The Truth of Zor

stretching out

2010-11-01T16:47:00.003+05:30

I wouldn't say I am a liar. But I lie. I pad the truth, embellish the details and in general (and true Indian style) add masala to every event in my life.

But to be fair to myself I don’t do this to deceive or mislead anyone. But I genuinely find that the world is more fascinating when seen through a certain 'perspective'.

I am more than helped along this path by the company I keep. Most people put up a self portrait on facebook. It is generally the one picture that makes us look normal from the 3423 others that make us look like some weird alien beings from Zrag.

But my best friend decided to put up a picture that is an imitation of the "Scream" by Edvard Munch. (Google that, go on, I can wait). Not only did he match the pose but his picture even matches the background of the painting.

What rational man walks through a park and considers - "hmmm this background matches the one painted by that expressionist dude, I should click a picture of myself here". But I digress. The point is he was not satisfied with a normal picture and I am not satisfied by a normal life.

When I go to buy groceries for instance, I usually equate the trip with a quest to find supplies by Sudanese refugees on the run.

I almost never buy something without atleast once considering things like - if zombies were to attack the planet this very instance, could I cram this into a back-pack? Maybe eat it while desperately listening for rustling noises in the dense wood, nervously fingering my shotgun? Where would I get a shotgun? Alright maybe I have no weapons but save the can to keep fresh water. I can see it now...

Usually this goes on until I realise I am standing in a supermarket staring at the aisles with a bottle of olives in one hand, and the manager is beginning to look at me nervously.

No doubt you, oh non-existent reader, think I am crazy and have forgotten to take my pills again. The truth is that while your life is bland and dull and filled with mundane thoughts like "Gosh, I hope the mud doesn’t dirty my shoes", my world is a sensual pleasure garden where each and every moment is a trip down fantasy lane, possibly leading to a wild ride.

And this gives meaning to my life. It allows me to acknowledge that while I may not be part of history, it does not mean that my small and insignificant life cannot be one that is wonderful and filled with the strange and the exotic.

Next time you get up and do anything, get a bowl of cereal or watch a show on tv, consider the magic, the effort and the imagination that led to that product - be it milk or discovery channel special - being channelled to your home for you.

This world, if you chose to believe it, is built for you. Everything is aimed so that you can experience its wonders.

And if the cost of experiencing that wonder means allowing my mind to occasionally meander pointlessly, like this post is doing, then so be it.

Thin shopping

2010-03-17T15:35:00.002+05:30

I am a fat guy and for me, normally shopping is an exercise in futility. After all, what is the point of going to ten shops only to have clerks measure my stomach and then make a half-assed attempt to pretend like their store has the size before mumbling “sorry nothing here”.

And they measure it in every store, like they cant believe anyone would possibly wear 44 inch waist sized pants. They cant take my word for it of course. They have to grope around me to ensure that their tapes give them the most accurate reading. What do they really expect? the magical number of 34 will arise if they measure it?

And even if they do have the size, the choices are generally ridiculous. In India the consensus seems to be fat men will only wear single-colour full-sleeve shirts and dull coloured pants. Anything else is beyond their imagination.

Indeed why should a fat man even dare to think he can wear something nice. Tell the bastard to lose some weight first and then bother to ask for “choice”, the lard ass.

Of course none of this has left me bitter in any way. No sir. But I do harbour a deep seated and uncontrollable jealous and envious rage at the thin ones who can literally breeze into any store and pull on the first pair of pants they find and walk out looking like James Bond.

Ironically then this happy delusion of mine was mildly miffed when i went shopping with my brother – in – law yesterday. Aside from the new knowledge that my sister's husband is a nit-picking teenage girl when it comes to shopping, I discovered a new angle. Thin people DO have difficulty finding clothes.

The jeans were faded or criss crossed with designs – a definite no-can-do since he needed to wear it to work. The cotton pants he selected were too loose and the next size too tight. The corduroys were too atrocious to even speak off. Then, after loafing around the jeans section for nearly an hour, we finally drifted over to the formal pants sections.

He had too many brown pants and would definitely not go a blue pant. Black was the way to go. He had too many pin-striped ones and he didn't like the slightly ribbed one. We eventually found a pitch black one, but the shade was slightly off. Luckily he decided to give up and just bought the pants. Heck by then I had also picked up two shirts for myself. They were nice.

As we stood in the never ending check out queue I realised that we had spent some two hours in this massive store for thin people ( not a single pant in my size) and not found anything. The awful truth was that since I was fat, I went to a store that I knew had my size and the choice was limited so it was usually a ten minute affair. Fed on a glut of choices and having to never face the situation of no size, thin people suffer from the disease of excess. The shade, the look, the feel, the material and even the stitching of their clothes had to be absolutely perfect. Being a fat man, I have never, EVER left a store TWO hours later – empty handed.

The slightest and smallest feeling of empathy crept into my hardened soul on the drive back home. Poor thin guys, unable to ever satisfy their nit-picking demands, doomed to bad clothing I suppose. Tragic, indeed.

No worries however, the world was put back into focus a short half–an–hour later. His clothes, however painfully obtained, fit him. The two shirts I bought – no such luck.

Twenty Three

2010-03-10T01:01:00.000+05:30

I had a friend once. It seems like ages ago now. He was twenty three when he died. He didn't pass away, he didn't go to a better place, he didn't find peace. He died. He died far away, in a place i have never seen, but among other friends. I have to assume he died happy.

