One look at all those stern, disapproving eyes and he froze,gripped by panic. He felt a chunk of coal burning in his pocket one after another. Drops of sweat tricked down his forehead like beads of a necklace pulled out effortlessly. He was drenched in the conscience of his own crime. But it was too late. Very soon, the jaws of justice would wither him into the abyss of absence.
Anticipating death is hugely different from looking it in the eye. Kazoo realized it today. Wasn’t it so much better to have been shot by the black commandos, having left no time for guilt to back-fire? He had known the answer. The visuals of the ravaged building, which had dodged him for long, were being played repeatedly now. A terrorist has somewhat began to feel the terror…
Showing posts with label impulses. Show all posts
Showing posts with label impulses. Show all posts
Aug 12, 2009
Aug 11, 2009
my first week in ACJ
He greeted me through a pair of rusty eyes, with the panache of a seasoned steward. He was warm but hardly affectionate. Without wasting time on the conventional introductions, he frisked towards the college building. Meanwhile I poked him with a set of questions on how he found the place, are people rude to him, how nasty are the professors. He remained skillfully silent. As we passed a faintly resembling eatery, I asked him if he had adjusted to the food. He looked back and barked.
He is Cuckoo, the college-residential dog who is now a great pal or do I say the only great pal I have. We became friends whining about our daily dining. He told me he looked garishly suave four-months ago when he absconded from his place of birth. To me, he looked multiple shades darker than the dogs I had been with in Delhi. He was severely lanky for his age and breed. He told me he had lost 7 kg’s since then. i obviously believed him.
Like me, he was petrified of intellectual dogs. And here we found them in abundance, in all shapes and sizes, and fairly uniform colour. Establishing a classroom outside their own, under a lone standing tree. Thankfully, there is only one tree. They talked about the artillery of Che Guevera while we raved about the culinary of colonel Sandlers. They lamented about global pricing of crude oil, we hoped for an increase in the price of coconut oil (we bathed in).
I was more unfortunate than cuckoo when it came to suffering. Dogs were not allowed inside the hostel. Or should I say canine of the IQ equivalent to Cuckoo's. Rules were laid, highly atypical of what one associates with hostel. “kindly flush the pot after excreting” “ensure that buckets are filled with water at all times”, my roomates . People quarreled over the colour of mugs, for it had to match that of the bucket. This fixation with sanitary was to do with the lack of it. We faced water-shortage on the second day and therefore refrained from throwing spitballs at each other.
To prevent extinction of my wits, i entertained my roomies in a funny tamil accent I had unknowingly acquired. aiyaaaoh! free Kandaswamy ringtones by Vodafone to north-indians had a modest role to play. When I din’t sing I sulked. The kitty-parties had mushroomed at every corner and corner on the three floors. Competing against each other at the top of their voices. Fashion sense was critically reviewed by our in-house journalists. Language was improved through flowery-swearing. And dare you call them page three journalists!
I read out Saki to Cuckoo for he felt increasingly lonely amid a class of non-relatable people. He liked it because he could now initiate a conversation with professors out here. The ones who can never run out of time and sarcasm. For feedback, a recorded ‘big-laugh’ SFX would do the job well.
Classrooms compensated for our rickety hostel beds, but that was realized only after a week. This draws me to an end which happens to be the dawn of a fresh range of experiences. Cuckoo, hopefully, would have matured by then.
He is Cuckoo, the college-residential dog who is now a great pal or do I say the only great pal I have. We became friends whining about our daily dining. He told me he looked garishly suave four-months ago when he absconded from his place of birth. To me, he looked multiple shades darker than the dogs I had been with in Delhi. He was severely lanky for his age and breed. He told me he had lost 7 kg’s since then. i obviously believed him.
Like me, he was petrified of intellectual dogs. And here we found them in abundance, in all shapes and sizes, and fairly uniform colour. Establishing a classroom outside their own, under a lone standing tree. Thankfully, there is only one tree. They talked about the artillery of Che Guevera while we raved about the culinary of colonel Sandlers. They lamented about global pricing of crude oil, we hoped for an increase in the price of coconut oil (we bathed in).
