shed teh pretence

night in rainbow amor

2008-10-08T04:09:00.001+05:30

the sky is as yellow, lover
as it was the evening before that night
when our limbs around each other
above the silver stars we went for a flight

as we danced forever in embrace
unaware of the world, its blues
the yellows turned to greys
we didn't notice the change in hues

the night was dark but in your eyes,
(which, by the way, were locked in my sight)
i was lost (which is no surprise)
'coz they were darker and deeper than the night

your pink fingers danced on my bare chest
wreaking havoc in my green heart
while u slept, i lay with unrest
fearing the morning when we shall part

then in our dream, we went to a lake
and in it we threw the black stones of the past
the moon was singing for our sake
and we wished the red dream would last

i announced the orange daybreak, kiss
and across your face in the twilight
i watched the faint smile crawl, bliss
then the day came, all was white

Not my kind of world

2008-07-17T12:15:00.001+05:30

If only I could smile when I didnt want to and laugh at jokes I didnt find funny. If only I could ask questions, the answers to which I didnt really care about. If only I could crib and not do anything about the thing I cribbed about. If only I could bend over and let someone shove me, under the guise of patting my back. If only I could lose sleep over and make people lose sleep over, things that did not make an iota of a difference to the world or me. If only I could do something without trying to do it in a different way than it was already being done. If only I could take 8 hours for doing something worth 2. If only I could make useless sounds in forced gatherings. If only I could be stupid enough to not see that people could figure out if my intentions betrayed my actions. If only I could revel in this collective stupidity.

If only I could, I would have been a star in the corporate, because like they say (to everyone), I am one of the smartest they have.

Unfortunately, I am real.

Me, Myself and the Idiot

2008-04-25T14:42:00.002+05:30

“That’s the sort of beauty you appreciate, then?”

“Yes, it is…”

“You mean, just that sort of beauty?”

“Just that sort”

“Why?”

“In that face…there is so much suffering”

Beat.

“But perhaps you are talking nonsense.”

“And what would make you think so?”

“It is only a witty word to use, suffering. Who appreciates it?...and more importantly, who wants it?”

“I do”

“Then I must say that you are only but an idiot”

“If embracing the noblest of all truths is idiocy, then for sure I am nothing but what you call me, and trust me, I would not like it if you call me by any other name.”

“You only use fancy words, but I don’t fancy them.”

“I never did make up any words about this thing, to mislead you. I only quote the words of Buddha when I say that suffering is nothing but the noblest of all truths. When I say that those who deny this truth are only but insolent fools, I must admit, I do use some of my own words.”

“Hmm..But I am sure Buddha never believed we must dwell in this suffering. Buddha has only always shown the way beyond suffering, towards peace and contentment and moral transience of the soul.”

“True. But before you tread the path that leads beyond suffering, you must accept the suffering, you must embrace it and you must learn to be at peace with it. Before you kill a beast, or tame it, you have to be at peace with the fact that there stands in front of you, a dangerous creature, which can rip you apart, the very moment you let it get a whiff that it can; closing your eyes to the beast, and pretending that it is not there, that it only exists in an imagined figment of your consciousness, is not only cowardice, but the most foolish of all actions a being can perform in his/her lifetime.”

“I understand and I fully agree. So in this case, I see that you do accept and appreciate the suffering that every person has to go through, and live with. But you also do accept that it is not the end all of our existence, it is only a step that leads to a broader and more significant path towards happiness and contentment, which is where to, the enlightened one (Buddha) also leads us..for you will have suffering, it is unavoidable, but it will be absurd to seek it, and that is what you seem to be doing by confessing your love for her; if it is the suffering in her that intrigues you, then you cannot possibly make it your purpose, because the purpose of all our lives is happiness..”

“I don’t even believe that our lives have a purpose, leave alone agreeing to it that the purpose is happiness. There is no reason to believe that we all are born for a reason.”

“Buddha shows us the middle path, and he will have us convinced that at the end of this path is the pot of gold we have all been born for, the answer to all questions, the blissful state of being. For that is what he would have us believe is the purpose of our existence”

“I do not agree with what he says, and I will need…”

“Ha! There you go, you wicked soul, churning yourself in your own contradictions, I know the likes of you”

“No, you don’t. Because the kind of people you know read their books and listen to their sermons and make it their ‘laws of the land’. I, for your kind information, am a free soul. Buddha is not my god. He was one amongst us tragically ignorant humans, the only difference being he was a free soul. And he had no gods. He learnt a lot in his life, more than most of us can even imagine thinking about. And I have all the respect in the world for him. And I believe his soul will rest in peace if we more than mincing his words, choose to be our own light, and follow it.”