I sat next him for a total of three years. Three years is a long time but i don't think so. Not because I wish he was with me forever. But because I practically breathed the same air as him for some 600 or so days and yet I seem to know so little about him.

I don't know if he ever got his heart's wish, if his biggest dream came true, if he found what he was looking for or if he was looking for anything. I don't know if he was happy, if he ever tasted a perfect dish, sipped a perfect drink or saw a perfect sunrise at the end of a long night. I dont know if he got the woman of his dreams or what he dreamed about.I dont know if the number of people who hated him matched the number who loved him. I hope so.

I don't remember exactly which day he died and I didn't go to his funeral. I don't even know if he would have preferred this post to be a funny one or a sober one.

I know he was a good friend and mostly a good person. But I think that's too little a thing to show for 600 or so days. He was one of the rare few to whom I managed to be a good friend. I don't know if that mattered.

I am twenty three now and it is time to go find my own answers. So goodbye my friend. Twenty three and no more.

And oh, happy birthday to me.

The Lethargic Side of The Force

2010-02-18T04:12:00.001+05:30

Someone entered my room the other day and boldly declared that he was being beautifully lazy. "How?" I asked. This was a challenge. I would have fixed him with a cool stare but my face was already set in one direction and moving it was inconceivable. "God! I woke up at 11 today and did nothing except lounge about and still haven't bathed...". I glanced at the clock. It was 4 pm. I wondered whether should spare him. Perhaps show a shred of mercy. I never finished that decision as my mouth had already begun to speak so my brain decided it was too late and and anyway such thoughts were too long for comfort.

"I have not moved from this chair in 21 hours...this room in five days..this house in the past ten days. Bath? don't make me laugh..."

That's when the nosebleeds and cries for his mother, soap and a deodorant began. Pansy. All these amateurs think they know the power of the Lethargic Side of The Force. Fools. They know nothing.

I have stared into the void and fallen asleep. I have seen the true face of blackness and refused to put the effort of looking away. I have felt the force fill my being and quickly let it out as gas before I became dangerously motivated. Indeed I have totally forgotten what I intended to write after this since memory requires too much action. Still whatever it was it would have spectacular. But not too much. Awe and inspiration cause too much energy and THAT is a sin.

Here, deep within my room, I lie dormant. Doing...nothing. Feeling...nothing. Learning...nothing. Changing clothes...well you get the idea. The ceiling bleeds laziness and the walls are saturated by sloth. Fit, energetic freaks who enter my presence in their dismal quest to bring me 'back to the light' either collapse at the door or are quickly corrupted and fall asleep on the bed. I have never heard the end of the phrase "why don't we do..." because such power radiates from my unmoving being that they always and immediately understand that there is no "we" when the word "do" appears. There is only "you" and “you” will “do”.

This is not an choice for the weak. The seduction of doing 'something' is always strong - testing you, luring you to it's side. To resist means failure. To ignore means failure. To not even realise it is happening is the true sign of a master. The creed is simple - There is no peace, there is only sleep. There is no work, there is only...well there is no ending since no master dared to break the fundamental principles of this faith by sitting down and writing an ending. We don't even make it up as we go along so my kind refuses to go anywhere.

I have dedicated my life to this belief and truly believe – not strongly but the justly path of least requirement – barely and very vaguely that one day, once again, the lazy will rule the galaxy and then...we shall have...sleep. But perhaps the greatest power that comes fr...

P.S : If you expected this treatise to be finished you have learned...nothing. Congratulations. Heathen.

Two Thrones

2010-02-11T03:03:00.000+05:30

There was once two great states – one ruled from a golden throne and one from a silver throne. They had little to do with each other but one day they made a great discovery - a new world. They each took half and agreed to mutual co-operation and co - governance. The greatest nobles from both lands settled in this new world and for a while it was good and trade flourished. The land satisfied all needs and seemed perfect.

But Lady Desires lands were on the border that divided this world in two and ever she coveted what lay beyond. She whispered into golden ears. All our trade is with each other, we are so intimately involved. Would not a union of both crowns be best for all. why not ask for what is obviously right?

The answer was no. While the golden messengers were received with honour by the Silver throne they were told a firm no. there was no need for a such union and besides things are fine this way, are they not?

Though rebuffed, the Golden throne kept up negotiations. After all, how hard can it be to convince the other side of the truth? we are on the right side, aren't we? So the talks went on, sometimes with swords drawn, some times over coffee. Finally a breakthrough after a year - a union was agreed upon. And for a while it was good.

But the Silver throne never intended to keep it's promises. It just wanted to inhabit the new world in peace. Soon a message arrived to the Golden throne. The union was dissolved. Silver had a new co-ruler ( a certain Lord Love) and was willing to fight for its right to have a union without the blessing of the Golden throne.

The golden throne thought for a while and finally took the advice of Earl Revenge. If Silver can have allies so can Gold. The message was sent back with the notice that a fight would be unnecessary as Gold had found a new co-ruler also ( Dame Joseph). If Silver and Gold stayed on their sides of the border who would care?

