Of the Maudlin City and Her Love Sick Slave

        On a very sleep deprived Friday morning, where my 12pm alarm tells a story about the climate, battling a running nose and eerie chills I seem to toil on with the most addictive ordeal of laziness. The flimsy blanket that my good buddy gave to me seems to be far cry from the cozy blanket I've at home, yet, the weather outside makes indoor chill seem like a cozy hearth. Revelling in doing nothing seems to be a special gift, and I get a little more perfect at it every passing day. As I'm about to continue with the whole shameless ordeal, the indomitable need to evade a phone call from home regarding "useless nocturnal activities" and such brings me, my keys. Brr! The chill slits my perpetual half closed Chinese eye sockets wide open. Even old black seems to have starting troubles. I ruthlessly open throttle and make sure the feller turns his rpm up and gets us on the way home.
                     Home. Where, "The best laid schemes of mice and men go often askew." As i pick up the phone while tapping on my gate, the call from grandmother says it all. A T-850 voice in my head says, Laborious chore time, shirk at your own peril! Wincing at the now obvious Herculean ordeal awaiting, in wintry dread I discover the nature of this daunting task: A two hour bus ride to the airport and a two hour cab ride back. And the generally enviable task of receiving my gammy's pampering younger brother. Which now looks like cold shackles in the middle of Siberia. At the risk of foregoing lavish generosity that he bestows upon on me whenever he visits, I contemplate my plan of action(or the lack of it). Then in full confidence, my grandma takes me hand and benevolently gives me the bus fare and an extra fifty bucks as service charge. Being the incredible sulk that I am, and sensing no escape route i pull on my woolens and embark.
                  My journey takes me to some unusuallly stereo-typed places. First stop. Banashankari bus stand. Now, here, is a place that has never looked picturesque since it came to be. Litter, badly managed traffic, loud hawkers ... typical tatty market place types. As I walk towards the inside of the newly constructed terminus, I can't help but notice that the roads have been newly asphalted and things aren't as clattered as was the case before. In fact, it seems to have got a pleasant face lift. Then again, must be the scarce traffic, I think to myself. But there's definitely upgraded vibes. The auto ride to Jayanagar, under overcast skies, and poetic climate unearths a sudden architect-ual interest. On and off the Nanda theatre road, magnificent houses with big driveways and lawns that are such a scarce luxury make me beg to clutch a DSLR and capture these intimate moments with south Bangalore, with a romanticism that is fresh and intriguing. The bus journey takes me through Residence Road, my beloved St.Joseph's Boys High School, that looks as magnificent and proud as ever, and one look into the compound and I swoon to the several thousand memories in each square inch of that sacred land.  The third world rapture of these old parts up north, are staggeringly intoxicating.
                   Continuing on, and a short nap later, as the bus pulls into the terminal the intricate inter-twining roads, the aesthetic gardens, the highly advanced architecture and the sight of orderly traffic is refreshing. Inanimate and abstract love consumes me fully.  This joy, this delightfully hidden Bengalooru that resurfaces for adoring eyes only. As I greet my uncle and we sit inside the taxi, I rest my spent eyes. Weary from the beauty of Bangalore, and her discreetness when revealing it. The best of us fumble when it comes to defining love, and yet here i seem to have (in very apologetic extended banter) perhaps found some modest way to relate to this perception. This fascination with the intangible. A dance with Bangalore and her legend! To be a son of the soil, is truly the best honor she could bestow upon me. She flirts with my resolve to stick to her hustle-bustle reputation. I seem to lose all my premonitions, mad with adulation. After a birth and twenty long years, I seem to have witnessed the pinnacle of her beauty, and in hopeless drunkenness, I wish to be treated to her wine again!
                   The pen i hold is inspired, and with her as my parchment, I paint her to you with the pristine majesty that she bestows upon us with her delightful game of hide and seek! Les teintes de l'amour.

Of Stereotypes of Job, Weather and the Mrs.