I was more unfortunate than cuckoo when it came to suffering. Dogs were not allowed inside the hostel. Or should I say canine of the IQ equivalent to Cuckoo's. Rules were laid, highly atypical of what one associates with hostel. “kindly flush the pot after excreting” “ensure that buckets are filled with water at all times”, my roomates . People quarreled over the colour of mugs, for it had to match that of the bucket. This fixation with sanitary was to do with the lack of it. We faced water-shortage on the second day and therefore refrained from throwing spitballs at each other.
To prevent extinction of my wits, i entertained my roomies in a funny tamil accent I had unknowingly acquired. aiyaaaoh! free Kandaswamy ringtones by Vodafone to north-indians had a modest role to play. When I din’t sing I sulked. The kitty-parties had mushroomed at every corner and corner on the three floors. Competing against each other at the top of their voices. Fashion sense was critically reviewed by our in-house journalists. Language was improved through flowery-swearing. And dare you call them page three journalists!
I read out Saki to Cuckoo for he felt increasingly lonely amid a class of non-relatable people. He liked it because he could now initiate a conversation with professors out here. The ones who can never run out of time and sarcasm. For feedback, a recorded ‘big-laugh’ SFX would do the job well.
Classrooms compensated for our rickety hostel beds, but that was realized only after a week. This draws me to an end which happens to be the dawn of a fresh range of experiences. Cuckoo, hopefully, would have matured by then.
Jul 18, 2009
Jul 17, 2009
i do
like a lichen grows
on alabaster's skin
growing, decaying,
alternatively
i thrive on moments,
these days
loving, hating,
most dispassionately
on alabaster's skin
growing, decaying,
alternatively
i thrive on moments,
these days
loving, hating,
most dispassionately
Jul 7, 2009
deeparture part 2
The voice of my heart reverberates through the four walls of my mind. sensations amass an enormous chunk of control and equilibrium. clocks are held are as objects of importance while days are being stalked like never before.
'belongings', 'attachments', 'longing' give way to 'anticipation', 'wait'and 'future', looking handsome in their new attire. It's quite a thing to see the whole present-future transition with eyes wide open while all you do is stand in quiet contemplation
'belongings', 'attachments', 'longing' give way to 'anticipation', 'wait'and 'future', looking handsome in their new attire. It's quite a thing to see the whole present-future transition with eyes wide open while all you do is stand in quiet contemplation
Jul 2, 2009
what is the colour of your mind?
yellow,
a pale, faded one.
The one that usually blinds your eye, in it's customary radiance. celebrating despair in a bright lit room. Today i see dollops of yellow in my well-bred grey universe.
An expression of nothingness, yellow stands for a mellowed invoice of the non-conformist.
a pale, faded one.
The one that usually blinds your eye, in it's customary radiance. celebrating despair in a bright lit room. Today i see dollops of yellow in my well-bred grey universe.
An expression of nothingness, yellow stands for a mellowed invoice of the non-conformist.
Jun 22, 2009
tripping on exams
i didn't click a single picture of the two-cities, i trotted in a span of 12 days. because i could see the visuals threatening the independence of my mind. I abstained from the purchase of memorabilia to be carried in the mammoth-sized luggage i was bagging. i instead chose to mutilate the frame and present some factual-made like fiction frescos below:
1. gender equality is best practiced in mumbai(i was the body guard to my 'modestly' good-looking cousin. This when my length of shorts was shorter than his at any given point of time.)
2.babies should never travel by air, because parents are lame at their attempt of psyching them with the "i'll throw you out of the window" threats.