But Lady Desire had acquired lands on both sides of the border during the long negotiations and now needed to keep the borders open or lose half of her lands. how could she allow that? so the closed borders quickly dissolved into a farce. Of course Gold and Silver knew of the daily transgressions but they turned their heads. So long as Lord Love and Dame Joseph didn't know, what harm could there be?

but news doesn't stay hidden for long and soon both courts began to fill with rumours of secret trysts and a flourishing cross-border black trade. The scandal broke in silver lands first. And action was swift. All of Lady Desires lands in the northern half of the new world were confiscated and the borders were sealed - properly this time. There was much wild demonstrations on both sides, great cries to 'rise to the occasion', many jokes on the stupidity of each side and many claims of who would lose more from all of this ( the other side of course!)

With no cross-border exchange the southern half of the new world lost it's Raison d'être and the land soon de-populated, it's settlements began to be abandoned and the land went back into the wild. A long year of silence was to pass.

Then one day, uncalled and unexpected, a lone silver messenger appeared - ragged and unkempt bearing a wish for the borders to be opened. Both Gold and Silver missed the new world but old issues were not forgotten. Silver wanted a monopoly on the trade between the lands but Gold could not agree to that without a Union. And so the world lay silent, holding it's breath. Soon news came that Lord Lust had quickly replaced Lord Love. Offended at this breach of protocol Gold closed the gates. Once again there was ceremony and much waving of flags and martial tunes. But it was strained. No claims or jokes could be found in all the land this time.

This time it was a golden messenger who appeared in silver court after six long months. He was graciously accepted. Apparently Lord lust had a short career. And for a while it wad good. Gold and Silver once more exchanged toasts and there was much merriment.

But one by one the old advisers lost power in the golden court. Dame Desire, Sir Trust, Duke Nostalgia...all gone. New factions rose and they resented all of this toasting. The new world was ours they said. Its all or nothing they said. Soon men brought news of other lords in the Silver court, of insults to the Golden throne. The toasts stopped coming. The Golden king heard all but seemed unwilling to let go. Finally the news came of golden tradesmen being halted at the border, being forced to wait in line at customs while strangers were breezing through. Was this not enough?

The strongest faction at the golden court – Lord Anger, Duke Jealousy and Dame Ego - decided it indeed was enough. They brought a formal petition to the king. They demanded the closure of the gates, the beheading of Lord Want and Duke Nostalgia and the abdication of the king. A new king would be found - some one from the House of Sane. There was no ceremony this time, no wild crowds, not even a public declaration. In the middle of the night the gates were closed, the locks put into place and the border guards sent home. Who cared?

So the king lost his throne for his land and the new world was abandoned. It lay silent empty while brave golden explorers would find other new worlds, would find new thrones to covet and new unions to desire under a new banner and a new king. In time the old settlements fell into ruin, the shining border roads were lost in the forest and silence descended on the new world. And thus it lays today. Waiting for someone, anyone to claim it once again.

What of the old king? Well no one really knows what happened to him. But rumours say that sometimes, when the nights are especially calm, he seen ambling through the old ruins in the new world. Sometimes stories come that he can be found staring across the borders - dreaming of silver messengers and a golden age. Maybe one day it will come back. Who knows? nobody goes to the new world anymore.

The Marwadi bedsheet sense

2010-02-05T04:17:00.000+05:30

I went shopping with my mother the other day and stumbled upon these awesome bedsheets. They were yellow with black palm trees slashed across one end. They were good, they were right, they were yellow! And incidentally 1700 Rs. On viewing this item in the shopping basket my mother had only one question - why do you need this?

The question took me down a meandering path to the marriage reception of a Marwadi friend. For those of you living under a rock – Marwadi's are a community of businessmen famous for their wealth, acute business sense, ability to make profit out of anything, atrocious taste in colours, clothes and jewellery and above all else - far, far above all else - their refusal to actually spend any of this great wealth they seem to be making all the time.

It was amazing. The bride and groom looked stunning. When I met them words like “opulence” “bedecked” “jewelled” and “oh my fucking god! How much did that cost?” sprang to mind. The stage was exceptionally well decorated in a tastefully muted white - a miracle as far as this community is concerned. There was more variety in food than decency should allow ( eight types of sweets, are you kidding me?). Heck, they were even distributing free popcorn and ice candies outside the hall. The guests were a sight in themselves. Sherwani's that looked like they were made of moon beams. Unbelievably pretty woman in saree's that glittered enough to be seen from space. Men who wore shirts so shiny you could probably spot them in pitch darkness. Everything and everyone was loud and bright. The collective levels of bling-ness and bad taste was enough to power a small nation. For that matter there was enough gold in the place ( men and women, they have no bias in that respect) to probably reduce the national debt significantly. And I was soaking all of this in while a live band crooned old Hindi songs to keep me entertained as I ate enough for my stomach to practically break off, declare independence and form it's own body.

There was not a soul present ( they were all mostly Marwadi) who looked the least concerned about the cost of all of this glitter and seemed even half-way as impressed as I was. This was odd since otherwise all they seem to talk about is how business is bad (it always is), how something I recently purchased could have been gotten for cheaper at a friend's shop ( it always would be) and how there is absolutely NO FUCKING possibility of any extra money to do anything! ( there never is, not even spare change)

But all around me they were spending like it was the end of days. They often behave this way and it took me some time to figure out this strange quirk in their personalities but after close observation I understood the logic. It goes as follows -

If I don't spend just the right amount of money in someone else's shop then they will not make any money and therefore will have no money to spend when they come to my shop and might ask me for credit ( NOOOOOOOOO!!!)

by applying this logic two things were clear -

one - His marriage was grand and good so when he gets invited to a wedding, they (his former guests), will also make their weddings grand and good or else be thrown out of the community for lowering standards.

two- He would most definitely buy those sheets since he or his son might someday want to sell such sheets and it would not be good to set a precedent by not buying them. anyway he would be sleeping on them so they have SOME value.