“But aren’t you, my friend, the same free soul who was ‘mincing’ words in front of me, a moment ago? You belong to the kind who are always looking for a smart thing to say in every situation, whether or not they even know at all what they are saying or what it means. You are the one who reads the ‘quote of the day’ in the morning newspaper and then spends his day looking for the right moment to use it. I am pretty sure, there is nothing but the basest of motives in your ‘affection’ for her, and I don’t care what fancy words you use to adorn and hide it, as long as you do not blasphemise the likes of Buddha.”

“You misunderstand me.. when..”

“Like always? You just think everyone misunderstands you, don’t you? You think I am foolish because I don’t “understand” what you are “trying” to say, and so is everyone else and most people in the world because they fail to see the genius that you are. You are one of the greatest philosophers my friend and I don’t mean it at all. And you have got me thinking here, about your thoughts you have just blessed me with. And I need to ponder upon it with a snigger. Will you be gracious enough to allow me to be alone and to do the same?”

“And will you be gracious enough to give me a moment and a breath and allow me to wrest my answers to the questions you pose. I agree with most of what you have just said, but I don’t find your way of going about your arguments agreeable. An argument is supposed to have two people arguing, sometimes even more, although two is the most fruitful. But all you want to do in all arguments is say what you wish to say and end it all…”

“Oh..come on..you cant..”

“Will you please let me say all now that I wish to? I, unlike you, have smooth edges around my head. I, unlike you, have ears and eyes that want to hear and see new things. I, unlike you, have a fetish for suffering. And I, unlike you, have respect for opinions and thoughts that do not necessarily walk hand in hand with mine. Let me clarify my stance by saying that I revere Buddha, and do not follow him. Let me make myself clear when I say that I won’t let you judge my affection for her. And let me leave you alone here now, for I have things to figure out. Will you please pass the photograph?”

“You are being an ass..”

“I don’t mind being that, and let it be for some other time for me to tell you why. Good night.”

“And at that some other time, I will let you know what really makes you a pain to live with. Let the J move around before you go.”

“Let me drag a few more breaths”

“Sure..”

Beat.

“Good night, sleep tight and do not let the bugs bite”

“Ha!”

The Angriest Dog in the World

2008-02-10T00:32:00.001+05:30

"The dog who is so angry he cannot move. He cannot eat. He cannot sleep. He can just barely growl. Bound so tightly with tension and anger, he approaches the state of rigor martis"

David Lynch

"Anybody can become angry - that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way - that is not within everybody's power and is not easy"

Aristotle

"There are two things a person should never be angry at, what they can help, and what they cannot. "

Plato

"If it is something so complicated and convoluted that you do not even know if you can help it or not, and there is no way of knowing, you are allowed to be angry."

Amol Parashar

The Angriest dog in the world. The Angriest dog in the world is tied to a leash. The Angriest dog in the world is tied to a leash he can not possibly break with all the physical strength he can gather. The weak Angriest dog in the world.

People behave stupidly on the roads and people say stupid things from inside the house. It makes the dog angry. It makes him sad and incensed to see all the stupidity in the world and the ignorance and it makes him angry that he can only be a mute spectator to this sophomoric circus. I mean, what is it that he can possibly do? He can bark. But if he barks, will they understand? No. He barks at all the stupid little children who throw stones at him. They don't understand. They think throwing stones at an angry but tied dog is fun. And nobody can make them think otherwise. Certainly, not the dog. Is that the only meaningful purpose they can find of their summer evenings? I would have told them to go roam the unknown neighbourhoods instead.

These creatures are lucky to have got their lives as human beings. The angry dog would have liked to be human too (or maybe not, how the fuck do I know, I am a human, supposedly). Atleast he would have had the privilege to use words when he wanted to say something. Or acted upon it if he wished to do something. And what are they doing with their lives as humans? throwing stones and jibes at a hapless dog? Ha.

He would bite if he could break the leash. But he will only be labelled a mad dog at the most, and taken to the grisly dog house at the end of the block and they will put him to death. The children will still be children and the stupid people inside the house will continue to be stupid people inside the house. Will the elementary suicide be of any help? There is only a very mild possibility of that. Will his death make the other angry dogs break their leashes and bite the world? I suppose not, because dogs are known to be the selfish and unemotional kind when it comes to other dogs. And angry dogs can rarely stand each other.