              The climate is unpredictable. You toy with the idea of a wardrobe change. But you're late. You think of getting of a sweater, a coat even, or an umbrella perhaps. Nah, the sun plays your arrogance. How the hell could you even contemplate the idea when you're total meltdown? You swear at the sun hoping he too shies away from the F-word. Meh, dang it. You're incompetent superior probably is waiting to lock you up in an oven if you delay leaving home any further. Dang it, where are them keys ? Ah, so you do need that wardrobe change after all, perspiring like you are now. Damn, where's that medical leave when you need it ? Ooh, look where government job blasphemy got you son. And oh, mother's got a paid holiday. Talk about rubbing salt.
              Office. Paperwork. Phone calls. Video conferences with some smart ass Jap buyer who pretends not to know English. Trial 1: Being polite. Trial 2: Being persuasive. Trial 3: Negotiations. Once its gotten there, you know the Jap's won. Grr. Bloody Nippons. What's next on the agenda ? Ah, yes ... you're CAPITALIST job outsourcing, sly, manipulative uncle sam employer wants to discuss potential up market stocks/ patents/ supply chains/ selling your soul viz a viz. Yeah. You're an important man. Sans incentives though! SUCKER! Incidentally, the wife's list of "THINGS I NEED" lies in your back pocket. OUCH! The bitter thought of having to compromise sex. Got to get that incentive.              
               9 pm. Major lunch box pangs. Canteen lunch hardly makes up for the diamond ring that substituted the sports car you almost had. ALMOST. Sad part is, there's no lunch box silver lining either. ANGER MANAGEMENT? Not yet. You're a calm feller. I mean all these years of rigorous famed "Indian Education" must surely up the Grr Threshold. A long day at work. Home time. Somehow, i don't see you smiling. Oooh, oooh, i know, i know. A nice twenty km ride (drive if you're lucky) in this tailor made ambience for lonely souls - TRAFFIC. Grr much ? Meh, you're better than that. Let's get home to some hot "khana", some good old no brainer for us work freaks - ze tv, and the sweet wife (delirious by now, yes. :D)! Wait. You sense a dampener on your cheek. You look up to the skies for a sing. It gives you a million droplets in return. Where's that God-damned jacket ? Oooh, you did say F-it in the morning and left in a jiffy! No jacket for you, bad boy! Boiling point now ? Atleast, you get free wet dreams these days you mutter to yourself, laughing obviously finding your sense of humour intact. You got to sing to keep out the cold pretty boy floyd. Ah, much better!
              HONEY, I AM HOME! Television noises. Soapy ones. OUCH! That skipped your attention. Its "Saas bhi ... Tu Bhi, SAALI" (ouch, not you, sorry to the wife) time! Food in the kitchen. Just EAT IT, just EAT IT! Weird Al, you the man! You wind up. WAIT> *wry grin* ... all done but one ... its time for bed! SEX! Baby, what about the new car? Shit, no incentive yet! Sorry, I meant SEX, or the lack of it! GRR NOW? YAWN. Too tired. Young man, i know ANGRY BIRDS can get angrier. May the good lord have mercy on your tattered soul. ATHEIST much ? (lol, kidding ... no story extending contradictions, HONEST). THE END (of that poor bloke too). AMEN. (religious disclaimer attached). :D

The Day that Everything Turned Uncertainly Twenty!