3.you can never lose your way in the locals, because chances are that one out of the hundred heads will be sensible
4.the new entry to juhu beach will leave you at a remarkably dim-lit, thinly occupied place to have some good time.( i assume at this point of time no filth will match your dirty acts at 12 am there)
5.clouds are not making babies, i testified it in the plane(and so it didn't rain in the entire stay)
6."tamil teeliyam"(i cant speak tamil/shutup), is the golden word to be repeated the moment a black opens his zip.(you shouldn't think pervert coz they were dhotis and not jeans)
7.do not buy a power-vodka, no matter how much you feel like boozing,(contact my roommates for further details)
8.kanzivaram sarees clad with bata chappals is the look for the season(hurry limited stocks, order now)
9. pudhe station -bay of bombay( next station was always abhay. in his bland taste of life, he spiced up my entire trip)
10, oh, it reminds me. i have a cure for maggi mishap under the patent name of me and abhay(how to cook your maggi in the absence of a tastemaker)
11.the amount of sweat released in one hour of dancing equals to spending one minute in mumbai. and hence i missed dancing
12. collaba causeway is a must-visit. it boasts of some egypt style restaurant under a hardcore indian name 'bade-miyan' and shops which are too true to be fake. (for instance you will find under colours of benetton-a brightly lit up store standing proudly next to the United colors of Benetton.
13. a rare sight of beautiful people can be grabbed at theobroma's. it's because they are all tourists.
14.back home, i received the best welcome of my life. my pet came running down the stairs and refused to back off for the entire day
15. i am willing to take exams all my life, if they promise such a trip everytime.
1. gender equality is best practiced in mumbai(i was the body guard to my 'modestly' good-looking cousin. This when my length of shorts was shorter than his at any given point of time.)
2.babies should never travel by air, because parents are lame at their attempt of psyching them with the "i'll throw you out of the window" threats.
3.you can never lose your way in the locals, because chances are that one out of the hundred heads will be sensible
4.the new entry to juhu beach will leave you at a remarkably dim-lit, thinly occupied place to have some good time.( i assume at this point of time no filth will match your dirty acts at 12 am there)
5.clouds are not making babies, i testified it in the plane(and so it didn't rain in the entire stay)
6."tamil teeliyam"(i cant speak tamil/shutup), is the golden word to be repeated the moment a black opens his zip.(you shouldn't think pervert coz they were dhotis and not jeans)
7.do not buy a power-vodka, no matter how much you feel like boozing,(contact my roommates for further details)
8.kanzivaram sarees clad with bata chappals is the look for the season(hurry limited stocks, order now)
9. pudhe station -bay of bombay( next station was always abhay. in his bland taste of life, he spiced up my entire trip)
10, oh, it reminds me. i have a cure for maggi mishap under the patent name of me and abhay(how to cook your maggi in the absence of a tastemaker)
11.the amount of sweat released in one hour of dancing equals to spending one minute in mumbai. and hence i missed dancing
12. collaba causeway is a must-visit. it boasts of some egypt style restaurant under a hardcore indian name 'bade-miyan' and shops which are too true to be fake. (for instance you will find under colours of benetton-a brightly lit up store standing proudly next to the United colors of Benetton.
13. a rare sight of beautiful people can be grabbed at theobroma's. it's because they are all tourists.
14.back home, i received the best welcome of my life. my pet came running down the stairs and refused to back off for the entire day
15. i am willing to take exams all my life, if they promise such a trip everytime.
Jun 8, 2009
at the end of the day
The stillness of night brings immense fulfillment to my locomotive thoughts(and limbs these days). This particular hour draws the final curtain that leaves my bones bare, before a nascent flight to dreams.
some days i read
some days i watch
while mostly i think
The sharks and frills(of the day) don't bother me much, as i proceed towards an end. A happy or deviant from it. Over time i can coherently say, that this form of end encapsulates both hope and aspiration in the most subtle form. Gradually releasing all the pent-up emotions, in it's no- stain(of that stinking memory),no-dirt claim.
some days it's enchanting
some days it's bitter
while mostly it's soothing.
some days i read
some days i watch
while mostly i think
The sharks and frills(of the day) don't bother me much, as i proceed towards an end. A happy or deviant from it. Over time i can coherently say, that this form of end encapsulates both hope and aspiration in the most subtle form. Gradually releasing all the pent-up emotions, in it's no- stain(of that stinking memory),no-dirt claim.
some days it's enchanting
some days it's bitter
while mostly it's soothing.