The anger gets inflated with every useless breath that leaves his lungs. The dog is angry because whatever he might choose to do, he will not be able to make the difference he wants to see in the world. He is angry at god, if there is one. He is angry at the world. It looks like some one is gonna get a hurt real bad. I am not going anywhere near this dog!

Dated : 09-Jan-2008

the reprise

2007-12-05T01:58:00.000+05:30

the tides of time that glide
over the sea of love
leave no trace in history
just a scent of sorry death
in the air of life

we dont pray for the rain again
high tides of pain drown yesterday
only a summer
of warm winds and orchids
will let us breath.

and we will stand
against the wind
and kill each other with spears of words
till what remains on the sorry earth
is only the scent of death

and the gods above
will cry for us
and for the lives that could have been
and lonely children will be born again
in the warm winds of summer.

About Turn

2006-05-31T10:03:00.000+05:30

tere aane ka intezaar main har shaam karta hu
tujhe paane ki chaahat mein kuch aise kaam karta hu
tari aankhon ki chandni khareedne ke liye
main har dard ko baazaar mein neelaam karta hu

hamaare aaj ka naa tujh pe koi ilzaam karta hu
kal ko bhoolne ki koshishein naakaam karta hu
tujhpe koi ungli bhi naa uthaaye taaki
main apne aap ko har bheed mein badnaam karta hu

naa main rosh karta hu naa main aaraam karta hu
apni maut se har roz yeh sangraam karta hu
teri yaadon ke aks ko batorne ke liye
har raat ko botal mein hi anjaam karta hu

tere kadmon mein pesh aaj yeh kalaam karta hu
aur khoon ki har boond tere naam karta hu
tere aane ka intezaar main har shaam karta hu
tere aane ke intezaar mein har shaam marta hu

cross purpose

2006-01-10T23:57:00.000+05:30

my dear father,
i am sorry.
for whatever u think i should be sorry for.
and im sorry for the things which u may not even know about.

i know u have been tryin to communicate your problems and intentions to me, and i know u feel that i dun understand or do not care. the irony is that i do. i know what u are talkin about but i dont feel the need to express that i understand. maybe im wrong in doin this but this is the person i am. i wont express where i do not expect to be understood. and that has been my bane all my life, i believe most of the people have failed to understand and see through to what i really am, aided by my own reluctance to reveal so i dont really mind in most cases. i may not be the person u would have wanted me to be, i may not be what many people would have expected me to be, but whatever i am, i do not regret being this person, and believe me im not that bad. i am a little child waiting to grow up, i am an old man saddled by the past, i am a young man of 20 setting out for a journey.

i am sorry for all the times i may have hurt you, but i also believe that at most of these times, i was failed to be understood. i do not blame you or anyone because the prime reason for that was my disability to communicate my desires and sorrows. and i no longer feel sad about that either, because i have become comfortably numb. i am not the sort of person who would hurt anyone, and i mean anyone. the only person i must have enjoyed hurting is myself. i am 20 now. i have seen a lot than you would expect me to. i have learnt things from you and i have learnt things from the world, and lately i have started learning from myself too. what i mean to say is that i do not know only what u have taught me but i know a lot more than that. i still believe i know almost nothing, and i wanna learn. but now, i want to do it on my own. i want to fall and stand up all by myself. i want to be able to make mistakes, accept them, and learn from them. do not try and take away this liberty from me, for that would leave me with nothing.

i have made mistakes and i have learnt. i have learnt and i have changed. i do not know if i was supposed to be so but the fact is that i am so. and thus i can only try and hide those things about me and my life which i feel may perturb you or anyone. i may have been wrong in doing so but i dont believe i was. there are things i want to be concerned about on my own, and left alone fending my own problems. i am grateful that you are concerned and wish to help, but i do not wish to bother you, and i even feel that you having so much experience will not see the things that concern me in the same light as i do now. i am sorry if any of this sounds not to your liking.

as for sister, sometimes i do feel bad for the things i could have provided but i am not able to. it is all beacuse of the uneasiness of the interpersonal relations i share in the family and outside. it has always been a great matter of concern to me to understand people and be understood which i have found in perfect conjunction at very rare times. i do not want u to worry much about me, i will take care of myself, but please do look after her. i believe she needs you around her and not necessarily physical presence.