TWENTY. Now, this back when i was fourteen years old, was a number that i detested. It represented a multi-faceted world of alcohol, girls, parties, junkies, big bearded scary dudes, responsibilities, threshold of employment, major make or break career decisions and the whole jing bang, which i hated back when i was fourteen years old. PINKY SWEAR. It meant no more full day video gaming, no more "just" pizza and coke sleepovers, no more football twice a day, and no more school. MEH. What a farce! Now, the fact that i might be the epitomy of some of some of those things i mentioned above, i hope will conveniently skip your notice, but who am i kidding. I'm just a victim of global socialization. I just wish there was some kind of weird fascist derivative at school level where the government decides what stream you take up after school, what firm you'll get placed at, what booze you should drink, what "type" you should pick up for a date and all that jazz! Because when everyone around you is turning twenty, your peers are the worst people you could hang out with. Bad enough you discuss jinks and other stupendously time wasting debates most of the time, it goes to a whole new level when there are thirty people discussing what he/she wants to take up for a career. Even deeper waters when you're potentially undecided when all this is happening around you. Right here is where the e=mc^2 doctor by day, the artistic chef by noon, the singing sportsperson by evening, the forensic gamer by night, and a plethora of other "considerable" career choices such as the astrological architect, the botanical astronaut, the stand up comedian/veterinarian, the radio jockeying lawyer, the civil services actor and other such beautiful career options are spawned!
             CUT TO 2011.
             Ah, yes welcome back. As you've probably heard from my previous rambling self shed some of his vagaries regarding his umpteen problems that he's going to face when he's twenty, you can't help but think that in spite of all that, this boy turned out to be quite certain of his chosen destiny. *sarcasm oozing* *a wry grin on my beloved readers' face*. Well, i stand before you, a gentleman of the society, trying to etch a name on the epitaph of this very competitive world. I maybe no IIT-ian ( you know who you are), no IIM guy ( don't know who you are), no engineer, no game designer, no architect, no lawyer, no major sports dude, no riffing guitar guy, no CKP artist, no medical boy, no army lad, etcetera etcetera (dammit, okay, so, you all know who you are), no serial killer (single biggest regret, and yes i idolize dexter morgan religiously).  But HERE I AM, a part technician, a bit part actor, a hopeless writer, a thorough socialist, a drunk hobo ( only for me to laugh at. HMPH), an aspiring literate, a (hopefully-will-be) chaste boyfriend (wink wink), a suave and sophisticated gentleman (what a load of baloney you say? )and meh whatever other weird things you've now been granted license to come up with. I shall tastefully accept all your suggestions. After all, i turned out just fine with all you fine confused folk around me. NO ? Well, let's just that pretend that i'm normal for now.Please ? ( with sugar on top).
             Quoting the bible, Joshua 24:15 - "As for me and my house, we will serve the lord". Yes, now that was long. Don't quit on me midway. Thank you all you twenty something confused jack asses who i've grown up with. What can i say, you guys add the "Heisenberg's Uncertainity Principle" to my already vibrant life (disclaimer: i'm not favoring the engineers by incorporating some technical boo hah)!

Excerpts from the mind of a comedian.

            I take to social gatherings like a young bird to flight. Witty jokes, slapstick, goofy, subject of laughter, yes i'm all that. An entertainer par exellence, an orchestrator of complete madness. I go by several names, "The Pompous Fool", "The Inabbrieated Comedain", "The Harbringer of Laughter" , " The Guy you Insult and feel better". All that. Sort of makes me feel like a star. Makes me feel loved. Imagine, the practical joker that chokes on his own jokes. Funny sight, that. I observe how people treat me. Like once i heard about me " call him up, and don't take no for an answer, he's jobless anyways" or the other time "you have to hear that guy, he exaggarates so much its funny how he makes an ass out of himself". I say to myself "hypocrites". Laughing away all your sorrows at my expense and then this ? Haha. You bloody vermin. Those who judge, those who pass comment, those who question upbringing. All those hiding under the shield of a bond that you pretend exists. The lot of you scum, that would dare question me and my actions after all that i have done for you. For all the times, i made a fool of myself just to turn the frown on your tainted face upside down. To those who thought they could judge me: you blundering two faced godforsaken lumps of lard. Cowards.                      

