Melancholy

I wake up to the grotesque, the putrid imagery beginning to invade my city,My beloved sparrows, chirping, lost in the smoky embers of a noisy throttle -

Heat, searing through my roof, killing frames of what I created pretty,

My head held high no longer, sickend that my babies need an A.C. and not a rattle!People, mine, bitter and wrathful, unable to get by the day's nitty gritty.

You capitalists, encroaching my lakes, a thousand sick schemes, a plaguing broth and a party for your petty battle!

Take your million cars, and keep them, take your billion bikes, and see if you get home safe,

You immigrants, this to you, who step on my peoples' kindness, unaware of my legacy, polluting and populating like rodents,

I am of the soil, yet alien, numb sickened eyes, a homage to the desecration I witness, vivid, as I let my spirit roam,

Until ... I hear an innocent young voice ... "Daddy, can I go out and play" as I slowly unbecome my indifference. 

I melt. Twice. 

I shudder to think what becomes of her spirit, if she's to be denied, just to be made to get inside the claustrophobia they call home. Keep her away, I yell. No one hears me. I begin to rant. Loud. I'm still unheard. Keep her away! She is one of mine. One that still wants to go out and play. Keep her away from the culling of all things pretty she knows exist. Keep her away from growing up. I am beginning to get selfish and desperate! I'd hate to see the innocence of that smile giving way to deceptive grins. Keep her away, from the rapists. Keep her away from the lewd. Keep he away from people who consider dowry. Keep her away from people, who only want. Keep her away from the computers, and shroud not her innocence by turning on your little idiot box. Didn't you hear? She wants to go out and play! Take the pepsi away from her, its no good. Go find her a swing! Don't take her to the mall, you imbecile, can't you see what concrete structures did to your free spirit? Back when you were still one of mine? Keep her away from rleatives that are quick to criticism, and opinions. Tell her about Lalbagh, take her there. Tell her about C.T.R, and feed her my legend. That way she will always know that I'm with her. Bring her up bold, so she is not initmidated by the opposite sex. Tell her about your glory days, but keep her the hell away from your tech park and your work. Keep her away from your present, for there is little apart from monotony there and invade not her future. Tell her about love, but don't ever tell her that she may/may not find it. Relive. Keep her close. When you croon to her during bed time that everything's going to be all right, honour it. But for now, she's daddy's little girl, so let her go out and play!

You never did question the culling of me, yet I see hope in the young, the little and the restless. Teach the young boys about chivalry, respect and decency. Teach them about equality. Make them question everything they see. You took it lying down, why should they? Let them play.

Because my city, still has the sun, the sand and the spirit. 

And I shall be watching.   

But for now, let them play. 

Lost, Found and Ageing Ungracefully: A Ranting Autobiography

                     Volition. Certainity. Choice. Decision. Career. The ordeal came slow to me, who, for the best part of twenty years had lived amongst the all the elevated comforts of an extremely middle class household. Blessed with a tongue for the tongue-in-cheek ,and a sense of humour that shuffled between ribald and effervescent, more often than not I found myself in the company of a more elevated section of society, that tended to live a different life style from the one I had grown up listening and envisioning of the archetypical. My identity had, over the years, the tendency to erase the person I was growing up to be, along the way. So, at any given point, my physical structure or his personality had no bearing upon what person I was just before the sweeping phase changes. Simply put, I, at the tender-but-not-so-vulnerable age of twenty, had transformed from a silent boy, to an excellent academic schooler, an ebbing and flowing early teenage, a rebellious and social late teenage, to an uncertain twenty-ier. My face had aged quite rapidly. From the complete lack of whiskers by high school to a scholarly full beard that I sport now. And through times of adversity, it felt like the beard gave me a much needed identity and a sense of much required purpose.                                                    

                      My social life has never been bereft of company. I have and have had many friends. From different classes of society, different religions and cultural backgrounds. It is truly amazing how much they taught me about the ways of the world. From the abstract to the tangible, from love to booze, there was nothing that these fabulous people left me wanting. Yes, there were problems. But nothing that could be pinned down to the company that I kept. Mostly, it was me. And I always knew it. My life had suddenly transitioned from having been bullied through school, an all boys' school at that, and spat upon for the way I looked, dressed or spoke. I had, in quick time transitioned to become "socially acceptable". My language was immaculate, never short on a cultured wardrobe and multiple pairs of footwear, and a sense of humour that was sharply on the rise. I began to be well versed with things around me and acquaintance with people of higher IQ's did me no harm. I absorbed it all. I was quite enjoying the sudden influx of people after a lonely childhood spent crying in front of a chapel or arranging G.I.Joe action figures and watching Cartoon Network which served as "best friend" through school. My one good buddy, I lost in a time when parents were busy changing both their insitutions whilst reflecting upon their job transfers.                                                               

                     The birth of peers in my quiet and lonely time, was a welcome boon for my overall inter and intra personal skills and personality development. At teenage, I had finally seemed to have found solace at my tuition centre where friends and girls (shout out to you lovely people :D) slowly began to mould me into a socially acceptable predicament. The traumatic seperation of my best friend seemed to slowly hurt a little bit lesser everyday, a burden I carried for five lonely years. Things began looking up, grades began dropping down. With the help of my tuition teacher, the only one who probably seemed to be understanding of my exuberance and potential helped me clear his Tenth boards with seemingly decent grades. Mother too, played an important moulding role and I got through tenth without many bruises save for ones that were said about my shockingly degrading academic performances. They too were forgotten, and me being only too eager to have fun only, didn't reflect much about my opinion on my further education.                        

                      Before I knew it, I was in an institution I seemingly disliked apart from all the wonderful peers I befriended there,  and owing to a huge cultural divide and such factors, adapting to the new place and its expectations went topsy turvy tied up with the joy of having so many girls around, a privileged sight for a starved kid just out of a boys' school. Things rapidly escalated from bad to worse, and needless to say and with no help from myself I was out of college. What followed was the tortorus exercise of attending a professional course at undergrad level with classmates that seemed to be brash and non sofisticated to say the least, at the whims of Mother dearest, who by now had given up hopes of her son becoming an "Engineer". At the time, I was adamant to prove a point , but little did I realise that through three years of the course, I was truly on the path of "un-becoming" an engineer. Questions and eyebrows were raised domestically and situations and arguments at home only seemed to get worse. But friends and bonds only got stronger. Which I don't essentially know till date, if from a professional stand point is good or bad for me. But i figure there's more than this that needs addressing from my side.                                                                  

                      After endless nights of silly indulgence and a tendency of over dependance of alcohol to address life's gravest problems, and a tumultous roller coaster of involvements with the opposite sex, life seems to have slowed down. At a pace, I feel most comfortable with. Today, and with every passing day, I get a little more certain of what I want to do. Of what I want to become and what should "un-become" of me to achieve. Bordering 21, a whole fearsome road of uncertainity lies ahead and a lot of adversity too. Convincing people that are close, isn't going to be easy. Nobody said it was. Post 21, and in a line that doesn't pay much appeals to none. But satisfaction seems to be more on the cards than a  pointless six figured sum. And I'm guessing this doesn't thrill the opposite sex much either. Neither does it thrill Mother. Makes Father a little more supportive, yet cautious at the same time. It is time for me to choke. Or have the last hurrah. So a buddy calls, and calls me out for a few beers. Beer. :D Gah. Friends. Those nit-wits are always around. Even at times I'd like to sound serious and focussed. Coming up, 21. 

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)