since you are asking for the report of the last semester, i believe you have already got it, or have an idea about it. so i will choose to not mail it to you. i am sorry about that. if you dont know then i will tell you that it is bad, real bad, as you would like to call it, and i would prefer you will let it be. i am sad and i am not sad at the same time. i am sad because i was fooled by my own expectations and did not see it coming. i am not sad because it has taught me some new things about myself, people and the world. i may not promise you to succeed this time for fear of letting you down, but i can only assure you that i know what i am doing. i may not understand somethings yet, but i seek to learn them myself.

i sincerely wish that you dont take my words in the wrong spirit. its my first attempt to open up to you, and it well may be the last. and i will ask you to stop worrying, i will do that all myself. and i would not like to talk about this letter, so i would request you to refrain from doing so. trust me, i havent lost my mind, i have jus come to have one of my own.

love and regards
feignman

Chunks of Crap and Pools of Piss

2005-12-21T16:34:00.000+05:30

Heaving rain, or piercing sunshine, he lies there day and night. On that rickety roof over the chequered house on the corner of the street, he lies, bothering no one and being unbothered by anything or anyone. He has been lying there for a very long time, as long as he cared to remember, as long as I had known him. He lies there incessantly, surrounded by chunks of crap and pools of piss. All his piss, all his crap. He is unbothered. He is too lazy to bother, too tired to do anything. He lies there too lazy to move. He must not have moved an inch from the last time I saw him and it is unbelievable. In that air of disgust, which makes me wanting to throw up, he sits gazing into the unknown, without blinking an eyelid. Too lazy. The only movement that can be grasped from that illusory frame of stillness, is that tiny trickle of his fingers, that move about, scribbling something on a piece of paper that so surprisingly remains unscathed. That is the only thing in that scene that looks real. People say he is mad. I never rest my belief on people. "People". The word, that never has a face but always a voice. "People" has always got something or the else to say about something or the else. "People" is a sea of anonymity that is always waiting to gorge down whatever it can get hold of, whatever dares to sail against its waves. And he was one of those. The survivors, the fighters, who, unbothered by the direction of the waves, chart their own paths and destinies. The waves try to bring him down but he is least scared of the rumblings that go on around him. He displeases People. He disturbs People. He is mad.

Futile, is our existence. Futile, is every action of ours. Nothing we do is of any absolute consequence, and thus of any interest to either man or beast. I shake hands, futile. I walk, futile. I smile, futile. I wipe my ass, futile. Nothing bears any consequence, no action has an undeniable reason for its doing. I thought so much, futile?

I have tried a lot to find out about his past, although I have to admit, the variety of things people have told me about him fail to give me a coherent image of his. The jigsaws just somehow do not seem to fit in and give me the big picture. But still, nothing of those things of his past hints to anything that could have led to this present, to this roof full of chunks of crap and pools of piss. I can not yet, in the map of his still hazy and vaguely constructed history, point to that thing, if there was any, that could have triggered this existential dilemma. Maybe dilemma is not the right word to use, because he seems to be in no confused state, no delirium, he seems so sure of everything. He is making no attempt to get to know the truth because he believes he has already found it.

I am noone. I am nothing. I do not exist. I am a figment of my own imagination. If I imagined myself to be a hero, I was gallant, and that made me proud of it. I imagined myself to be a lover and I fell for her. I imagined that life was beautiful, imagined myself to be superior to those other ordinary beings, imagined myself as the know-all, to be a ruthless friend, to be scared of spiders, to be an obsessive lover. I imagined I was the misunderstood philosopher. I imagined that my favourite was the colour red, I imagined that I did not hate Hitler. I imagined that I had a troubled life and it was oh-so-courageous of me to face it with the perennial smile. I imagined I could do anything if I put my heart into it. I imagined I was the guy any girl will be lucky to have. I imagined that people wished they were me. I imagined I was the jack of all trades, that my unsupressible talent will one day be discovered and admired. I imagined that I was and I breathed. And I was nothing else. I walked through days and nights pretending to be what I had imagined myself to be. I imagined that I was happy and proud of being what I had imagined myself to be. I did not know who I was, let alone anyone else. They knew of me what they had imagined me to be. I do not know what they knew. I do not care anymore. Because then it dawned on me, the truth.