           So, here i sit amongst you. Fuelled by rage, armoured with hatred and thirsty for vengeance. I stare into your eyes, and see the core of your being shiver. And you call yourself comrades ? You nasty back stabbing little pricks. With a cold laughter, and another joke i let the dust settle. My notes are made and my targets marked. To each of these vermin, shall karma be handed to in sequential cruelty. And then, the lovers. Pretenders. Conning me, teasing my endurance. Testing my patience, which now hangs by a loose thread. As i am close to snapping, i get up. The glass is empty. Its time to go home. Home: Where doubters complete my rage. If you thought you knew me, well well, what do you know!and hey, I almost forgot: Happy friendship day! (belated)

Angers and Alcohol

I don't feel anger or hatred. Just the calm rush of blood to my head and the soothe of the alcohol numbing my senses. My tongue, taken over by the release of etiquette, slips into a long rant. Relief welcomes me, like a mother caressing her crying son. I want to complain, i want to destroy, i want to break things. The only thing that breaks is resolve.  Empathy, a comfort carved out from the battle scarred mind. A billion unpleasantries raked up at the doorstep of an unstable mind. A bout of insanity ready to take over. Ready to unleash a steady flow of retrospection. Rage, potent and ready like the sword in the hilt, eager to taste the blood of the sacrifice, the trophy, the kill. Memories, piercing, sharp and poisoned with the illusions of happy times. Control, the coward that runs away to make room for the momentary rapture of intoxication. The bottle, a comrade, prepared, by your side, ready to die by the sword for a willing soldier. Feelings, abyssmal, sucking you in for the void that it is. People, a futile pigment of tattered imagination. Solitude, adrenaline, driving the sword through, cutting, shredding, piercing. Sobriety, the call of battle. Relevance, the injured. Irony, vultures in the sky, lying in wait, savoring the devoured. Fate, a creature of habit. Battered minds and numb sickened eyes. Revelations, the foresight that saved none.Another drink goes down the throat. Smooth.Relieving. Inner peace. Somewhere between sobriety and throwing up, lies contentment.
                       Yes, NOW, I feel nothing. Yes, at first it was a contradiction. On a lighter note, quote unquote,
"Alcohol removes inhibitions - like that scared little mouse who got drunk and shook his whiskers and shouted: "Now bring on that damn cat!" - Eleanor Early.

The Pythagorean Triplets

     Triangles ... Something i've always hated, right from school. Old man pythagoras, god forsaken trigonometry, et all ... always hated the fare. Equilateral, or isosceles or scalene, the types don't matter ...turns out,  they all are blatantly annoying and gruesomely troublesome. So, i chose to live in curseful embellishment of the plain fact that i hated all things triangular. Even nachos, had been turned distasteful by mathematical reality. The very idea of having sin and cosine down my throat, gave my stomach enough jitters to barf.  Well, turns out that i'm to have this putrid phenomenon tagging along with me for the rest of my life, cause apparently triangles and applications are all around the god damn place. Take relationships for example. AH! Now, you know where i'm headed with this whole boring business of geometrical proportions ! As we all are accustomed to reality, sure that we all concede that karma's a bitch !
                     So, yeah ... love triangles. WOW! Got to give it to them man, they've really made their point that the hatred we share is mutual. Taking the law of averages, i've been run over nine out of ten times by a third person. The one time i did manage to stay afloat, turns out the girl left me out to dry, of course marriage on her cards. Yeah, i'm joking! Again, i might be digressing from triangles, but trust me its always the guy who shows up late that gets the chick man! That's such a load of baloney! Sad part, its in your face if you've been there, done that and bought the t-shirt! That dude who lies at wait, is a legend. Have fun with another one, get done, steal your chick and get on the run! SWWEEETT eh ? Yeah, sucks for me though cause i've always been a staunch believer of "early bird catches the worm". Turns out that its just a mythical boo hah. They don't call it "fashionably late" for nothing, you know ! My case, its even more hopeless, cause i got whole of geometry lining up against me. So much for fate being impartial huh ? If this is destiny, i've been screwed !
                     Pardon my use of animated language in a written article, but i've been stifled and left disarrayed by the third dude! Here i was thinking the third guy in a love triangle was the girl's best friend and turned out to be gay! That might have cause certain other problems for us guys, but hey, its better off than watching the douche bag make away with your girl man! LIKE SERIOUSLY! Of course, to arrive "fashionably late" and leave with the booty, you must have a repertoire of other skills and possessions like say ... WAIT> don't look for charm or charisma or intelligence or wit or a personality. Inevitably, all that the guy is equipped with is a sports car, a credit card, a rotten sense of humour, or, atleast, an accent. "THAT'S SO HOOTT !!" NOT! . Of course, he always wins. Because, after all with the above mentioned things in his arsenal, how is it worldly possible to lose the battle ? Theatrical stuff. Put in a few item songs, and here's something your kids can learn a thing or two from, atleast they might make some headway in such issues. A complete family entertainer!
                       Well, getting to the subject of the speculations and arguments ... THE GIRL herself! Applause, ladies and gentlemen! She is the single most, in demand protagonist. She orchestrates, acts, directs ... like a thespian. You can never blame a girl in a love triangle though. Cause, its human tendency to give both sides of the coin a fair chance. That said, she obviously has a favorite side. So, my good friend, if its not you, get to the bottom of every bottle ... you'll need it! And by the end of this wild goose chase, you'll be pleasantly surprised how things can "deja vu" without your knowledge. I mean, its got to do with sin^2 x + cos^2 x = 1. YES! You're not meant to get it ! AMEN!