Jun 2, 2009
strange new melodies seem to strum the unfamiliar territories of my mind today. anticipation, anxiety or accretion? i hold divided views on that. stranded at the end of the tunnel i gait backwards to redeem a fresh daisy hope. Traveling backwards can take you places. and i am curiously waiting for this phenomena to jolt my neutrons.
On a rolling stone, i experience rampant doldrums beyond the scope of generic perplexities of human mind. Like a final thwart prior to that much sought equilibrium. It will either destroy all or flourish the prospects of an inner societal peace.
CALM.
one two three
CALM.
On a rolling stone, i experience rampant doldrums beyond the scope of generic perplexities of human mind. Like a final thwart prior to that much sought equilibrium. It will either destroy all or flourish the prospects of an inner societal peace.
CALM.
one two three
CALM.
May 31, 2009
The musk of rain-moist earth hypnotizes my senses, in concurrence to floyd's crooning in the backdrop. "And aaaai, i become comfortably numb". i am almost static in my being save my mind which is catapulting in a flock of incoherent thoughts.
For some reason i can breathe life, even through a key hole today. While the aching belly is struggling hard to dampen my hydraulic muse. it seems it's going to be a long night, perhaps pleasantly long.
For some reason i can breathe life, even through a key hole today. While the aching belly is struggling hard to dampen my hydraulic muse. it seems it's going to be a long night, perhaps pleasantly long.
Apr 18, 2009
i preserve
do you read my silence?
because these days i only converse with me.
it's a chauvinistic thought, but i can relate with only a handful of you, partly because of my obliterated progression(i only grow diagonally these days). Like a buzzing sound in my ear at the night-time, which has no apparent reason to occur.and majorly because of my heightened sense of selectivity in choosing thoughts to construct words.
mediocrity irks me,and society thrives on 'commonness' which transverses into gang rape of individuality.
My mind is not well-stimulated to make an initiative to talk to you. my growing disinterest in life is because of lack of a suitable muse.
where have all the daisies gone?
or a burning blue sky
a quivering hand to hold
at the sea-side.
i reach out to find you
in my altered state of appearance
they call 'invisibility'
and i call it sub- conscious being
My plight is that of an unheard cuckoo, trying to wake up humanity through it's meticulous monologue. Over time I'm losing faith in communication, because the essence of it lies in the fact that the sender and the receiver lie on the same line. the line of thought.
i redeem myself everyday from the clutches of mankind, so grossly proper in their ways and manner.
so here i leap into my zone of nothingness, with a hope of construction and a voice to express
i preserve.
a song which attempts to describe my state:
all around me are familiar faces
worn out places
worn out faces
bright and early for the daily races
going no where
going no where
their tears are filling up their glasses
no expression
no expression
hide my head i wanna drown my sorrow
no tomorrow
no tomorrow
and i find i kind of funny
i find it kind of sad
the dreams in which i'm dying are the best i've ever had
i find it hard to tell you
i find it hard to take
when people run in circles its a very very
mad world
mad world
children waiting for the day they feel good
happy birthday
happy birthday
and i feel the way that every child should
sit and listen
sit and listen
went to school and i was very nervous
no one knew me
no one new me
hello teacher tell me what's my lesson
look right through me
look right through me
and i find i kind of funny
i find it kind of sad
the dreams in which i'm dying are the best i've ever had
i find it hard to tell you
i find it hard to take
when people run in circles its a very very
mad world
mad world
enlarging your world
mad world
because these days i only converse with me.
it's a chauvinistic thought, but i can relate with only a handful of you, partly because of my obliterated progression(i only grow diagonally these days). Like a buzzing sound in my ear at the night-time, which has no apparent reason to occur.and majorly because of my heightened sense of selectivity in choosing thoughts to construct words.
mediocrity irks me,and society thrives on 'commonness' which transverses into gang rape of individuality.