I pity him. I pity the state that he is in. Our minds play a lot of cruel games with us and we play a lot of cruel games with our mind. It is a dangerous battle. Now I know what they mean by 'losing it'. The battle, and he has lost it. I do not know why, but whenever I happen to catch his gaze, something inside me screams with uneasiness.Those unpresuming eyes beg me, they are an invitation, a temptation, a call that he makes from the other side. They trigger a battle inside me too, every time I look at that calm face. And every time, I have to try real hard to shake that spell off me. For everyone, he is just a coward, a pessimist who has give up on life. He is nothing to them but a threat, to their passion for life. Sloth is a contagious sin. And what I have in front of me is the epitome of this "sin". He has been possessed by that devil, he is the sinner. I wonder if he has actually given up on life, and thinks its futile, why does he keep on living, especially in the state that he does. Will not it be better for him and for those around him, if he just killed himself, to spare others the trouble. I shake myself again out of these dreary thoughts of death, and murder. But all my questions still remain unanswered, the enigma that he is, still sits there in front of me, making silent desperate cries. Its getting late now, and I think I should go home. I should go home to my lovely wife, and snuggle upto my kids, and kiss them goodnight. After this mental ordeal and drama I believe all I need, is to go back to the comforts of my home and the arms of my loved ones...wait a minute!! I think?? I believe?? am I just imagining that I love them??

I smiled at her but she just passed by me. Those were the days when I had begun to realise my vanity and the littleness of my desires and aims. I did not care anymore how I looked, what clothes I wore, and how much money I had in my pocket. My mother had already begun to dislike the fact that I did not tend to myself anymore. I did not see the point of doing all those things I used to do. Why comb my hair? what eternal purpose did it serve?? 'son u will look good'.. why should i look good?? 'because thats better than not looking good'...why and how is that better and even if it is, why should we always do the better thing?? and they thought I was just another rebel looking for a non existent cause. I held her hand and told her to stay but she laughed at my face and went away and I never saw her again.
That was the beginning. Nothing I did seemed to be worth doing. I thought a lot about this. I thought and I slept and I thought. I slept and I thought and I slept. I stopped bathing myself, too lazy to do something I saw no point in. I was being fed food by other people after sometime, and carried to the toilet. Everyone thought it had to do with some physical deficiency or weakness. I saw no point in wasting time over trying to decipher my problem. Stupid assholes. Open your eyes and find the meaning suckers, and discover that there aint no meaning. HAHA. You look at me and you squirm and turn your faces. What are you scared of?? the shit?? the piss?? why?? have you asked yourself?? no?? why?? HAHA. Losers. And dont be happy I am not going to kill myself, because I have no drive to do that. Killing myself is another futile thing to do, and I am too lazy for it..

Fuck Off

2005-11-04T11:22:00.000+05:30

i got to know a truth i never knew. i dont even know if that is the truth. and that is exactly what i got to know, that i cant know anything for sure. a friend of mine told that i am a schizophrenic. so now i am always wondering if something is for real. i even wonder if that friend is for real. if he is not i guess i am just making up things about my own schizophrenia. but then he could be for real. in which case, his claim that one of my other friends is not for real must be true, assuming he is not lying to me, or playing a prank. but i dont want it to be true. i like that friend, or maybe that could have been one of the reason why i invented him in the first place. i dont know. but i just dont want him not to be real. in which case the first friend should not be real. in either case i lose a friend, for no apparent fault of mine. so now i dont like this fanciful state of being. it wasnt always like this. when he told me this for the first time, i had a strange feeling of elation. i felt like a genius. i felt like god for i could create a human out of nothing, i could define how he looks like to the last detail, how he walks and how he talks. or maybe she. maybe all the girls in the red, i cant help but notice on the roads, in the restaurants, whom when i find smiling at me, i grow manifold inside, have not been. they in most probability were not. and it scares me. maybe when i thought i was making out, i was just alone, kissing in the air, or maybe even myself, and they all stood their in a circle around me and had laughed. maybe they all actually laugh. maybe everyone except me has been knowing of my condition but me. i dont know. i cant be sure of anything now. i sit in the lectures and i feel they are staring at me, laughing hysterically, i turn to look at them, to find they are not actually looking at me but still i feel uneasy. i can see that faint smile on their face they are trying so hard to suppress. ah..they are all liking this game and playing along. i am the fucking stray dog on the road they can tie their crackers to, and have fun. i cant take anything for granted now. maybe thats not altogether a bad thing after all. i know, the guy who died because of me when i was thirteen, maybe that was all a dream. yeah, now i can say i made that whole story up, and sleep peacefully. but then im lost. reality, truth, dreams, people, ghosts, voices, all gets mixed up. its scary. hell scary. everything is a wonderland and its not even funny. i guess i am just fucked up and imagining this whole story up. maybe i am not even typing after all. haha..im sorry for all of you, coz this could have made a such a colourful scandalous story u never got to know of .. maybe i can use this imaginary occasion to say to all of you what i have been trying to say , those two words..

whats keepin me busy??