Therefore if a Marwadi does it so should I, because if any one knows what to do with money it's them. It made perfect sense.

Apparently that was not the case because my mother thought I had lost my marbles but agreed to take the sheets anyway since – and I quote - “You are my only son, If I don't put up with your lunacy, who will?”. Well you can't win them all but at least I got the sheets.

16 and James Bond - ish

2010-02-02T22:30:00.000+05:30

16 was a good time to be me, at least I thought so. I had the two great experiences that pretty much defined the rest of my life. I finally learned to smoke and I joined a PU college that truly introduced me to the concept of a social life. I loved the first and hated the second and have pretty much stuck to my beliefs for near 7 years now and things are just fine.

the time passed in a literal haze for me. From the gentle beginnings of one smoke a day to the later stages when I got down to the serious and dedicated business of smoking 20 a day and avoiding the rest of the free world, most of my free time was in blue hazes. It was almost as if I was making up for the 16 years that I failed to do take up this activity.

Life was also thrilling. I had the following notions – (a) smaller cigarettes = less smell, (b)so long as I blew the smoke as far away from my body as possible none would be the wiser. So I put a plan into action. Step one – buy a length of pipe. One small trip to a hard ware store and I came back with a five feet long washing machine tube, the kind that is used to pump water into fully automatics. I don't even remember what ludicrous story I invented when my mother saw it but apparently it passed muster because I still have this pipe lying around. Step two - another furtive trip to an out-of-the-way paan walla - in those days I had not a single strand of facial hair unfortunately and used tales of smoking uncles who wanted these since I was too cowardly to say "hand it over, bub" - to get a pack of More Slims ( menthol flavoured). This involved quite an investment since back then a pack of More's cost 86 Rs, a full week's allowance at ten bucks a day.

So every night at around 1 to 3 am I eased into the balcony of my room and smoked while carefully blowing the smoke into the pipe which dangled from the edge. This allowed the smoke to gently waft some ten feet below my flat. I imagined myself to be quite the genius. Of course I was eventually caught in the traditional ways. My mother found the pack of More's in one of her routine cleaning trips and my dad ( at three a.m, the crafty fox) walked right into the balcony and looking thoughtfully at the lit cigarette in his son's hand casually enquired if I was a smoker. No father, my hand accidentally caught fire and I was admiring the embers.

For me the magic snapped after that. Now that my father knew I smoked what else was left? I stopped the whole pipe business and just went to balcony and had a smoke. Stopped the More business too, was just to expensive. The thrill was gone and with it a small part of the magic that was childhood.

Other things happened too. I made new friends, got a girl friend, got kissed, got a job and a dozen other things that were the thrill of the time, including morning shows in Urvashi theatre after bunking college at 9:30 a.m to watch absurdly bad hindi films. But I never felt the need to be James Bond - ish about anything. The culture of “I am what I am and you can either take it or leave it” set too deeply and I don't remember ever feeling the need to hide anything from then on. And that's what I miss about being 16.

And for those of you who are wondering - years later my mother informed me that while blowing smoke ten feet out was a fine concept, the smell on my hair and hands, my clothes and the little bt of ash I almost always accidentally tapped on the floor were apparently the subtle indicators of my night time activities. Still it was a good idea and it was good to be 16.

Poor suhas needs a drink...

2010-01-23T23:53:00.000+05:30

just finished watching three idiots. good film. In three idiots the two idiots rescue the heroine from the mantap to go to her 'true' love. they literally leave some poor schmuck, who is portrayed (as usual) as a laughable donkey, hanging in front of the of a hundred guests while his bride runs away. The schmuck is named suhas in this film. This got me thinking and a little worried about the ongoing trend in Bollywood film - guy loves girl, they have a disagreement and girl so with another guy only to abandon him in front of the altar for her love.

frankly, i choose to side with the suhas's of the world. What did he do wrong? he courted this girl, she obviously agreed and he is willing to commit to her, only to be betrayed because 'true' love cannot be denied. This is ludicrous. As a society what image are we trying to portray? that is okay to break any trust, any commitment, anyone's heart in the name of love? that abandonment, betrayal, broken promises and no doubt the broken heart of some other person is the only route to finding love?

Love, real love, is about happiness. I don't think love needs to be found by making irreversible bad decisions which affect everyone around. We need to grow up, accept that our decisions have ramifications and that lives will get affect by this. We need to face up to our failures and admit that somewhere we have gotten a wrong idea of how a relationship should be built.

but until that fair day, i can do nothing expect feel sorry suhas..and probably take him out for a drink.l She obviously doesn't care..but somebody should.

2009 round up

2010-01-06T02:41:00.000+05:30

dear journal,

have smoked 8100 or so cigarettes in the year...

Good effort..feel fulfilled...keep it up!

will face the new year with the keen spirit to constantly improve myself self and set higher goals.

You know I Love You...

2009-10-12T17:04:00.000+05:30

all your stories are of other men,
I hope they are but fanciful tales.
if not then GOD FUCKING DAMN IT,
my broken heart wails.