My mind is not well-stimulated to make an initiative to talk to you. my growing disinterest in life is because of lack of a suitable muse.
where have all the daisies gone?
or a burning blue sky
a quivering hand to hold
at the sea-side.
i reach out to find you
in my altered state of appearance
they call 'invisibility'
and i call it sub- conscious being
My plight is that of an unheard cuckoo, trying to wake up humanity through it's meticulous monologue. Over time I'm losing faith in communication, because the essence of it lies in the fact that the sender and the receiver lie on the same line. the line of thought.
i redeem myself everyday from the clutches of mankind, so grossly proper in their ways and manner.
so here i leap into my zone of nothingness, with a hope of construction and a voice to express
i preserve.
a song which attempts to describe my state:
all around me are familiar faces
worn out places
worn out faces
bright and early for the daily races
going no where
going no where
their tears are filling up their glasses
no expression
no expression
hide my head i wanna drown my sorrow
no tomorrow
no tomorrow
and i find i kind of funny
i find it kind of sad
the dreams in which i'm dying are the best i've ever had
i find it hard to tell you
i find it hard to take
when people run in circles its a very very
mad world
mad world
children waiting for the day they feel good
happy birthday
happy birthday
and i feel the way that every child should
sit and listen
sit and listen
went to school and i was very nervous
no one knew me
no one new me
hello teacher tell me what's my lesson
look right through me
look right through me
and i find i kind of funny
i find it kind of sad
the dreams in which i'm dying are the best i've ever had
i find it hard to tell you
i find it hard to take
when people run in circles its a very very
mad world
mad world
enlarging your world
mad world
Mar 21, 2009
Feb 12, 2009
The rhyme and reason behind poetry
Words become fodder to a conscious man, fanning his existence in a myriad abysmal of language. If writing poetry is riding on snow, reading it is like floating in the labyrinth waters. And you emerge enormously quenched every time.
For all this while, I have considered poetry to be a gifted ventilation to pent-up emotions but only now i bring myself to believe, that it is a vagina of emotions. Inserting words, pushing words, producing life, through the lubrication of massive reading. Eventually experiencing motherhood, in your upbringing of verse.
Words sown by Yeats and Shelly blossom into embellishments of this other-worldly craft. Reading poetry is both reassuring and reconfirming to the rites of your expanding mind, as it's effect is purely psychosomatic.
It is mystical how a coat or a cat play the protagonist to a breath-taking piece of art, where poetry does it with utmost ease and matching eloquence.
What compels me to read poetry is it's mind-expanding, neural-healing capabilities. A poets takes you on a voyage of muse, culturally rich and historically enlightening. You scale the landscape of timeless beauty, vouching for unsung celebrities of life. It's when clouds become more deary than your folks. Not only you understand the genesis of nature, but also feel it's spiritual association, steering you to the state of divine ecstasy.
With every inkling you develop a faithful bond with your thoughts, revisiting them year after another. Just like a painting, poetry strokes the unbaked slices of your calibre, canvassing a picture of your inner-self. Both vivid and gleaming.
The nature of the medium is such that it allows you to be vocal and reluctant at the same time. Just when you digress in to the galaxy of metaphors, a comma lands you to the earthy finishing. Thankfully, there are no rules or covenants to compose poetry. It's freedom is captivated in your head.
A worthy aspect of poetry is its remarkable sing- a -song fluidity. Like a rivulet it flows across all shapes and forms.
Poetry by all means is an elixir to sky-high imagination and a catapult to massive soul-search or as Byron puts it:
"I can never get people to understand that poetry is the expression of excited passion, and that there is no such thing as a life of passion any more than a continuous earthquake, or an eternal fever. Besides, who would ever shave themselves in such a state?"
For all this while, I have considered poetry to be a gifted ventilation to pent-up emotions but only now i bring myself to believe, that it is a vagina of emotions. Inserting words, pushing words, producing life, through the lubrication of massive reading. Eventually experiencing motherhood, in your upbringing of verse.
Words sown by Yeats and Shelly blossom into embellishments of this other-worldly craft. Reading poetry is both reassuring and reconfirming to the rites of your expanding mind, as it's effect is purely psychosomatic.
It is mystical how a coat or a cat play the protagonist to a breath-taking piece of art, where poetry does it with utmost ease and matching eloquence.
What compels me to read poetry is it's mind-expanding, neural-healing capabilities. A poets takes you on a voyage of muse, culturally rich and historically enlightening. You scale the landscape of timeless beauty, vouching for unsung celebrities of life. It's when clouds become more deary than your folks. Not only you understand the genesis of nature, but also feel it's spiritual association, steering you to the state of divine ecstasy.