Fleeting between girls and grades

There were these two young boys sitting in a class,
Each dreaming of his own pretty lass;
"Teacher, your lectures through our heads do they pass,
Because our girls are really pretty and you're full of gas !!"

The physics professor always put them to sleep,
Through Newton's laws , their slumber became deep:
And into their ensuing dream did these girls come and creep,
Bouncing off bad grades, off their feet did them, they sweep !

Of carbon and hydrogen did chemistry sing a lore,
The bald man teaching them was, oh, such a bore.
Alkanes and alcohols, damn, at tests they did never score ...
And then, the pretty maidens showed up with whiskey at their door !

The math lady, it seemed was mostly a drag,
Calculus and geometry, now they said she was a hag -
Her classes never ended, and the homeworks would sag,
Through all the chaos, about them pretty girls would these fellows brag !

Until ,at a big party two rich strapping young men these girls met,
As they slinked away with them lads, these fellers broke into a sweat ...
About lost bounty and bad grades now, did these casanovas fret,
As they sullenly watched their fair maidens leave them without regret !

Embrace of Fate

I was calling out to the light,

Waiting to be taken by her ...

To be embraced by her clarity;

And to tread the world, her by my side.



She came, she saw, she conquered;

Leaving me a mere watching mortal ...

She shone the seas, and lit the lands,

Heavy hearts she healed with her aura.



Those whose eyes beheld, saw rapture,

And then those of us who didn't, were lesser,

She filled dark voids with her brilliance,

And lonely souls would be given her un-biased love.



So one night, she softly lifted me from slumber;

And toward the sea she did lead me ...

Yearning for a companion i followed, lost to the world,

Into the waters i did go, hoping to be bathed in her light !



Drowning, i yearned for her touch,

Drained of energy, but waiting for purpose;

Devoid of sanity, hoping for clarity,

I was at her mercy, waiting for her embrace ...



Strangely, she did notice a lesser mortal at the sea,

Praying, hoping, crying for his futility to be taken away,

And so, a choice she did make, and it was all blissful again,

I felt no love, no clarity, no purpose, only overwhelming silence ...



It seemed so, that light had made a choice,

Her love was un-biased no longer, for she yearned for a companion,

And this crying mortal was indeed chosen, for he completed her;

The tides, beckoning me, i embraced release and light was gone ...



Leaving me forever chained to Poseidon.

