GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST . . .

Meeting up with old friends can be a very strange experience, which needn’t always be gratifying; after the initial excitement of ‘catching up’ dies down, it might actually turn out to be quite mortifying and discontenting indeed. I doubt if there is a better way to find out about the dichotomies of your past and present. It leaves you delving into existential questions like, do people change? More importantly, have you changed? (When I say you I primarily speak for myself, and take the liberty to make the assumption that there are others who have experienced the same, so well, ‘you’ need not be YOU.) Having my dad in a transferable job, and ergo having grown up all over the country, I have had more than my fair share of such fortuitous encounters with people from my past, people whom I had written off and almost placed on the same pedestal as Muhammad Bin Tuglaq or Fredrick Barbarossa for that matter. I have realized that you cannot write off people, you can merely turn the page, and if you turn too many you have to move on to a new book. There have been encounters I have looked forward to, and even dreamt about, but sadly after they materialized, I was left wishing they had not. Take for example meeting my class three crush (and also my first, in line amongst many others) in class 11 was nothing short of a disaster, after an awkward silence of half an hour, we mulled over my coin collection the entire afternoon, much to her relief, and mine. I simply couldn’t overcome the fact that she had grown up to be so beautiful, the fact that we spent many a afternoons in my balcony all those years back didn’t help matters much, and yes I was tongue tied, my womanising skills were still at their infancy back then and I was not quite the Casanova I believe myself to be now. There have been many other such encounters in which I have often rediscovered shreds of my innocence, found a bit of my lost self, time permitting, I shall take upon myself the tedium of documenting them some day, but as of now, it’s a luxury I cannot afford. And considering the fact that I am not yet 20, I can safely bet that there are many such encounters which lie in wait, many shreds that are yet to be pieced together, many facets to be rediscovered. Merry Christmas people, and a happy new year, this Christmas get that old phone book you used to keep before you got yourself a cell, begin this new year with old friends, spread the cheer :).

I think I will start with that class three friend of mine with whom I spent many a pristine afternoons under the Bangalore sky...

a minute of eternity............

It was like any other ‘normal college morning’, me waking up at 9: 27 for a 9: 30 class, turn the lap and music player off, find a pair of jeans, albeit with some difficulty, in a room the size of four medium sized cardboard boxes (six?), find my bag, maybe a book if it is my lucky day, maybe neither if it is not, ask Ronnie to hold the lift while I try putting on my shoe and paste on my brush at the same time, brush in the lift, use the ground floor toilet, all this in under 2 minutes. This leaves me with a good min to participate in the daily NUJS marathon, with all mah fellow homies who swear by noojiedom, which takes anything between a minute to twenty, depending on whose class it is (its only when I am on the ground floor that I find out what class it is, yeah on hindsight the whole drill seems a bit futile once in a while, but then better safe than sorry). True story :).

Well this day happened to require one of my faster timings. I was about half way to the finish line, when something yonder brought my sprint to a halt. Wrapped tightly in black, with a glint of gold on its bosom, sparkling against the October sun, making that curve even more prominent, it sauntered by leaving my mouth agape, and my eyes, which were yet to come to terms with what was happening around wide open. The guy who was clinging on to it turned me green. I could be there I told myself, I should be there I told myself. Then this strange sort of slumber crept in, much unlike the one I had gotten out of, a slumber of contemplation, a slumber of retrospection, a slumber of introspection (no jackass they don’t all mean the same). I thought of all those things that I had yearned for, and had subsequently gotten. Grade 1, I wanted a GIJOE toy, by grade three I had a panoply of 47, and yet somehow that one toy I ‘wanted’ meant more than all of them put together, Grade 7 I wanted a comp, wanted to play the latest version of NFS on it, grade 8 it could have been any other box with cobwebs on it, college first year the lap was much the same story. It is much the same story with almost everything else, whether my object of desire be animate or inanimate. There was a time, when I used to pass by a baroque structure, which later went on to be my university, in awe, every person coming out of this sanctum sanctorum was a source for much admiration, now the only thing it inspires is indifference , the people coming out of it, well lets not get into that. Even the people I value the most today are the ones I didn’t ‘get’ the way I initially wanted them, if you know what I mean. As the roar of that Black Enfield which had stopped me dead in my path died out into a mellifluous purr, a weird smile dawned upon my face, a smile of contentment which far overshadowed my yearning, but my jubilation was cut short, as the clamour of the bell aroused me from my slumber.