With every inkling you develop a faithful bond with your thoughts, revisiting them year after another. Just like a painting, poetry strokes the unbaked slices of your calibre, canvassing a picture of your inner-self. Both vivid and gleaming.
The nature of the medium is such that it allows you to be vocal and reluctant at the same time. Just when you digress in to the galaxy of metaphors, a comma lands you to the earthy finishing. Thankfully, there are no rules or covenants to compose poetry. It's freedom is captivated in your head.
A worthy aspect of poetry is its remarkable sing- a -song fluidity. Like a rivulet it flows across all shapes and forms.
Poetry by all means is an elixir to sky-high imagination and a catapult to massive soul-search or as Byron puts it:
"I can never get people to understand that poetry is the expression of excited passion, and that there is no such thing as a life of passion any more than a continuous earthquake, or an eternal fever. Besides, who would ever shave themselves in such a state?"
Jan 27, 2009
dare be the truth
ballads are often misunderstood as songs,
lake is often confused with a river
heat is dangerously described as warmth
and reality is repetitively lived as dreams
and one fine day myths are broken, only to elevate to you to a greater realm of truth~
Truth embraces you in it's monotone, where misconceptions are befriended only to be stabbed later. At first it grips you in an endermic pain, for the grief of ' living in misconceptions' is hard to part. But once you're through, truth surprises you by its sheer power. It's when ballad, lake, heat make far more sense as dreams seen with open eyes, than a long cherished fantasy.
Truth is all pervasive, for it sets no standards of good or bad. All it demands is willingness to accept and the valour to confront it. No wonder, dreams of gold is weighed down by pocketful of neighbourhood sand.
Truth is a miraculous healer, it leaves no room for a temptatious escapade. It brings in confirming clarity to steer on unsteady paths. Truth is reassuring, it brings no false promises.
Nomatter how hard it might be, truth is the only way to sail through hardships.
Truth won't conquer, it already is a winner.
lake is often confused with a river
heat is dangerously described as warmth
and reality is repetitively lived as dreams
and one fine day myths are broken, only to elevate to you to a greater realm of truth~
Truth embraces you in it's monotone, where misconceptions are befriended only to be stabbed later. At first it grips you in an endermic pain, for the grief of ' living in misconceptions' is hard to part. But once you're through, truth surprises you by its sheer power. It's when ballad, lake, heat make far more sense as dreams seen with open eyes, than a long cherished fantasy.
Truth is all pervasive, for it sets no standards of good or bad. All it demands is willingness to accept and the valour to confront it. No wonder, dreams of gold is weighed down by pocketful of neighbourhood sand.
Truth is a miraculous healer, it leaves no room for a temptatious escapade. It brings in confirming clarity to steer on unsteady paths. Truth is reassuring, it brings no false promises.
Nomatter how hard it might be, truth is the only way to sail through hardships.
Truth won't conquer, it already is a winner.
Jan 17, 2009
i see myself,
getting dissolved in time,
being churned in its uncertainity
at the same time,
pretending to revel in its brevity
through a looking glass,
time is all i have
an endowment unearned,
zoomed to the joy
of seeing another day
it's all and nothing
bred in realms of reality
making space for both
hope and lament
as the seconds trickle by
it eludes me,
the more i offer myself to chase
and refutes this,
when i cease to acknowledge
it's silent passing by
is it the cure to the wound?
or the wound itself
as i realise-it's not about the amount time in life
but
the amount of life in the time.
getting dissolved in time,
being churned in its uncertainity
at the same time,
pretending to revel in its brevity
through a looking glass,
time is all i have
an endowment unearned,
zoomed to the joy
of seeing another day
it's all and nothing
bred in realms of reality
making space for both
hope and lament
as the seconds trickle by
it eludes me,
the more i offer myself to chase
and refutes this,
when i cease to acknowledge
it's silent passing by
is it the cure to the wound?
or the wound itself
as i realise-it's not about the amount time in life
but
the amount of life in the time.