I love you though you are afar,
And in 'ways' you cannot think.
I may not exactly qualify to go have sex with,
But give me a chance and I swear I will not 'shrink'.

Its not the size, it's how you use it!
And I am totally willing to use 'it' in any way.
Because seriously, you are hot! and I can't stand it,
Afterall it's not like I am gay!

I know you 'like' me, I do I do
maybe not for marriage but possibly for a nightcap?
I know it appears as if I see you only as 'bang-able'
but can you not have just a little 'mercy' on a poor chap?

Sigh, my dreams might seem pointless,
But there is always hope and so I am as 'happy' as a clam.
and incase you feel up to it I got a perfect 'compromise'!
Your hotness and my webcam!

So what da ya say? huh? huh? I love you.. you know I do.. yes I do

( heh, to the woman who gets this...sorry I was missing you and I couldn't resist)

Move On

2009-09-24T17:23:00.000+05:30

I was having an interesting conversation with my 'to-be' the other day on how to raise our children. She was of the gloriski opinion that they should be taught religion. After I got over the shock I got a-wondering -

If faith be so strong that it is all the evidence I need to believe in god then why does it need to be taught?

If it has to be taught could I not teach my children anything - this shoe! this is the holy shoe of grazandra!! bow to its mighty soles!!

How can I sleep at night if I spend my days brainwashing my own kids?

If there is a god and if faith is the natural state of things - like say hunger or going to the bathroom - then it will come naturally and I need not worry to much about it.

all in all if my 21 year old educated son comes and says he believes in god and would like to dedicate his life to religion then i guess I have no choice in the matter.

But I will damned if I have to make the decision for him.

If faith is god-given, it will come by itself. If i have to teach it then I will chose not to do so. I refuse to tell my children that what some old men huddling in caves (and guessing the sun is a big flaming chariot hurtling around the sky) thought is the supreme truth of life. It's time to stop banging the rocks together and adopt the matches.

move on.

meh

2009-05-13T20:13:00.000+05:30

"'Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways - Chardonnay in one hand - chocolate in the other - body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming 'WOO HOO, What a Ride'"

How far?

2009-01-29T01:50:00.002+05:30

How far I have come my friend
Lie behind me are the walls of the known world
Once I had strode into new lands,
But that is old news now.

Look at the fair bride by my side
Look the new folk who surround me
Look at my demenour, much changed
Look and wonder at it all

Where is my innocent smile
where is my oldest pride
Where is my old banner?
what new colours I fly under.

See me walk in my new boots
See how I walk as one with the crowd
I feel as new as the breeze,
I have changed with such ease

How far I have come my friend
what tales i could tell thee
the ocean and desert I crossed
I am in new soil now

So far I have come my friend,
Where have I gotten lost my friend?

I turn 22 in sometime,
far I have come indeed.

Overflow - a cover by the General

2008-12-10T16:58:00.004+05:30

Go read the original first, which i stole..ermmm borrowed..from here

I think of you.
When the dusk spills red,
When to the south, the flying birds head.

I think of you,
when the poinsettia blooms,
And the stars streak upon a sky that looms.

I think of you and of you I croon,
Even when night brightens with a half smiling moon.

I think of you,
When the cloud wisps linger away
And under dark skies, when howling wolves hold sway.

I think of you,
when blackened night blankets tired souls
And sighs of relief rise from the land that holds.

I even think of you, you so far..
Even when the clock strikes the witching hour.

I think of you,
In the passage of filled hours
And within the heartbeats that gathering days carve.

I think you,
In the miasma of remembered caresses,
In the supposed heat of meeting epidermis.

You are not here but I think of you,
Even when the darkest night fades from black to blue.

When I think of you,
My thoughts overflow
and My fingers trail away, filled with a glow.

When I think of you
My heart accelerates on,
And calls “come faster! Far away dawn!”

I Think of you deeply in my own simple fashion,
Until I have you completely wrapped deep in my passion.

A poem for me....

2008-12-10T15:16:00.003+05:30

Nangandange nanadre bella, avana bayige beegane illa, gottidru katgonde ena madali iga bidake manasilla ena helali.

translated from kannada -

My guy considers me the sweetest thing
But he never stops talking, nothing stays in!
What can i say, i fell for him knowingly
Now my heart wont let me leave, so i bear with it silently.

written in for me by a cheeky little goose who will be my bride one day...

and no i dont talk THAT much.. she exaggerates way out of proportion...

The power of one

2008-12-01T19:27:00.002+05:30

My mother is an orthodox Brahmin. She was born in a village, far to the north. Hidden deep from this world. She was progressive in her village, believed in her future and also the rights of man and wman. She loathed the concept of untouchability and also believed that she should be in equal with her brothers.

She got married and left for Mumbai, then Dubai and now Bangalore. But she is an old school to the heart. She believes that her place is with her husband. That he is the man of the house and I kid you not, my father wears the pants in the family. That was never in doubt.

Today her daughter wishes to marry a non Brahmin. The very idea is against her beliefs and it is the culmination of her worst fears. My mother is a shattered woman.

My mother believes in doing the right thing. She has stood by t her whole life. Today my mother spoke to my father, told him that they should let their daughter be free, not bind her. She stood up to the one man whom she never did. She decided to let her daughter be free.