2005-10-15T20:38:00.000+05:30

what would the child u were,
think of the adult u have become??

trees, buildings, eagles, airplanes and cars...

2005-10-06T20:00:00.000+05:30

dark... dark. darkness. i love this because i can see nothing, because i dont know where i am and most important of all, neither does anyone else. i try very hard to open my eyes. it seems to be harder than usual. i persist. oh..i am scared now because i cant see anything. i close my eyes back hard and try again. green. i can see some green. aaah..that is not so abominable, infact it seems like a pretty good place. now, where is it???.. i begin to draw that this must not be that frequented a place. it doesnt seem like. now let me see what is up with me. i have a look down on me, i look perfect, all in one piece, but the head, oh..it hurts. it dawns on me that the tope must still be there..i have a fag in my hand. i am not feeling that good now. i throw it down on the ground and step on it hard. hard enough for my leg to hurt..i go back to the green. green is so good, so selfless, so like a true friend. the friend u could just spend hours with without speaking a word. just sit in the shade of green and gaze up into the sky, at those eagles flying so high up in the sky and wonder how scarily high would that be, wonder about all that you could see, if you could be there. where eagles dare. hehe..i am smiling now. my gaze wanders a little higher up. this is not that pleasant. concrete sprouts out from behind the green. hard, sordid, lifeless, boring. it stands there stout and proud, forever. how i like it not. how i wish it would come down and crash on the ground,.. but ironically on the same hand, how i need it to take shelter, how it is the friend i wouldnt care about normally but run to when i am faced with rain, or heat?? i cringe quitely, embarassed of my hypocrisy when suddenly a voice jolts me. its a familiar voice, a friend of mine. ' is baar minors mein toh fat legi yaar hamaari'. silence. more silence. amusement begins to brew inside me. i can hardly stop myself from laughing at the stark contrast in my state and the statement. strangest of things amuse me. prophetic. i suddenly find myself pondering over how incisive the statement is, how inclusive of all our states of mind, holding to its bosom all the littleness of our being. i shake myself up from the dreary thought, try to divert myself, and look for my eagles in the sky. there is an airplane over my head. strangely it has its lights on, even at this hour of the day. maybe its trying too hard to make sure its on the right path. or maybe it is actually dark up there. who knows but them. those high up in the sky...gliding over all the pettiness that lies below them. i look up to them and wave. they look down on me and smile. i try to imagine what they can see of me and whether it must actually be lonely up there. a few seconds, and the airplane is out of sight again. it wouldnt stop for me. whether i want it to or not is a different matter altogether. for some other time. i come back to the ground. aaaaahhhfff. grotesque, ugly, monstrous. i let out a light shriek of horror. my friend enquires what the matter is. its nothing i say. nothing. its just a row of cars parked right in front of my face. i am horrified when i see these metallic creatures running helter and skelter trying to pretend they are headed somewhere but are not. they are just pretending. they are cool. they are in. but god!!! they are metal. hard cocoon, immmaculately plush, uninitiated to the fresh air and sun. unknown to the pleasure of the naked feet on green grass. i feel sorry for them and scared of them. i am feeling very uneasy now. i want to stand up and run away to my greens. as hard as i try to move, i realise i cannot. i am stuck to the place. i look at my leg and find it there hard pressed right where i left it. i try, i try again and get tired of trying. i lay on my back and try to find my eagles. they are gone leaving behind an empty sky. i am doomed. i give up. all i have left to me now are the cars...

Monsters Inc.