Jan 15, 2009
fear is,
waking up at the middle of night, walking past her in a tip-toed manner. Deluding the sounds emanated from the nocturnal crawlies. The fact that the disguise of a musketeer will fade any moment under the discoloured skin of darkness, hearing her groan in the backdrop.
She will be calm as a falling leave, surrendering herself to her bemusing fate and i will be the giant spectator feeling tiny as the house rodent. My world will topple and shatter mercilessly on my toes. 'What could have gone wrong?', 'i took all the measures', 'i love her the most'
i weep,
i weep more,
until i feel my wet face buried under the pillow, as the alarm clatters violently
waking up at the middle of night, walking past her in a tip-toed manner. Deluding the sounds emanated from the nocturnal crawlies. The fact that the disguise of a musketeer will fade any moment under the discoloured skin of darkness, hearing her groan in the backdrop.
She will be calm as a falling leave, surrendering herself to her bemusing fate and i will be the giant spectator feeling tiny as the house rodent. My world will topple and shatter mercilessly on my toes. 'What could have gone wrong?', 'i took all the measures', 'i love her the most'
i weep,
i weep more,
until i feel my wet face buried under the pillow, as the alarm clatters violently
Dec 26, 2008
the story
i have experienced the state, when i'm not comfortable in being numb. Despite of a splitting headache gruelling my enormous nerves. It's like looking up the sky and finding it immensely cryptic, when clouds seem familiar and strangers at the same time.
There is no respite because there exists no problem. There is no pain, for there is no hope. This all engulfing feeling is 'nothing' and nothing is surely pervasive today. Meanwhile jaded hands try to sync with coldplay, crooning lonely in the backdrop of a frameless mind.
Wish i could explain the point from which things appear blurred. Like a deviant shadow, difficult to discard, and dangerous to keep. The truth is i demand a lot and never give up.
This is where the story ends or begins perhaps.
There is no respite because there exists no problem. There is no pain, for there is no hope. This all engulfing feeling is 'nothing' and nothing is surely pervasive today. Meanwhile jaded hands try to sync with coldplay, crooning lonely in the backdrop of a frameless mind.
Wish i could explain the point from which things appear blurred. Like a deviant shadow, difficult to discard, and dangerous to keep. The truth is i demand a lot and never give up.
This is where the story ends or begins perhaps.
Dec 24, 2008
oh jesus!
The town is painted red, i see stars all over the place. In the crowded mall, at the coffeebar. a tiny one on the tea stall and mostly over my head. i see humungus stars, like the galaxy hovering on tin-tin and calvin. They get me dizzy, indicative of an apparent sickness. The christmas sickness.
Amid the gala of black santa at office(black is the new white, as said by obama), i made a few observations, worthy of the space here.
1> Christmas is a polite way of spreading greed. Like an epidemic, greed envelops everybody, from the sweet old baker to a barely talking two-year olds. Going by the indian definition of gift, in the times of recession, christmas will become the fastest route to bankruptcy.
2> Many of the christmas rituals were celebrated before Christ was born. Therefore it's easy to guess the amount of truth behind the cause of celebrating christmas as the 'birth of christ'. Acoording to historians, Romans declared 25th December to celebrate Saturnia-a festival of merriment. Whereas christmas was invented to compete the pagan festival on the same date. So christmas marked the birth of resentment, more than anything else.
(look how resentment is celebrated now)
3>How many people celebrating Christmas know even the c of Christ? The ones who know, seem to remember everything but the religious aspect of it. Most of us remember it for exotic plum cakes or the flamboyant rum and turkey delight. Applying the same logic of Diwali reduced to a day of free lunches complimentary with presents.
(MERRYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!chrismas).
on the rosy side,
Christmas brings in gaiety and merriment to a lot of people. A lot of fat people get to make big dough in the disguise of the big donor, where kilograms are weighed in currency.
(The more the merry)
Nov 30, 2008
ravaged part II
Post the havoc caused by in humans in Mumbai, I admit of being shaken to the extent of falling to words, in an attempt to vent out. I wouldn't sound typical by blaming the authorities, which anyway has become the latest national anthem. I wouldn't tell tales of brutality, the men in the sheath of religion have concurred. For, I candidly claim of having touched by the relentless odour of terrorism.