This is not a heroic tale. My mother is shattered. Deep are her wounds and I feel them to my very core. My mother is in pain and my every breathe burns to see her so.

But my mother chose to do the right thing. Whatever the cost. However deep the pain. Such is the fire from which I have been forged. Hers is the will through flows my own. It is never easy to do the right thing. But if you boil it down. It really is the only thing to do.

Such is the power of one. The will to change. The strength of a ten tigers. One day I hope to tell my children about the power of one. And each day, I do the right thing. I am proud of my orthodox Brahmin mother. I walk in her path. One day I hope my children will be proud of me.

Care

2008-11-10T20:38:00.002+05:30

Her lies about how much I mattered even though she didn't even bother to look at me did not hurt as much as the knowledge, that after seven years, I didn't even care.

Echoes of my past

2008-11-05T17:14:00.000+05:30

My heart, my soul you cracked and broke, my sprit you sapped of love.
A better world I left to find, tired, hurt and out-fought.
So I fled from you and these ways and deeds.
I refused to do more against what I was taught.

Fortune favours the bold, and she did smile upon me,
From life I learned so much, I walk now head held high.
You are still undeniable though, forever in my memories,
But you are locked away deep within; No one can see me sigh.

You called me again just now, to simply meet and greet.
I want to deny but I acted as my heart told.
But meeting you showed anew the strange ways of time,
Once I called you lover, but today you leave me cold.

So you a have jumped to another man, have you?
No love, just for reasons more slim than stout.
You say you want happiness, you want peace,
You hate your life; you say you want a way out.

I tell you make a stand and leave,
to fight for your peace and calm,
I tell you its okay to be alone,
to stop this life filled with sham.

You are quick to nod,
to admit and be agreeable.
But I know the truth my love,
you are not strong, only feeble.

Sure enough you let me know the bitter truth,
that you are giving it another chance.
You tell me that you have faith in this,
good god, what a farce.

You are a treasure of self-destruction,
with no lock or key.
Wretched you are my love,
doomed in this wild frenzy

I will not walk this path with you,
will not unlearned what life has taught.
I am leaving now, you deal with yourself,
I have other fights that need to be fought.

Infernos will consume themselves,
Sorry and tragic is their fate.
But I am back and it's time to sleep,
My life is summoning and I can’t be late.

I say not a word to you, nothing but goodbye.
But at night, when the blackness envelopes with a hush,
The silent thought still follows me though,
Why couldn't you believe in us?

To the beauty from the beast

2008-10-31T17:35:00.003+05:30

what can I say about you beauty?
there are so many angles I could pick
I suppose we can settle on ice cream.
Sheer pleasure that needs to be licked.

There is nothing I would not do for you,
No mountain too high
Heck for you my love
I would even work 8 to 5.

Your features are so lovely,
you are fair as sheer chalk.
Why I long to be with so much,
I will even come for the hated morning walk.

I thought I wouldn't be vulgar
becasue that is a fine line
So I will end this poem by saying...

GOD! I love your behind!

The EverLast

2008-10-22T19:54:00.001+05:30

The food is eaten , the dogs are fed.

the work is completed, the sheep are led.

the feasts are taken, the wine is drunk.

But with no pleasure and really no love.

I do not unerdtand these people,

So weak, so hungry,so feeble.

Eager to hurt, eager to deny,

how could they be a part of creation?

Behold my EverLast, built by my own two hands.

Built to withstand you all,Built to keep me in.

It is my prison, my citadel, my home.

I am its gaurd, its master, its kin.

The walls are wrought from my flesh,

my bones were bound for her gate.

It will gaurd my soul forever.

EverLast, thou art my fate.

the key

2008-10-22T19:53:00.000+05:30

I strive to be the better man,

while I stand in the mud.

When it rains and pours,

It is hard to stay dry.

People are funny and bad

they are also cold and nice.

Some will smile and I wonder why?

other's cruelty makes me cry.

Are they free or bound by fate?

Whom do I like if all I hate?

It isn't easy to be me indeed.

But then again, which is the easy deed?

It would a cliché to say that I am sad,

but I am not, is that bad?

Why must I smile and laugh,

I like the silence unbroken by a cough.

I like my morose world,

It is dark and silent.

You are but ghosts to me,

To the EverLast you do not have the key.

Random thoughts

2008-10-22T19:00:00.004+05:30

There was once a boy, there was,

and he loved this pretty girl too.

Whle she might not have loved him per se..

those details shouldn't bother you.

So our boy here decided the time was ripe.

to get his one love, his baby blue.

So he schemed and dream of a way,

and hatched a plan;daring and true.

Ten days later and back in jail,

he wondered what went wrong.

he sat down to think things through,

atleast until he made bail.

did she not like it when he protected her,

by following her whereever she went?

Or possibly was it the knife he shoved,

into her landlord who dared to ask rent?

These are minor things aren't they?

after all the last one never complained.

So what if she was chained in his basement,

he respected her opinions too.

He wasnt a boy who just gave up,

his daddy had taught him better.

So he began slowly digging the floor,

to go see his girl, free and untethered.

dig, dig, dig, down he digged, all night long

and broke out through the other side.

He was free, now where was his love?

where was her sweet hide?

While he goes out to fnd his love,

you can do something for me.

ponder on the nature of man,

don't you find it funny?

So I died...

