Budday wala blog!

I still recall the day rather distinctly. 'Twas one of those treacherous rainy days, where the clouds threaten war all day, but basically jus make dirty, grey love all over the skies. This was the backdrop to my first formal debate, a routine house selection at that. And yet, just being there- one of the youngest in the group, the freshly minted 8^th grader – had me nearly giddy in joy and anticipation. The topic was supposed to be on the spot, making it seem more real than it probably was. And lo behold, to cake all the lofty stuff my brain had baked, the topic was “Isn’t a b’day just another day?” 

My slightly startled thoughts began reconvening, kids after a mock drill, slightly unsure of what jus happened. And then it happened. Like that one moment when after the lightening, how everything’s clear, i saw it. The people, their views, their stances (i was one of the later speakers) nearly the entire world made sense to me!

Now you might wonder what does it have anything with me taking my tiny place in the world’s cogs? Oh, but it does.

For, that debate was as much a revelation to me, as it was to those who heard. My teacher found her new bakra (Suryavathi ma’am, who’ll always be one of the nicest teachers i’ve known...and not jus for reading through my scrawls) , but what i found was bigger. 

I found out how other people had coherent, beautiful views too *i’ve never been really modest, and always a bit nutsy, so that actually was a new thing for me* and that even in strife, how a lot of those can make sense, more so at times. I discovered the sheer joy of sparring with words, and how much of sway can they hold on me. But most importantly discovered contrary things and duelling views in myself. In a way that no other circumstances could ever produce. The joy of speaking, the thrill of rebuttal, among all these i found a completely different me. 

Finally, getting to the point, i discovered my true stance on the topic, only because i heard, both the voices, and the adrenaline in my ears. i discovered i in fact found b’days to be wholly and completely ordinary, with no distinguishing feature to justify the hoopla. I say discover, because these were simple, naive times, when a debate truly meant a sincere attempt at reconciling two opposed ideologies. To bridge an intellectual chasm with carefully chosen words. And actually having the power to convert those stances too. When it actually was possible for you to concede a point only because you found it to ring true. A time when a debate was not a trophy.

Yes, i then REALIZED, as i deliberated over the issue, an honest intellect diligently looking for answers everywhere, that i really found the entire b’day hype slightly uncalled for. Which was rather disturbing as another adamant voice hollered “Cakes are GOOD!”,generating quite a ripple through a concept as sacred as the b’day party. In the fashion of someone very young, i went ahead and presented nearly exactly what i felt, earning my fair share of funny looks. But debates then held a sacrosanct covenant of sticking to what you feel, not what the motion read.

Which brings me here, a wholly neglected space on the eve of my 20^th revolution around the sun. i might be smarter than to believe it actually was the sun going around me now, but i distinctly feel as daft as a mongrel at a pedigree cup. In short, like i felt at 4 whilst feeding cashews to strays, since the biscuits ran out. Senselessly, obscenely happy, gleefully unaware and mostly out to wreak havoc with all sortsa order and propriety. Balls, are a few ticktocks here and there gonna leave me wiser, nicer or remotely ameliorated. And, yet like that shadow right past the corner of your eyes, a certain dread seizes parts of my gallivanting brain. The dread of having played about way past playtime. Hence you find me here, gathering forces, thoughts and insanity. And allies perhaps.

Because 20, is just another number. And i’m jus an avaricious, sinsome mortal who just now found the taxi of time left its meter running. And that my wallet parted ways at the last intersection.

Because 20, is jus another number.

Jus a number.

*Mumber-wumbers.* *and hits the sack like a 2 year old who’s had enough fun for the day. *

Ps the author has been so spent the past 3 days, he was actually rather annoyed that his roomie wouldn’t answer the infernal knocking on his door at 7 ungodly AM...only to be greeted by him, AT the door...yes. I’ve now also locked out my roomie. In addition to myself. in the same business day. So i hope the minor indulgence of predating this post a tad isn’t frowned on too much.

Pps in light of the fact i’ll be in the UNFCCC at VITMUN, no longer are any papers harmed in the making of this blog.True, good straight to Blogger shooting.

BlehBlingBaton visits The Wetland

"Bleh baton visits the wetland.Authorities People go gaga.Trolls remain unimpressed."