2005-07-11T19:03:00.001+05:30

he had not slept for days. and nights. through the night he would be up, sitting by the window in his room with the door closed. the closed door, behind which was the calm and peaceful world, deep in sleep, oblivious to his state of mind. for the world, he was just another normal kid, who would wake up sometime to open the door and be a part of their grown up world. he had other plans.
he was supposed to be sleeping, dreaming of fairies and monsters. he was not. he was wide awake but the monsters, they were still there. it was surprising, even for him that he was not uncomfortable in their presence. that could have been one of the reasons he could not sleep. but then he had become used to them, they were surprisingly friendly. he was there, merrying away with the people he had always thought of, or rather was told of, of being from a different world. the world, he had never thought he would have to encounter and even if he had to, he could never be a part of. but now he did not know if he was in their world or they had come in his. just the fact that they were there was both worrying and soothing for him at the same time. worrying because he had to make sure that no one outside came to know of their presence with him. they were not thought of as good people by the ones outside. infact they were not even people for them. they were demons, or as they said, monsters. soothing, because he found them comfortably friendly, a fact that, as previously mentioned, had startled him a lot in the beginning but not anymore. he had realised that the people outside were maybe unaware of the truth, since they had never met his new friends, they had their misconceptions, they were unaware of the pleasures of the company of these monsters. well, even for him the monsters may not had been as pure as white and he was sometimes scared that behind their grotesque but friendly smiles could have lied malicious intent, he didnt mind as long he had fun with them, he didnt mind even if they talked about things he never could have imagined he would talk about, he didnt mind the stupidly violent games he used to play with them. he was peculiarly amused by the game they played all night.
all they did was sit in a circle, and punch the person on their left as hard as they could. the game carried on with different formations of the circles. although he was hurt a lot, he enjoyed the game as much as his fellow players did, maybe even more. every punch, every bleeding nose, was followed by mad bouts of laughter. he loved it. he had not laughed like that for ages. maybe never. he would smile whenever the "normal" people would scowl when they looked at him. he would smile when they looked at him and he knew they could tell. they could see the scars. maybe they could tell exactly what was going on. but as long as they preferred to ignore it, not talk about it, he could do nothing but smile, at them, at their plight, at their loss, at their boringly normal materialistic lives.
he didnt have to keep doing that for long. he was summoned one day. he was made to talk. he was asked if anything was wrong, anything out of the ordinary, if he had been meeting "those" people. he was not the timid little boy anymore. he had replied in the affirmative. that day had been hell. whenever he cared to notice they would still be shouting at him, hurling threats, pursuasions, sentiments. he was amazed at how much they wanted him to give it all up. he failed to understand why were they so scared. maybe they were not, it could have been something else. they were more afraid of other people coming to know about it, worried about reputations. he didnt care. all he wanted was to take his own decisions, decide his own friends. he just wanted to tell them that he hated all of them, their pretentious love, their opportunistic care, their conditional outpourings. he did not want to be a part of their stupid world and if it meant going away with his friends, he was game for it. he did not need his folks anymore as much as they thought he did. he might not had been the timid little boy anymore, but he could not say any of this. he just preferred to keep shut, as always, but silence for him had never been surrender. he had always thought of as silence as the tool of the mighty. he had always been mystefied by the power of the unsaid. but it really didnt matter that day what he thought. all he understood that day was he was not supposed to meet his friends and no playing silly games with them. he had other plans.
that night had been a blast. the door was still closed, nothing could ever open the door, and he knew that. he had waited for his friends more eagerly than usual, was delighted to see them, brimming with enthusiasm to play his favourite game. had played it with unmatched fervour. that night had been the best night of his life. every punch took him higher up into heaven. he just could not stop laughing and behind that laughter, shouts of harder, harder. his friends had obliged.
the morning after had been very quiet. he had not come out of his room even for his daily chores. after a frustarting, endless wait, his folks had called up on him. he had not replied. as much as they tried, he just kept quiet. more "normal" people had been called, the door was broken down. the scene inside was something they hadnt seen coming. he was gone.
he had died. the punches had been too hard to take. there was still a smile on his face. of delight.
the monster also lied there by his side. dope. the boy had died of an overdose of friends.

me

2005-07-04T13:58:00.000+05:30

im the devil
lord of evil
i hate life, im the lord of death
im not the one whos lost the way
im the one who leads astray
i feast on the mortal ego of beings
i suck on the grief to which they cling
with awe all your eyes look at me
but im the one you fear to be
i charge free for what i give
god gives you life, i show you how to live
i preach you what they tell are lies
i teach you the truth to realise
you are me, and i am you
learn the facts before you are through
impulse, desire, pleasure is me
free, free, i am free, so you could be
kill the saint, and burn the church
around the bend your demons lurch
kill em all, and you wont be free
come over, join hands with me
with me you are on your wildest ride
i will take you to the other side.

no more

2005-06-11T13:43:00.000+05:30

the spirit is killed, hung to death
chopped to pieces, burned to red
no flutter of wings, no nod of head
some stories should be left unsaid

he flies no more
tries to rise no more
no not any skies no more
prodded in the eyes he may
but son of sorrow cries no more

tears of blood are, to be seen
of the colour of flights that have been
shadow that crawled across the seas
is reduced to rubble, its freedom ceased

mourners come to wash their feet
bring gifts of solace wrapped in sheets
white sheets that hide their grins of glee
as purely white was love to be..