2008-09-24T23:34:00.000+05:30

A world I came to,so dark and cold.
I wandered alone throught the haze,
NOt lost, just with no one to hold.

Oh my friend, what sights I saw
Here stands my love, my friend, my brother,
There I saw my beauty and my every flaw.

Where did I come from, where will I go?
much was taken from me, much i left behind,
Into the river I must flow,

Such is this place, where all must go,
The end of the long road,the fading quest.
None may follow, but all must go.

Coming take me, my final keeper?
Already my strength fades.
The end of the path is near.

To hold me comes a woman,face so lined.
pale as the world around me,
and then I went blind.

SpeaK

2008-09-22T16:21:00.000+05:30

what to do when i can't speak. I spent four days in absoulute silence. For those who care I had a collapsed lung. Either way the silence got to me. Not that it was horrifying or anything but because it was silence. I realised how little I have to share other people. There never was a point when I was actually desperate to go talk to another human. Quite happy in my thoughts thank you very much.

I can feel the silence, hold me like a child in a womb and feel her mother's caress. It was beautiful. It was different. The world somehow seems noiser, less ordered now.

anyway, it was rather nice. So shut the fuck up.

Night - Black and Red

2008-09-10T11:58:00.003+05:30

The crack of the sniper's rile barely registered in the General's mind. It was a distant sound, unattached to him. having little to do with either him or the world. The gun shivered in his hand. uncontrollable. around him men ran for cover. Medics rushed to the fallen aide. He stared behind VR, at the soldier fallen to the ground. He never even realised when VR rushed him and dragged him tot his knees. far of voices echoed in his skull.

" Let it go god damn it, General, just let the damn gun go"

The soldier was shot through the neck. The General could see his white skin turn pale. He was clutching his neck in vain. The blood could not be stemmed. It was bright, red and beautiful. Here and there it stained the snow. The soldier was bucking, in pain, in shock as medics tried to press bandages to his throat. But the General knew it was pointless. The doomed saw he doomed for what they were. The blood flowed. The soldier had a life and a dream. It was over in a few minutes. The soldier had a destiny, a point, a reason of existence and somehow it had all conspired to bring him to this exact point. Cold, bleeding, dying. The blood poured. It was red, it was beautiful.

The slap was like a gun-shot wound. The General stared at his best friend. A lined face with more worries than he needed. Without having one more.

" Come General, let go of the gun"

He looked down. The gun was sill in his palm and VR was trying to gently tug it out.

" I cant.." the General whispered.

" Sure you can, look, I know things look bleak but you dont need to do things this way, just give me the gun and we can talk.."

The general shoved his friend off him.

" No you moron, I cant.. it frozen. I dont have gloves on. The metal is frozen to my hand. I CANT let it go..."

"oh"

Both General's stood and mustered diginity, what was left of it anyway. The General stared at the soldier. dead. His men too tired, cold and defeated for a burial. What did it matter. The snow took them all anyway.

" Brigador General VR, friend, brother. While I am most honoured that you would come so far to try to save me I cannot abandon my men, my honour or my ideas. While death is not an easy prospect I will learn to accept it since my destiny has consipred to bring me to it. Friend, I am truly touched that you wish to save me but it is here that we must part. I have made my choices and I have come. Now there is nothing you can do. You must let go. "

Both General's stared impassively at a man digging a trench.

" So General, you will die here?"

" yes, I proabably will, but not a moment before i must and before that moment I have much to do. So if you will excuse me..."

General VR saluted him and slowly walked up to him. He took out his lighter and light a new smoke. Then pushed the lighter into the General's pocket.

" Keep it"

He muttered. Then stroe briskly back to his jeep. The engine roared and in a swirl of black night he was gone.

The General looked around him. The moon was blazing down on a white world. It was beautiful. A medic casually strolled over and began to pour alcohol onto his palm, in a queit effort to unstick the gun from his skin. The General reached into his pocket for a smoke and then decided to use a lighter instead of matches. The dull clink echoed across the silent valley like a rifle crack.

" You really should use matches, General.." The medic muttered.

The General didnt bother to supress his smile.

" Yes, perhaps...".

It was a beautiful night.

Lifey Funny

2008-08-28T13:05:00.002+05:30

Life is sometimes bad and life is sometimes funny,
You got the colur pink but she wont dress like a bunny.

Life is cruel, the wine does not flow,
Life is just mean, she will not blow.

But you know what i love her anyway.

yesss, welcome to my trips.. feel the kook.

We will take over the world someday!!!!!

Time thoughts

2008-08-18T09:43:00.002+05:30

May the memories fade, your wounds I will heal.

Rest in my shade, before i force you to kneel.

I will be with you, step by step.

Let go of what you rue, enough have you wept.

You are a string in a symphony, ripples in a wake.

Onward is your journey, only one path to take.

My equal, my love, I free...

2008-08-13T11:04:00.006+05:30

I am free. Now I am. My storm has passed and my ship still floats. I could shout from the highest mountain but what could I shout other than “I love you?” I am not a selfish lover; you are all equals to me. But today, for but this one day, I love just the first among you equals. The one that told me to be free. I am free.

What does it take to be free? Must I slay my fellow man to achieve it?, or must I endure and hope it will arrive some fair day?. I can be chained to a wall and be beaten to death, still as free as my first breath or be locked in a hell even as I can easily step out to play.

