To your hand

Your touch is what I long for,
It is what I miss the most.

The pinch, the nudge,
The hug and the slap-
I miss them all.

Even the fights have lost their charm now.

I try to substitute it.
Each time I cross the road,
It is with a new person.
Each time I laugh,
It is a new arm I hold.
Each time I buy a ring,
It is for a new finger.

The novelty brightens things up,
Else, life would be dreadfully still.

Cynicism zindabad

Cynicism is so common place these days that I have begun to believe it is being overrated. I’m a cynic, but it disturbs me when I see a host of people like me. I’d like some exclusivity, at the risk of asking for too much. So, it really annoys me when I keep bumping into people who sound like me, make the same remarks and pick on the same things. What are we being cynical about? Are we sceptical about our jobs, our relationships, our neighbours or our dear politicians? In short, about life itself. I’d hate to take away the charm it holds by dissecting the term, but I was just idly wondering where the hell we are headed. Seems like dissatisfaction is the latest among the most sought-after destinations. Makes me feel great on good old Independence Day.

Alive

A drool here and some dabbing, and then some more. A fleeting moment of consciousness. He registered his surroundings and switched off the moment he saw everything was just the same.

"Are you alright?" "Do you know where you are?" He had never been able to understand why most of humanity was so stupid. Stupid enough to ask "in-your-face" obvious questions. "Are you in too much pain?" Now that is something....is it possible to quantify pain? "I am in pain...there's enough pain for...well....there is more than I need at the moment, glad to pass it along." All along, the masochist in him defiant-screaming, smirking and almost enjoying the moment.

The anaesthesia. The dilemma was killing him. Anaesthesia seemed like an inviting and logical option, but he froze the moment he thought of a life without pain. Heck, might as well get one of those beastly lethal injections. The pain was the only anaesthetic...he could feel it settling in that slow way a chill sets in. It was a comfortable blanket, the one you can't do without when you are at home. Another rendezvous with consciousness. That little tryst with sanity.

And then the ever punctual alarm shrieked away....it was time for him to switch off and get past the day.

My rainy day out!!!

Bangalore monsoons are always fun. Of course, that is only if you don't mind being stuck in traffic for hours, are ready to hitchhike your way through half dug up roads or pay that odd autowala twice as much to reach a place... you get the picture, right?

I had the misfortune of being "stuck" in an auto rickshaw when the ring road (the one on the way to airport road, i can never quite remember if it is the "outer" or the "inner" ring road) was flooded--er...too strong a word? well, this is coming from someone who was stranded there for a just a couple of hours....so, do forgive the hyperbole. The road, under consideration, is easily one of Bangalore's nicest roads. It has always been a pleasure to travel by that road and, not surprisingly, it is one of the busiest.

People who are familiar with Bangalore will know that one straight road goes from Kormangala to Indiranagar. I was at the former, aiming to reach the latter to meet another "stranded" friend and thus my two precious hours were washed away. The thing about being alone and confined to a place is that it offers you plenty of time to notice things. And observe, I did.

It is interesting to observe different reactions to the same situation. There was my lot, people travelling alone in an auto staring haplessly at each other and most of them listening to music (iPod zindabad!), a few calling their friends and cribbing away, and fewer belonging to a peculiar breed--just staring aimlessly (read me). One common thing to all these characters...they had enough time to learn the art of strategically positioning themselves somewhere in the middle of the rickshaw so as not to get wet when the other vehicles generously splash water or when it is raining in every direction possible.

Then there were the two-wheeler guys (strictly unisex term, I hear PC is the "in" thing these days), some with pillions. These guys were just all over the place--on the divider, on the footpaths--absolutely anywhere they could maneuver their bikes. As an off-shoot, I also witnessed a very funny fall. This bright brain was riding his bike on the footpath and was encountered with a light post and our man, being the suave bike-handler, tried to go round it. What happened was half the bike got past the post and the other half refused. So, our man was forcibly brought to his knees but, in the last effort to salvage his pride, he put his right palm on the ground for support. {DISCLAIMER: You have to overlook the fact that this write-up is a little convoluted, but then so is the scene} This is the scene broken down meticulously to its every minute detail. But when it happened it was just "vroom-turn-screech-thud." Now, when a man who is half on his bike and half on the ground is looking at you by painfully propping his head up while supporting his whole weight on his right palm, he is obviously swarmed by sympathetic people. Once his safety is ensured, the sympathetic people also make sure they give him a piece of their mind, till he sheepishly decides to abandon the sidewalk and ride on the road again.

Then there were the car fellows. They have the least to complain about. They have a shelter and won't get physically wet when other vehicles splash water, and have music to amuse themselves. Just one glitch, too bad if you have lousy company.

The guys who enjoyed the rains most were the ones walking. When it rains like the way it did on Saturday night, you are smart enough to see the pointlessness of getting a shelter, if you happen to be walking. These guys just ran past all the vehicles, much to our dismay, ran right into puddles, managed to drag in uninterested fellow walkers and had a little party of their own.

Amidst all this, how can I forget the watchdogs of the society? Of course, the press was there. Photographers on medians trying to capture the pitiful scene and veer the eyes of the heartless government in letting one of our best roads flood the way it did. The usual.

There it is....an account of how those two hours, though frustrating, amused me thoroughly. Like a wise man once said, "In the middle of every difficulty lies opportunity," well, here's mine.

The odd alley

And off we go that path again.
That darned path.
Never figured where it began,
Will never figure where it ends.
Was the beginning always the end?

A life of rhetoric.
A swamp of questions.

The charm of uncertainties.
The gnawing realities.
The oh-so-restless spirit.

Ah! if not for the maps,
I should have been hopelessly lost.

