He who must not be named.
A magic castle.
Kings battlefield on a chess board.
A snake's tale.
A philosopher's stone.
Scarlet and green.
A new tale everytime.
The blue Albus twinkle.
The sacrifice of a mother.
The love of a father.
The flight from death.
A prisoner who fled.
Blast Ended Skrewts
Room of requirement.
Cat, Rat & Dog.
A master with a servant who owes a favour to the Chosen One.
A goblet which sparked up a fourth time.
The lost loyal servant.
A brave but calm death.
Return of the skilled torturer.
The dark mark.
An adolescent boy.
The first kiss.
I will never lie again.
Ministry of magic.
The duel of the two greatest magicians.
Snuffles' final fall.
The half blood prince.
A faraway cave.
The greatest wizard is no more.
Killed by the one whom he trusted the most.
He chose to die.
Murder left and right.
Return of Polyjuice action.
Tale of the Brave man.
The war for Hogwarts.
The seven broken parts
Tom Riddle diary.
Marvolo Guant Ring.
Cloak of Invisibility.
The boy who lived.
Love. The solution, the power, the will, the belief.
I also remember,
And will continue to.
The bravest man who lived.
The slimy evil.
The epitome of love which was never fulfilled.
The story of a desire which is the shadow behind the lightning scar.
The story which makes a part of me.
A long story.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Unusually there's access.
I don't know what to write.
I write random stuff.
Not a very good thing to be doing while in office.
[Excerpts from a post lunch session at office. ]
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
I hate to, I don't want to, but I have to leave.
I will miss you, D, more than any word in any language can express. I am silent. I can't take it no more. I love you.
Drops of salty hot water slide down as I fumble to wipe them. I will be with you, always.
Wednesday, June 08, 2011
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
The rain lashed at me. I was not alone. The wind was more than just a summer breeze. And I felt like living the Titanic love with arms wide open, with you.
It was phenomenal today. It was magical today. It was special today.
As we wind up 15 months, I realize the desperate futility of those numbers. After all, numbers are there to just make up numbers. Our number is "Eternity & Forever".
Someday, some day ...
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Somehow, it suddenly strikes me. There's not much I've learnt in the 4 years of graduate school. Knowing myself, I happen to learn more when I am motivated to do so. Motivation works 2 ways. One, when someone motivates you to learn. Two, when you yourself want to learn. It hardly worked either way in the last 4 years or some years even before.
I am partly to blame. But I would also think of the inability of the ones, who 'taught' me, to motivate me to know. Wherever I look around here, it's the same scenario. Mindless numbed gulping down of heterogeneous information and puked up splash of ink on the answer scripts. The fault lies as much with the "taught" as the "teachers". Somewhere down the line, having been pushed around in the rugged terrain of rote learning, I fell, I cut myself, and in an effort to survive with an air of leisure, I chalked out a trail where there would be minimal rote & puke, and yet minimal effort to pursue the aura to learn. I succeeded, yet I failed. I failed in that inspite of knowing where the path leads, I didn't follow my heart. I failed in that I ended up being a glorious nobody than a knowing-something-in-its-true-fundamentals anybody. I failed in that being aware of my abilities and potential, I have almost thrown it all away.
It's an education, a lesson. Perhaps, the most important of them all I've learnt is knowing I have failed.
Monday, April 18, 2011
I happened to clean my closet today. Things came tumbling out. I told D I will give her some of my most precious possessions, for life. Those small toys and tazos and cards and stickers and corals, they are as she said, remnants of a childhood. A child at heart, I am. At the end of everything, such small mementos and moments matter more to me than all those sparkled gifts.
Friday, April 08, 2011
Saturday, April 2, 2011
The script could have been more perfect. Just because it could have doesn’t mean it should have.
I have dreamt about this night. It’s been years. It’s an archaic feeling. It didn’t take me much time for it to sink in. It’s been a long time coming.
Feelings, unmatched, by the sheer intense grit of the passion that burst through the seams holding the seemingly tied-down being. The cacophony surrounding the path to illuminated euphoria drowned amidst the tears of joy. The men have found their heroes. The heroes have found their glory. I have found my redemption.
This love story of mine, which began at the Eden with a certain bespectacled gentleman named Kumble snapping up six and outclassing a sublime Lara, which found its first heartbreak at the same ground with the collapse of a colossal Tendulkar and a hopes of an entire nation, which reached the epitome of brilliance much in the same way you get hallucinated on a high with the unforgettable 2001 saga, which sowed the first seeds of the journey to the billion man’s dream at the Wanderers, finally peaked with The Redemption. I call it the Eden Redemption.
I can’t help but deny, there has been this sense of destiny, a statement corroborated by the man behind the scenes himself. He wanted the Cup. But maybe, he needed it more. It means more than mere statistics. It means more than just a piece of gold plated silverware adorning the awards case. It means more than just a nightlong celebration. It means more than the adulation that comes your way. It means more than scaling a peak which others have scaled before. It means more than being crowned with a tag. It’s something more than my words could ever describe.