Forbidden Fruit

      Contemplation is often what one does at his lonely best. More often than not, we let by-gones fill our nearly empty void of potent fallacies, which so happens, to be our staple diet for a lonely evening. Cutting to the chase, a lot of thought i gave to the culmination of loneliness and romance. Now, here is what we would typically call ... an emotional molotov. It works just like the contents of a molotov mind you, the alcohol floods you with welcome relief and then the fire engulfs you completely, burning you inside out. Nevertheless, it leaves you craving for forbidden fruit, which people cause to believe was adam's downfall. Maybe that's why before we had our current modes of recreation, each family kept adding to the population like two bunnies in a cage. Jokes apart, i'd say if we took a consensus about what we'd all do left alone to ourselves, we'd probably on a 80-20 scale wind up craving for that "forbidden fruit'. Especially if you're still attached to someone who's attached to some one else. Confused ? Join the club.
      So, this one evening ... power cuts made me feel like i was amish (no racism intended), primitivity was annoying me like a buzzing bee and i was getting to my fidgety best. My grandmother, noticing the immediate spark of insanity, suggested i meditate (or something on those lines). Before the ensuing amusement, while i say i actually gave it a shot ... i'd like to give my grams a big hug for the discreet cure. So i set off, hoping for a momentary rapture or a cloud of enlightenment, and wound up on the 80-20 .Surprised ? I guess not. All the past memories placed themselves in front of me like a brick wall and sure to say, that i regretted so many failed relationships. Now, i'm just patiently waiting for the ladder to climb over it. Gets me wondering how many different interesting individuals it would take to put me over this wall. Ah, the fresh smell of forbidden fruit. :D

Perspective of 2011.

The new year started as usual, with me feeling like what my friend vivek would say "a dazed fuck monkey". As ritualistic as alcohol may seem at a new year's eve party, this was a confluence of creatively like minded people bonding over some much needed intoxicated insanity. Yes, the ingredients of the brew were stereo -typical, but such a revelation filled night of experiences shared and incidents brought to light, left me reeling with one single question in my head- "how can such a night turn into a sour year"? Then again, that was before our hammered geniuses decided to whip up a hell ride cocktail. After many games and swigs and lost alcohol counts, the lot of us monkeys that were still sober found their way to the beds. The rest of us, weren't so lucky. Sprawled on the floor in what seemed like a tryst with Pluto, i got my first indication of how exactly things would be so disastrously similar to 2010. My liver having a mind of its own, pumped bile all the way into my throat thereby causing a cataclysmic chemical reaction in my stomach, leading to a horrendous spillage of all the "guts" i ever had. Dazed, i looked around ... Ah, the serenity of absolute drunken-ness.

The next morning, things were back to normal, the sun was at his majestic burning best, from toothpaste to idly-vada, everything tasted like whiskey, and for the life of me, i still couldn't fathom why, everyone was as chirpy as a humming-bird. Then again, merriment never always seemed strange, especially on a hung over morning. We said our good-byes and as usual, my fifteen year old scooter revved to life. In a non-chalant, numb state i almost reached home when, poof ... another god damn puncture. another perfect score for god for really pushing me over every new year. Resigned to fate, i left for home ... wondering what this year would have in roller-coasters for me. I just caught a glimpse. Crystal. :D

Forgotten Sands

As i walk the length of the shore,
The furtive glances of the sea beckon ...
Soft and discreet, they sing a lore,
Of minds and minutes, you'd reckon.

The air smelling its effervescent best,
And the sky - skeptically assuring,
Calm - taking the load off your chest -
A sense of release - not enduring !

The sun mocking me with my shadow,
Emotions galore, thrown around like a pack of cards...
Ah the futility of joy knows no bounds,
And the irony of life, is its greatest gift !

Purpose - Provide the sands under my feet,
Gently obeying gravity, caressing my burdens ...
Taken apart by waves, yet returning to the treaders,
A warm blanket of unquestionable faith !

Epitome of struggle, but valiantly strong,
Skilfully defiant, yet utterly feeble -
Devoid of emotion, yet so soulfully human,
Lacklusture in value, yet precious in purpose !

The last thing to kiss us goodbye when we die !
Quote "For Dust thou art, to dust returnest" unquote.

- Gautam