I like many more individuals was unshamedly unaware of the terrorist attacks, until it became talk of the office and country at large. I saw people who had never, not even accidentally had stopped at a news channel, staying glued to 24*7 news ,all night in enormous grit. I however overlooked and underestimated the scenic appalling at my own TV set until I seered into the eyes, which had pain beyond explanation.
There were arms, and there were corpses, both competing against each in number and size. There was silence and shrieks both muting the loudest of crowds. It was not terror against man, it was history re-lived, cropped from incidents like The jaliawallah and likes. The gun shots turned everything to stand still, including an inkling to live. As heard from the survivors themselves.
Here are some facts which pondered me to write an incident i was waken to~
1. The fisherman Union claims of having complained to the naval authorities about the enormous RDX loading on the sea post.
2. Intelligence had informed officials, including chief minister and home minister about a terror attack in Mumbai On November11 through a satellite phone reading.
3.The NSG forces took more than four hours to get into action after having being informed of the terrorist captive, where by then the death toll had already surmounted in the hotel firing.
4. talking of unity, after the attacks, it was interesting to know that our leaders, did i say (Leader of the Opposition) L.K. Advani and the PM travelled to Mumbai on separate aeroplanes.
5.operation 'water rat'-an expose conducted by CNN-IBN to estimate security measures at our coast revealed the area is in a state of utter regress. There was absolutely no security post, which should have otherwise been strict and vigilant.
and lastly:
The pigeons outside the Gateway of India opposite to once a massive Taj, have stories of horror to tell. They not only witnessed acts of brutality, but have sobered to the extent of laying numb in there. According to the locals, the birds haven't moved an inch after the bullet exchange in the past three days. They lay immobile, engrossed in humanity perhaps.
( I pray for their well-being too!)
I like many more individuals was unshamedly unaware of the terrorist attacks, until it became talk of the office and country at large. I saw people who had never, not even accidentally had stopped at a news channel, staying glued to 24*7 news ,all night in enormous grit. I however overlooked and underestimated the scenic appalling at my own TV set until I seered into the eyes, which had pain beyond explanation.
There were arms, and there were corpses, both competing against each in number and size. There was silence and shrieks both muting the loudest of crowds. It was not terror against man, it was history re-lived, cropped from incidents like The jaliawallah and likes. The gun shots turned everything to stand still, including an inkling to live. As heard from the survivors themselves.
Here are some facts which pondered me to write an incident i was waken to~
1. The fisherman Union claims of having complained to the naval authorities about the enormous RDX loading on the sea post.
2. Intelligence had informed officials, including chief minister and home minister about a terror attack in Mumbai On November11 through a satellite phone reading.
3.The NSG forces took more than four hours to get into action after having being informed of the terrorist captive, where by then the death toll had already surmounted in the hotel firing.
4. talking of unity, after the attacks, it was interesting to know that our leaders, did i say (Leader of the Opposition) L.K. Advani and the PM travelled to Mumbai on separate aeroplanes.
5.operation 'water rat'-an expose conducted by CNN-IBN to estimate security measures at our coast revealed the area is in a state of utter regress. There was absolutely no security post, which should have otherwise been strict and vigilant.
and lastly:
The pigeons outside the Gateway of India opposite to once a massive Taj, have stories of horror to tell. They not only witnessed acts of brutality, but have sobered to the extent of laying numb in there. According to the locals, the birds haven't moved an inch after the bullet exchange in the past three days. They lay immobile, engrossed in humanity perhaps.
( I pray for their well-being too!)
Nov 29, 2008
ravaged
in the skelet of
humanity
pinned another
wretch
corpses bleed, in the bruise of somebody
else
thunders,
applauds
and inconsolable sighs
emanated
from a fire destroying self constructed
homes
to the bearing, it was much more indeed
to the bullets, it was a sky beneath
and to the spectators, a show of higher curiosity
big, bang boom, "mom diwali arrived pretty early, too soon".
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