Then There Were Two

                   One chilly morning, one a park bench, two men sitting on two extremes ...  Silence, ambient, to the discomfort of the hour. They exchange furtive glances, fleeting looks, as though the sands of time seem to be aligned against them. Every passing second dissects resolve like a knife through butter. In the eyes, are two men who seem bereft of acceptance, the same individuality, the farcical society around them encouraged to build. The futility of the ideals that we seem to uphold, seems as fragile as the mind in face of adversity, being hypocritical at best. Our morals tweaked to subliminal levels, only to re-surface at times of malicious judgement of another. The cruel foundation of "society" that seems to evolve out of tainted religious ideology and blind faith. One, that believes in "The word of God" when the fact remains, that God, till date remains a man made concept. Two men, who at crossroads of life, have nothing to pin their hopes to, save for but something that spits in the face at the hour of their irony: Hope.                                            

                      Raghava, 28, is a software engineer. Born to a stereo-typical middle class Brahmin household, he now is the primary bread earner of his family, and much to their delight brings home a six figured sum every month. They are now a well settled family ... a suave duplex house, a Maruti car and the Sodex-ho vouchers for groceries every month. Its all smiles at Raghava's houselhold, save for a particularly sensitive issue ... that of Raghava's wedding. Raghava with practiced guile, dodges these questions, and the issue is repressed, only to be pursued with more vigour another day. For now, he is content. But, one look at Raghava, and you see the fabric of the man that has a cloak on, for reasons that he probably cannot put into discussion. He sits on the left hand side of the bench, as a righteous Marxist would.                                          

                      Aaron, age 19, is a journalism student. Aaron stands out amongst his peers like a dove amongst a bunch of crows. An ardent admirer of Beethoven, and a fantastic artist, his apparent disinterest in football and heavy metal music seems to be only overshadowed by his preference of dressing up in particualry bright colours and high waist pants. The pattern emerges, that Aaron has had obviously, quite a rough childhood, especially studying in an all boys school. A special lad, diligent and full of life and conversation and ideas when amongst free thinkers and people without inhibitions. Despite having faced and overcome all his nuances growing up and a difficult time through adoloscence, there seems to be a more pressing matter in the ornately built mind of his. One that seems to counter the Bible, the very essence of all things taught to him at home and school. He sits on the right, hoping to be ... as he seems to be on the verge of questioning the very ideals his foundations seem to have been laid upon.                                            

                     Raghava and Aaron look at each other. In face of their inner turmoils, they seem to smile at each other. There seems to be a sense of timelessness descending down upon the moment that they share. There's a look of knowing, sympathy and comfort that are exchanged and they seem to be each other's strength to question the very same morals that they grew up listening to. Yes, they were free thinkers. And in love. Armed with each other's strength to face the inhibitons and questions and disgracing that this pseudo-idealistic society was ready to bombard their union with. They smile again, this time with a stronger adulation and a stronger resolve to face whatever consequences they'd have to incur for their "sins" ... "sins" as serious as "loving another man". Burning the Bible and the Gita, collapsing the void of religion to a tangible embrace ... one of LOVE. Raghava and Aaron get up, hold hands and walk away ... from a world that seems hypocritical at best.       

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!