So we’re hosting the CWG 2010.Bah.I still get neither tickets,nor offs so i will be a humbug.

Call me a Neanderthal,but the primeval pull of fire is somthing i’m yet to lose.I mean i’ve lost some eyebrows to it kinda yet to lose.The sheer joy and bliss-leave aside the simple warm sense of being safe from a mean,evil pterodactyl eat pterodactyl world- even a small fire* provides is something burned fingers can never count.

Which is why i sulk.If it can’t light my hair,the hell its gonna fire my imagination.Which somehow people are wont to believe works best with a blinged out throwing stick.Really? Spread a message.Spread some warmth.Spread the Watterson Miracle :)

* For those deprived of  a glorious fireplace -as me- a small fire is one enough to roast a small pig.Or make smores.To your taste

Prologue

23/05/2010

He was early. If ever there was an omen, this was it. The yellow and black had been smart to set his fares high and chatter low. The fool bumbled his way through the broken street lamps and cracking tongues, nearly losing his way and soul to a nameless face pointing him to a headless chase. The City, was like a hangover. The pain intensifying outward, throbbing at the periphery, jangled as it hit the ironically named temple. His hand still grudgingly reached for the extra greenback over and above what The Oracle had mentioned. Silence was not a luxury all men would afford. A small price, he reasoned.

He could feel  it, in his feet, beneath his skin, pulsing. The sensual, inexplicable pull The City exerted. Like that one last kiss, the flickering candle to the burning moth. Like the worst of hangovers, it produced its own alive magnetism. And as unerringly as a semesters’ pendulum, each swing would stop here. Only to pick him up as iron chaff from dirty milk, while just as mechanically taking him for another ride.

Just about five crooked moons ago he'd stood at nearly the same dirty spot,and yet it was a different city, another man.His had been a world of Candies with Pixie-Magic moments,and white Armani's that caught the Moonshine.It's funny what one night's perspective would colour an entire semester's deeds. He probably missed his primary art teachers.For their ever available, sheer wrath and the simple glee it brought.The twisted version now running through his veins was much so broiled of and in it self,it could do Mobius proud.And like the chicken wanting to get across it,he was brought to 2/1/2010...or brought back,was it;he?

Aperitif

*Does his signature i'm a li'l late, ain't i? Grin* So yeah. For a blog with 3 readers, 2 followers and 1 fan, 5 months of staying AWOL might not be the best way to grab eyeballs. I actually was able to figure that out on my own. But, then again, wasn’t quite the author's forte ever really, was it? Anyway, all be damned, 'cause he's back with promises of greater commitment, better posts, an upcoming trip, world peace and a stable Euro!

No, honestly. The simplest solution to the entire debacle lies in an unusually delicious Greek goat cheese. Considering jus how worthy is a Greek Debt Bond on the international market, and how strong Kopi Luwak sells even post SARS, it really isn't all that hard doing the math (NOT the Greek-ishly creative sort :P). A simple, elegant and totally delicious solution would be simply, the Feta ala Bond! And did i mention wholesomely eco friendly? Greek debt is so insolvent at the moment, it's literally biodegradable!

So there you are. Goats fed on bonds, not only stay happier but in fact yield richer milk. Which in turn yields more Feta. In turn, creating Euro's where only false promises existed. In simpler words, this’ll achieve what India's Fast Breeder reactors were always meant to. Zero valued input, totally valuable output. Only tastier.

The most delectable NOT gate in world,as the engineer would say.

*Bleats*

Insomnia,and peculiar sounds that people not asleep should'nt make

Yes. Before you get the chance to holler in my face in that tinklingly brash voice, this post is a nearly inadvertent child of a minor thing that might seem to affect a lot of people (read: a mind with a chronically broken off switch) and a muse I rarely get to gaze on these days (unbridled net connections...as free as 256Kbps lets them be anyway).If you like your children with a full complement of godparents too, let a month long vacation watch long and short over this bauble. Amen.

 Who, also cunningly harbours the first felon that proudly brings this rant to you. Thought-full ins-ominous.