NB – 1) a noojie is a student of NUJS, to whom certain characteristics can be assigned which when looked at in its entirety can be a bit outlandish, which sets them apart from the common drab lot out there; noojiedom is the way of the noojie.

2) a general query, you didn't think i would objectify women in such a manner did you?

ok, even though I said good bye for a while in the last post, my bad poetry writing spree seems to be at its prolific best(DAMN!!), so couldn’t resist slipping in this one.


SOME QUESTIONS UNANSWERED…

Why do we cling on to some ties, while others hit the dirt?
Why is it that the more it hurts, the harder it is to cut?
Why are some wounds left uncared for, while others are swiftly wound up?
Why does the bleeding heart, misguide the gullible mind?
Unconditional is a precondition, but is unilateral one?
No matter how many seasons pass, why doesn’t time?
No matter how much the pain may ease, why does it never cease?
Am I to know no joy or respite, all efforts despite?
Why do I subject my self to such a masochistic plight?

P.S – 1) the reader might feel that he is being subjected to a masochistic plight of his own, my apologies, hope a poem comes out of it :).

2) The poem referred to in the previous post is Chasing rainbows, not this, didn’t want any confusion to arise, though I cannot possibly see how that is possible.

good bye note......

The last poem was pretty heavy and I am certain most people didn’t get it, but then the thing being talked about was a bit esoteric, and there was not just one thing that was being talked about,i wont pretend to be an Eliot, but it was meant for people who know me real well, sadly there don’t seem to be many, I thought it would answer a lot of questions, but the very people I sought to answer raised too many questions, very few right ones at that too, the fact that they didnt give a jack is probably going to take some time to sink in, so I have vowed to keep poetry simple, and my answers direct, at least for the time being(also this seconds up as a convenient excuse for the lameness of the verse that is about to torment you, thankfully for you it is very short). and darshana dont worry, this is not the illusive piece of poetry i was expecting to woo chicks with, its something i concocted 20 mins back, that ones still in the pipeline. Also this is the last post for some time to come, have a few books I want to finish before the vacation ends, some other shit that needs to be put in place, adios. This one goes out to that grade four poet in me who could never be :).

WHEN WISHES COME TRUE....

Sometimes I wish, whatever I wish would be,

That the world would actually be the way I see,

Be that love, lust or the journey to the crest,

This unending quest for utopia would come to a rest,

All this by just putting my mind to the test!!

But then the only dreams I will see would be the ones when I slept,

But then wouldn’t one mans paradise be another’s tempters nest?

Would there be anything else left for me to quest?

Wouldn’t the whole purpose of life be laid to rest?

Perhaps what is, is for the best.

ARCANUM

PART I-

THE CIRCLE OF TRUST.....

To be let in on a secret is one of the greatest expressions of trust I can think of (the other would be leaving your drunk wife at my place). It is also one of the stupidest things you can possibly do. In most cases what will happen is that the one person you think you can bet your life on, and just let in on that ‘secret’ that could ruin you, also happens to bet his life on someone else, who is then vicariously let in. May the lord have mercy on your soul if the person you bet on happens to be in a ‘relationship’ with somebody who is not you, for you just committed suicide. You thus inadvertently roll the dice for a game of dominos, and guess what; it’s your life at stake. Soon everyone seems to be a life buoy for someone, and before you know it, everyone around knows, but is under strict instructions, which goes along these lines, ‘you have to swear you wont tell this to anybody’, ‘I swear I wont, I promise’. Both parties know how meaningless this perfunctory swearing is, hypocrites all of them. Thus, you end up creating a ‘circle of trust’, which let alone trusting, you might not even know. I think we can safely label this social phenomenon as betrayal. This human tendency to trust is something which baffles me. Some astute person had once observed that a secret is something that is told to one person, at a time.

PART II

THE PIMP IN US.....