wont be white no more
nothing wrong or right no more
love with halo light no more
love is life, she used to say
so love again he might no more

on top of where she was to wait
he flew, opened his eyes too late
stood guards of hell with arrows drawn
the sky was red like the sun of dawn

fell to her feet like a bird of tame
she stood unflustered as down he came
he saw in her eyes, he was to blame
he loved her more than she was game

in the arms of devil he saw her leave
laid there in the night, alone to grieve
he breathed his last, his back to the sky
it rained of blood, till his veins ran dry

there he lies no more
no nocturnal sighs no more
love, a lie, he buys no more
life goes on, as well it may
in the name of love, he dies no more.

why

2005-05-23T02:37:00.000+05:30

some people will go to any lengths. i speak of what i have seen. all the people of the world are mad if you would go by its official definition. they all have deep hidden obesessions, unventured dark woods of desire, the mysterious clouds of fear, an in your face megalomania. there is a need to let it out. they have to. i dont know if it was always like that but thinking about it strangely always brings me back to the darkness of solitude. yes i know we are supposed to devour this darkness, close our eyes to its comforting breezes and doze off in blissful slumber. it is supposed to be the time to sleep. but isnt this the time of the night riders, who will refuse to sleep at night, because who said so?? but the darkness is too dark. they cant fight it. the only thing they end up doing is not a dance of victory over the ashes of the darkness. it is a surrender. a willing or otherwise defection to the other side, the one that was proclaimed the enemy, the one they were supposed to fight.

what are we if not our past? there is none of the present. it is all a hypothetical state of being, simply because you cannot be in it. its a myth, a ghost, that runs at the same speed as all do, as their mind. they are not inside the myth, too big for it. they hold on to it, and try to keep pace, running behind it as they do, always a step behind. you lose it, you lose the present. there is no getting it back. everyone loses it at some point.
all we can do is exist in the past and look to the future. nothing wrong, nothing, but man is man...

it is a saga of people's pasts. suddenly all they can think of is the past, compare them. my past is better than yours!! and although it is not based on any logical reasons but it somehow means my future holds more promise than yours. my past is funny. my past is smart. my past is profound. i am my past.
a movie, a book, a life. and you will see how they will one day make a movie on my past. i will write a book and it will be read. because what use is the past if you dont leave it behind as hard copy. you are not a man enough. i want everyone to know what i did. so they can envy me. so they would want to be in my place. and that will be a proof of how successful it has been, my past, my life.
but wait, a movie isnt made in a day. he will have to remember the past. all of it. because no nothing of it is worth not telling. wait he will tell everyone. yes they will be impressed and yes they will remember.
hey you!!! yes you!!! what??? cant hear you..oh ok!! you busy right now?? its ok. what??? you dont give a fuck about my life?? what do you mean?? oh you must be one of those foolish ones. who dont know what they say... but wait no, i know you. you are the one that i always wanted to be like.. i mean..i mean...i don mean that!!! how can you say something like that... and if everyone comes to know what you said. noone will want to hear about my past, about me..
oh what??? they never did want to hear?? it is not like that...noooo.

RELAX!!!!!!!!! he knows what to do. well he maybe unable to talk of his life to people, but there are people who want to talk about theirs. they will all have to come together, because "i feel so claustrophobic all trapped inside me". he wants to come out. and so do they. but he cant talk to them. they make stupid faces when he starts off..dont concentrate. but hes smart enough , he will think of something. he is having second thoughts. he is beginning to hate his life. it is getting confusing. he is ill on communicating with people now...what is it that will save him the trouble of going to everyone and rather bring everyone to him. and he will still be with it so that what ever he comes up with, others will follow suit, again a mark of success, because yes that will be the thing to do. the outsiders will be the losers. yippee!!! and it will have to be double faced so that when the bubble bursts, he shall not face the mucus, but those who chose to be him, who could not think of their own head...
all this and...
how the hell does he tell people how many times he sat in the pot the last day???
stroke of genius..oh he has always been a master of ingenuity.. this is another eureka..
nothing like it has ever been thought of.. this has all the faces he wants.. he his happy.. he his staring into millions of electrons beacuse he just wants to say it, he dont care .....yes.......he will write a blog...