Life has taken on an incredibly slow pace. Everything around seems to have reduced to a drawl. A D-R-A-W-L. After having been bombarded with constant action, desirable or otherwise, passivity feels like the first drops of hot water on frozen feet. Will it turn out to be a warm, comforting experience or yet another insipid one???
Time will tell.

It is so tiresome to constantly be in an uninspiring environment. A pity that one has to seek refuge in books or music to feel inspired in life. Reinvent yourself, did you say? That too, dear friend, needs some motivation. I'm bored of being self motivated and I'm bored of turning to the usual.

Damn, I need some....novelty. That's just it, I guess.

Shadow

It is fascinating,
the way you follow me all the time.
What is more curious,
is the rare times when i need you,
you are gone.

Vanish into thin air,
as The Bard would say.

I shield you from the scorching heat.
I guard you from the biting rain.
All you do is hide behind me-
you pathetic, selfish mirage.

You, my dear shadow,
are utterly and completely loathsome.

An Ode to Mr.Greene

For all the “reading” that I do, it is a pity that I had not attempted reading Greene earlier. I happened to be idly shopping for books, something of a pastime now, when an interesting title caught my eye.

“May we borrow your husband?” Err.......take a guess......

I was standing there wondering what the hell I would say to someone who asked me that. I did not miss the “we” either. Well, of course I bought the book. It turns out to be one of Greene’s travel writings. It is a cluster of isolated stories, his observations of people during his visit to Antibes. And curiously, most of the book deals with homosexuality. So, when the “we” borrowing the husband turned out to be two men, the book had my undivided attention. Not much of a plot, though, just a compilation of random incidents.

His style of writing is gripping. He calls the book a comedy. The humor, in my opinion, is very subtle and underplayed. There isn’t a quick repartee thrown in here and there. The tone is one of a simple conversation. All the same, he smoothly leads the readers into the layers of his characters, a difficult task to achieve, given the brevity of every story. By the end of each piece the reader is left with a little something of each story.

It was a welcome novelty, reading Graham Greene. At a time when we are bombarded with writers losing themselves in a web of words, a simple narrative is all it takes to hold one’s attention.

So, there it is, my little token to a very interesting writer. I sure know what to look out for on my next book-shopping excursion.

A refreshing breeze,
A sense of freedom-
Of getting rid of a clutch.
A rusty door,
Shut finally.
Or was it opened?

A reckless, unintimidated spirit
Out to cruise on the soaring waves.
A queer sensation creeping in-
The last I heard,
they called it happiness.

A tangy twist,
Being freed and caged, all it once.
Being courageous and timid, all at once.
And living life, all at once.

The last I heard, they called me mad.
Unleashing insanity, all at once.

She was trying it for the first time……being a spectator. It was interesting, to say the least. She witnessed the painstakingly, slow process. It spread its veins and rose, an ascent that took all that came its way. She had never realized how it had encompassed everything………..everything. After it had reached the peak, it branched out, spread like a wildfire. Now, it almost felt paradoxical. She smirked. It swallowed her, the wildfire. And it was there, in its core, that she had witnessed the death. At last. It was time to move on. And they say death is morbid.

a long, tiresome night........

Its 3 am in the morning and here i am, barely awake......trying to get past a ridiculous shift. Come to think of it, its not ridiculous at all....its actually a saviour.....i'm taking tomo (tomo being my next "working" day....i have lost track of current days, days yet to come and days gone by) off...that in return for the 15 hours that i put in today. A pretty fair deal, considering its that time of the year when i cannot afford to take a day off.

Anyway, i have always marvelled at how i get by with life everyday.........my work timings are bizzare and given that i'm NOT working for a BPO or the likes its rather tragic to try and explain what exactly i do. I am a journalist. People expect me to be "proud" of what i do.....not that i'm not...i wouldnt do it if i were not. But i'm not "proud" of it in the worldly sense of the word.
Not proud to assume the role of a saviour or a messiah of the needy, the "whistle-blower" or other stereotypes associated with the idea of journalism. That is not what i do. Conservative journalists would almost scorn at the kind of journalism i do. Each for his own, I guess.

Sometimes i wonder....what was it that drove me to choose this profession??? perhaps the same stereotypes that i now detest. That is something i have observed or rather noticed about myself.
it is somehow extremely hard to forgive someone with the same flaws as you. I find it almost impossible to see someone make the same mistakes that i made and fall prey to the same prejudices as i did. Guess somewhere it just reminds me of my mistakes and makes me realize that i've never forgiven myself, in the first place.

That apart (i have really got to stop digressing!), i started off writng something so i could stay awake....not a bad effort, i managed to be awake for about 45 minutes...which leaves me with a little over an hour to kill. That, i imagine i will be able to do......managed to gather up some food for thought.

more, when i have something inspiring to say...or so i hope.

Life-
Born with a gift.
Meant to be lived.
I choose not to live it,
To waste it away.

A sense of ownership.
An assumed one at that.
A belief that it is mine to waste, after all.

Weighed under the burden of that ownership
The burden of expectations, from the first wail.
Tuned to "operate"-
To "dream a dream"
To "live a life"
And beyond-

Beyond.....beyond the line,
Beyond the horizon.
Explore new avenues-
Or, "live" a restricted program.

A purpose to live life-
A craving to look beyond.
Shrouded in tumult,
I wake up to a distant, soothing voice.

Amidst the haze and noise, I ask myself,
Should I wait at the end of the road?
These crossroads, waiting for my nod.
Should I waste my energy on a futile call?
A call, a cry, a moan.......

Fading back to reality.
Reason replacing fantasy.
Urging me not to ask these questions.
Questions, that I know will never be answered.
Answers, I know I will never get.

A folly that shall not be regretted.
A fond idea that shall not be forgotten.

Time to bid you adieu, my friend.