But then there is this other bunch which manages to keep their secrets to themselves, the only way it should, and can be kept. This again gives rise to speculation. Over time I have realized that if there is one thing that people aren’t mingy about, it is information about other people, more so when they are absolutely certain that the particular piece of information cannot possibly benefit anybody, and might work to somebody’s detriment. True it doesn’t cost anything, but so don’t many other things. The more pernicious the information is, the more the magnanimity. The credulity or veracity of the same seems to be nobodies business. I guess this social phenomenon goes by the name of gossip. The pimp passing on the information goes by the name of a gossip monger. He will cater to all your needs, whatever you want or might possibly want, be that a placid seventeen year old virgin or a forty year old virago, she will be whatever he will tell you she is, whatever you want her to be. Your primordial instincts won’t let you see beyond that. You will still think she’s a virgin, simply refusing to see the fact that her vagina is more used than a public urinal. In such cases it becomes hard to place the blame solely on the pimp, Caveat Emptor? Not really, the roles are interchangeable, you pay for the cunt by being a pimp yourself, its some form of a primeval barter system where the aforementioned principle of common law doesn’t apply, there are no consumers, everyone’s a pimp.

Came across this on someone elses blog, really liked it, and yes, I have shamelessly lifted it :), if it is any excuse it seems like the other bloke has also lifted it, so the original source is in the realm of conjecture, will acknowledge it as soon as I come across it, if ever, hope this doesn’t result in any copy rights infringement, ok, enough with it already, read….

“At the end of the day, when it comes down to it, all we really want is to be close to somebody. So this thing, where we all keep our distance and pretend not to care about each other, is usually a load of bull. So we pick and choose who we want to remain close to, and once we've chosen those people, we tend to stick close by. No matter how much we hurt them, the people that are still with you at the end of the day - those are the ones worth keeping. And sure, sometimes close can be too close. But sometimes, that invasion of personal space, it can be exactly what you need.”

Reflections ……

The last four years of my existence has been the most eventful of the miserable 19 I have suffered. I have perhaps learnt more in the last two than all the rest put together. My first 17 years has been much like that of a lamb on a farm, just as blissful and oblivious about the perils that lay ahead, placing much faith on the very hands which later held the blade. Unlike my comrade I survived, but just about. To be fair it hasn’t all been bad, to be honest it’s mostly been good, it’s these last two years which have made it a bit acrid, acrid enough to vitiate the rest. People I know tell me I shouldn’t be complaining, that others have it way worse, “as in look at you, you did pretty well for your boards, we all know how much you worked for it, made it to one of the best universities in the country, look at X, he ain’t complaining”. True, but then neither am I, atleast not about the things X is not (and this is perhaps why they are ‘people I know’, and not ‘people who know me’). All I am saying is that two years back, misanthropist was one of the myriad of inconsequential words I learnt up in the hope of cracking the very exam which put me here, not something I thought would one day primarily define me. I don’t know when the transition happened, maybe living in the hostel with others of my kind, being forced to interact with them on a scale I had not done previously made me see them for what they really were, to unravel the veneer that each had so meticulously put up, some discreet, some not so; each coming with a standard issue knife, each waiting for some sign of vulnerability to plunge it in. But I am not complaining; for I am no different, for I am after all one of their kind, I suffer from a similar affliction, I am every bit the scheming bastard as any of them. I still smile like I used to, atleast put up a stupid grin if nothing else, but in my mind, I wish I could knock the air out of him, pin him to the ground, and plunge my standard issue slowly through his heart, watch him writhe in pain, beg for mercy, apologise for every jab he has ever taken, promise to put away his knife for ever, while already plotting how to get back up on his feet and give me a fatal blow. I am not complaining. For it is here that I have discovered true friendship, learnt the value of loyalty, found the few I trust, found the few I don’t want to pin down. For abundance makes you complacent, scarcity makes you conscious. I am perhaps luckier than the rest in this aspect, for there aren’t many who are similarly endowed, for most choose to play with fire.

I look back and the grin turns into a smirk. I had to survive I tell myself, it aint no fun being a lamb, you either hold the blade, or you are under it.

the 19 year old virgin.......