He has never played for himself. The critic of him, I have been, I still would say, he has sacrificed everything for a team. A team, which now calls itself, Team India. He was the first one I saw who sported his country’s flag on his helmet. He wore it with pride. And it’s not hard to believe the petty politics dominant more than redundant in this country led to him being chided. He was barred from sporting the tricolor. All those games he was but a shadow of himself. And then, when one fine morning everyone wakes up to a reality, and he is allowed to wear the nation on himself, he is a changed man. He inspired the rest to do the same. Others have vouched for the passion and commitment that one small act has inspired.
He is an enigma, yet his life is an open book. He soars, yet he buries his feet deep in the ground. He dreams, and he turns those dreams to reality. He dreamt for a nation for 21 years, all alone trying to carve those dreams into a true reality. As another 22 year old said, “It’s time we carried him on our shoulders.”
If this had to happen, it had to happen for him. As I say, “It had to.” It’s destiny. It’s redemption.
This victory is about the common man’s dream. It’s about a dream which never died. It’s about a journey which will lead to your utopia but which comes with the voices telling in your ears, “Dream. Persevere. Aspire. Never let go.” It’s about a fight, a fight I take part in as much as you do and he does and she does. It’s about never giving up. It’s about doing your bit. It’s about taking a small step the RDB way, “No country is perfect. We have to make it perfect.” When everything all around you is breaking down, take a moment out. Remember this time, remember this moment. Savour it. Breathe it. Live it. And you won’t be the same again.
Friday, April 01, 2011
University Cauldron won't churn anymore after today. Just a few exams and a Grand Viva remain.
A journey which began 4 years ago has ended. Almost. There have been highs, there have been lows, abysmally at times. It hasn't sunk in yet. Maybe someday soon, it will.
I have enjoyed every bit of it. Studies were always the last priority, except on the nights before exams.
We have gotten ragged, we have danced, we have sung, we have smoked, we have gotten drunk, we have had weed, we have copied in exams, we have passed, we have tormented teachers, we have bunked, more rarely we have not bunked, we have had innumerable adda sessions, we are the ultimate lyaadhs.
We have had fun. We have lived what they call, "College Life".
Not all of us have been a part or privy to this. Many have been waist deep into "gaants", many of us have been branded "gaantus" and "non-gaantus" alike. But we all take a bit of J.U in our life.
Cheers to all the times we have had,
Good and bad,
We might not be in J.U. always,
But J.U. lives in us
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Almost 10 and a half years ago, I happened to be at Mumbai. Back then the confusion still reigned if it was Bombay or Mumbai.
Bright yellow lights burned me for an hour and a half. I had make-up applied on my face against my wishes. And then suddenly it was all dark. There was a huge roar. It stayed that way for 4 and a half hours. Stuck up at my seat, I was barred from moving about. A small microphone, which failed to work due to the power-cut, attached beneath my shirt.
Four and a half hours later the action resumed. An hour later, I was broken.
A few drops fell clinging onto my cheeks. I didn't howl. Sampa Ma'am consoled me. No one saw the howls I silently screamed alone in my room.
The dream was lost. The inconsolable me knew myself. I could have been there holding my forte against all the warriors. But I learned something that day. An individual counts. A team can fall crashing when one individual fails, all because the individual counts.
Those scenes revisit me today, as I clean my CD-rack and come across the recording.
I still think about the ifs and buts. I still wonder I was a hair's length away. I still marvel how one incorrect answer can change the mindset and the temperament. The pain is still raw today. Since, I have learnt to fine-tune myself.
Life often doesn't give a second chance. Now, maybe I think I don't need that chance anymore. The experience, the lesson counts.
The only reason I am appearing for GATE is because I have applied for it. I don't know why I did it. I don't know what will come out of it. I haven't prepared an iota for it. And all the more, it's a pain, primarily because I have to wake up at 6 in the morn.
Monday, January 31, 2011
A birthday is but another day,
When I can sing for you,
When I can fill your day with surprises,
When I can hold your hand and lead you blindfolded,
When I can wait drenched to see that awe smile,
When we can sip wine lost in the aroma of love,
When I can say I Love you,
And hear it more,
Thus could happen yesterday, today, tomorrow.
Thus could happen now.
A birthday is but another day.
Happy Birthday D
A sweetheart card
A classy wristwatch
2 roses of the yellow kind
2 of the rosy red
And most importantly, a time to savour which I spent with you ...
Thursday, January 13, 2011
I walked a lot. It wasn't that I was thinking much. I just was blank. I talked to D. She was crying. She is in more pain when I am upset.
I am just a speck amidst millions. It felt easy to be lost in the waves of hordes of people.
I am alluded to as a mysterious wonder. Just 'cause I am neither at the top, nor at the bottom.
And on top of all, I realized how 12 words can screw one up.
And here I am, living today.
Tomorrow, today will be another yesterday.
Sunday, January 02, 2011
There is no snow on the ground. It doesn't snow here. It's cold, rustic yet not harsh. I have been looking for the rain, the wet rain which would make this cold all the more worthwhile. I have been peeking out the glass windows to catch a glimpse of the dewdrops making their final journey in the dense smog. I am in the mood for an ode.
There's always something in the end
There's always nothing to begin with.
I have been found wanting to bend,
'cause the tranquil nightingale has not yet uncovered its sheath.
Shattered dreams lay by the wayside,
Hope was never in what I knew
I learnt to stand up.
Dreamer in me could no longer hide,
The coffee chuckle would now brew,
The soul inside me was a molten cup.