Kindly tell me oh blessed mortal, what do you do, when sleep staunchly refuses to see thy door, talk craftily prevaricates any chance you have at it and the goblins at sms eat li'l children for a midnight snack conveniently throwin' a thigh bone in those works as well.
When a renegade bunch of neurons holds you hostage to prose, verse or blasted unrequited dismembered thought? When the body seeketh blissful sleep and the sinister brain screeches audience.
When thought looks for another with the darn flashlight right in your eyes, seemingly in voids that'd happily devour darkness itself. Or worse, when words yearn to burst, and not even that broken goblet you secretly collect spiders in can be found?

Ah well.Answers too, seem to determinately believe the time is right to catch up on those doodled-Yankee questions last seen floating in the Italian Woods near Dopehagen. Leaving me rather wanting, and not so slightly hungry.


And smiling be thy sky, for a rather beckoning apple-blueberry cake-thing blesses the fridge. Amen.

Lovers Uncharted, Meet Covers Unparted

Today,officially marks round about a fortnight since the day i left the -now morbidly emptied- havens of my college-hostel.And,to my credit,till not less than a night ago I led a college free dream-existence as well. I've survived a back*,ST buses and local trains,the ennui of coming to a city practically dead on its feet,endless hours of computer-abuse and bonechillingly,not a single book.A million words,and not one off the crinkly pages of my most accomodating consort,the lovely,paperback.
How? Beats me.
Why? Hell,that one scares me.
A movie a day,with a day stretching its lazy,swollen toes comfortably over things like midnight is scarcely an excuse for such an unlettered existence.Not even those ruddy 3 hours magnum-opii.For someone who's to read list -stacked- is twice as tall as all his shoes tailgating each other,this does mildy topple thought.
And i think i smell fresh pop corn.Oops.

Epilogue.

And finally,all it took to take down this Dark Tower, was one humble kernel of corn,a-poppin'.

   

What begins on a sunset, ends in black?

I'm neither religious -as much as it fascinates-scares me- nor superstitious, or very at least, but right now, I swear if the heavens could burst forth & say it, I presume they would scream "That doesn't seem like a nice idea”. 

 And I mean this on more levels than either of us comprehend, or imagine.

 For starters, the blog itself. This’ll be the third one that'd actually see the (fast fading) light of the day, readership be damned. That, is not even mentioning the aborted fledglings lying in some dark recesses of what you'd call my mind.

Or timing. As a few know, i've always enjoyed an insufferable sense of time, but this is my second-worst, ever (In the midst of your first end sems?!).

Or, that I’d actually choose to conjure something from The Past, not a fresh cooked dastardity. Verse to boot.

AND, as I write this, the sun sets, turning my sky a blotchy orange mess, speckled purple.

Don't ask me 'Why? '.

Not why I wrote this.

Not why I decide to haunt the blog-verse, again.

Nor why must so I bloody ramble rant and dither.

'Cause you mustn’t ever, the last one.

Bear.

 an untitled ode to frustration(?)

even as my pen touches the paper

a shrill screech echoes

the voices of a million unrequited thoughts

held hostage to propriety, convention, the world

or maybe just the voice of words no longer mine

as my pen touches the paper,

it doesn’t flow, no glides, no will

for what emanates was never mine

each word a farce in itself

the irony of so much meaning

meaning almost nothing at all

the only sound an empty rattle,

or a guitar sans strings

is that of breaking slowly?

disintegrating, reaching out to oblivion

what has changed? where are the strings?

in the screeches, a voice sighs-attached

and attached they are

to my pen like foreign ink, stuck

to my paper like the creases of neglect

to the ink now barely visible,

not as much out of dilution

rather so deep, it spews taints,

that blotches emerge instead of liberation

in an all consuming color it paints

my world, as fire does a village

the words still relentlessly strive

for that one chink in the barrage

only met by more words of a hostile language

the thoughts still drive

the punctured billows of my head, stage

a mute protest to such painless shackles

chanting incoherent for a spark to arise, from

the clinking chains, to set them ablaze

get their due, no care how ephemeral

to give them their feelings, beyond the sterile haze

set me free, nay let me crack

through these walls I create,

beyond the prosaic joy, the constrainted laugh

far away from this sangfroid, the pretense

give me my tears, my scars, not this eye chaff

and so, another died, a rather unremarkable death,

for floating thoughts carry no price,

in times of such hyper relevance,

mere thoughts can afford no bearers