Yes people, the title pretty much sums it up, call it blasphemy, sacrilege or any other term which I presume it is in these times we live, but the one thing you can’t call it, is normal. The way I see the world around, if you are eighteen and you still haven’t been laid its too late. Me and a couple of mah friends back when we were 15, had great aspirations of hitting 18 with a bang(yes we were perverted, and just as desperate), but four years down the line, the sore bunch of losers that we were/are, most of us haven’t even managed so much so as a date. But then there was a bunch which actually stuck to their resolution, atleast went half way there, as the old adage, to which I wont stake any claim, goes, aim for the stars, incase you don’t get there, you will atleast land up on the moon. Logistically speaking, in present day India, people like me are the logical conclusion to the screwed up sex ratio we have (a deficit of 77 females for every 1000 males), and for which we are in no way responsible, and if I may add, out of sheer magnanimity, we would like to do our part to mend, if only given the chance. But then this argument, or line of reasoning rather, which is actually a consolation in disguise, doesn’t hold much water when the present day notion of fidelity is taken into account, and which ensures that the 77 deficit actually culminates into a surplus of god knows how many, but then the same inconsiderate lot that made for the moon (the adage, remember?), jumps turn, and seems to make the most of this also. I guess experience does count for something. So the bunch of losers that we are, we lose out for the second time (many of us play the morality card over here). That still makes us losers doesn’t it? As in, this doesn’t result in a promotion/demotion of any sort does it? Technically we lost nothing. Equality amongst losers, if you wish to see it that way. That is the best part of being what I am, I have nothing to lose, any change in my state, can only lead to a betterment (this is of course if we restrict the universe to the topic which is being discussed at hand). Even though theoretically the oxford dictionary would suggest otherwise, by practical application a loser would mean a person who has nothing to lose. This is the inherent fallacy in the term which is so conveniently used. The way I see this, this makes the term one of the biggest misnomers in the history of mankind. This (realisation? revelation? discovery?) doesn’t in any way go on to ameliorate my state or condition, this lacuna in the English language, has further denigrated my stature, I feel orphaned, abandoned even by the language of my choice.

Its three thirty in the morning, I am staring blankly at the desktop listening to Burn it Down by Alterbridge, clinging on to the coffee mug, the cells been silent for god knows how many moons, making completely pointless posts for lack of better things to do, I have never known such lack of purpose, such loneliness, the void just expands with each passing moment, I can almost hear the packet of cigarettes’ in my bag lying in the other room, yearning for my touch, no not tonight.

Why blame the English language when the lacuna actually lies elsewhere?

Chasing rainbows….

Looking at the sun in the misty sky,

I wonder what it would be like, to be so high,

To smile like a rainbow,

Without a care, or a hint of despair,

Much like the yesteryears, when you found me here,

Lying in this somber puddle of remorse and lucubrity,

You brought a smile, when the rest couldn’t care;

When I needed you, you were always there,

Now that we have parted, I cannot do much but despair,

Perhaps you think it is only fair, for you to leave me here?

But now that I know what is over there, how, pray is this fair?

Oh, how I miss your scent drifting in the air,

Your sweet taste slither in my mouth,

Your warm breath down my throat,

Your softness rub across my finger, mine to mould,

The oblivion you induced, the dreams we saw,

The highs and lows, the hopes and fears,

If this be true, you say, then why part ways?

Reality dawned, I say, pellucidity prevailed,

In your quest for joy, you painted a world of lies,

I don’t blame you for this,

For in my quest, I have sinned far worse,

For I have changed, for better? nay, for worse,

For it was my hand which held the brush,

For you just gave me the colours, green, brown and black,

For In my quest I have left what was always around, always mine,

For someone who was never meant to be,

For something which was never meant to be,

For a rainbow is after all an illusion,

For instead of draining the puddle, I filled it to the brim,

But why was I so blind?

Why did I yearn for someone, who was never mine?

Perhaps it was greed, or perhaps it is the insecurities of my mind.

debut...

finally it seems i have been able to get of my lazy bum and create a blog, well it aint a blog if u dont 'blog' in it, so here it is, lets see what else this boring drab vacation brings out of me, i await in anticipation!! :)