Is not the dog free, to roam and frolic as he pleases. Yet for the tiniest of scraps, often merely the refuse of our world, they will enslave themselves to our will. Protect us while damning themselves. Can not the dog be free, what binds it other than its will? Once I was like this, bound for nothing more than scraps. I have broken free but the memory does haunt me.

Is not the bird free? to go where ever it please. But yet the bird are not scattered. They stick together in their flock, comfortable as can be. Why stay together when there is no need? ah my friends, that is the meaning of being free. I make that choice now.

Is not the water free? to go where ever it sees. Yet it is absorbed by everything and nutures all equally. To give yourself up for the greater good, to surrender to the unknowable void and hope for all that can be? well, I have taken the first step, down this lonely path.

Good HAS happened to me, in the past, right now and in the future. I believe in this life. I believe in my heart. I believe in the universe and I believe in a smile. I believe in love and I believe in my laugh. I know what I am and I have never failed that which has always held me up. I have not failed myself.

I am free. I will remain this way, what ever you might do.

You are all welcome to try, however. If you didn’t, then what sort of world would that be?

Heartbeat

2008-07-30T17:05:00.002+05:30

“The human heart is a beautiful creation..." the voice of his teacher echoed through the darkness. It was comforting here, floating in the void, untouched by the world outside. There was neither wind, nor taste nor cold or heat. He was neither heavy nor light. Not hungry or tired. Just him and the voices.

"It can beat for a lifetime without ever stopping, without ever once failing in its purpose"
The General was impressed, it hard not to be.
“You never miss it of course, until the day it stops."
True. He felt he should be worried but it was so soothing here that he couldn’t care.
“The human mind, on the other hand, can operate five minutes after a catastrophic cardiac arrest without ever realising that the heart has stopped. Such in the power of the will, and the adrenaline that is no doubt racing through your veins."
He didn’t feel racy, in fact he felt lazy.
“a lot can happen in five minutes, you could save yourself, maybe save another life or make a last confession.."
He began to wonder if there was any point to this chat, since it didn’t look like it was ending.
“Of course, you could also spend those five minutes listening to a long dead teacher... no General?"

Cry of the Defeated

2008-07-30T16:59:00.001+05:30

My country, my land,
how fair your sweet embrace.
Greater maybe others, yet you are mine
what greater gift than thee?

Darkest the night before the dawn,
so dark now, we stand alone.
No cracks of light blazing through,
withered is your crown.

Battered and beaten, I stand in you,
I have given this body and soul.
Defend you I shall, yet, for what?
My land, my mother, you are lost.

Father and brother, friend and company,
mother and sister, lover and whore.
all have gone before me,
Unstoppable the tide, unmovable our fate.

My country, my land.
you have held me before,
the road behind me closed,
six feet I need, that’s all.
My country, my land,
hold me once more.

Sea of Poppies

2008-07-14T10:30:00.002+05:30

What does it take to create a world, which is unique, beautiful, completely believable and transports you to another realm? Even more so, how does one create it from history, using that which once was to generate a place so real, you can taste the coarse wheat roti's and smell the giddy stench of opium.

Amitav Ghosh has done the unexpected, he has taken me by surprise and caused me to read fiction once more. I began the book on my fathers recommendation but soon foud myself completely immersed in the lives of 18th century India, from the Bihari peasent Deeti to old faded Raja's, in forgotten durbars filled with the new lords, the heathen Englishmen. The book has a back drop of the changing nature of Indian life, the oppurtunities that the British saw in this country and the Opium, the billions of tons of which was forcibly grown here in India, to be tpushed onto the unwilling Chinese by English Merchantmen who could care less about the Indian or the Chinese.

The book is the first in a trilogy involving the crew of the ship Ilbis and follows the long, twisted path taken by all the characters in reaching the ship.

Using extensive research and possesing a rare indepth knowledge about 18th century India we get a glimpse into a time when drugs were grown and used with casual indifference, where colonial spirit was much praised and the Pukka Shahibs were Pukka Shahibs, hellbent on profit and determined to stay in this land. There is no freedom protest, no nehru and gandhi, nothing except the english masters and their opium. In the end, the author provides us with a tale that will not be soon forgotten.

Bravo Amitav!

Confusion

2008-07-03T13:07:00.002+05:30

Logic, reality
Can I live in it too?
Is this all there is?
Can't have my cake and eat it too.

My world, your world or ou world.
In which world do I live?
The truth might be in my world.
But only our world exists.

I can't stay here,
can't have my soul.
I want my life,
can't have either too?

This life is mine.
But you can have my body.
Because I am leaving,
to where all is fair,
and cakes are eaten too.

Twilight

2008-07-03T13:05:00.002+05:30

The rise and the set,
fire and ice, eternally bound,
In the centre I stand and stare.

Light and dark, no single one exists,
to gaze at one is to look at the other.

I look and laugh at this cosmic mixture,
and see the beauty of the perpetual in-betweener.

Reflections

2008-07-03T13:03:00.002+05:30

Shimmers in life, reflections in the wind,
can I touch, feel, breathe or live it?
Fools gold blazed, parched Earth drank,
inside an eye ready to believe.
The twilight shattered a wizard's glass dream,
reality stands, just turn around and see.

Poetry of Eternity

2008-07-03T12:58:00.002+05:30

A raindrop falling with grace,
the sunshine bathing my face.
Litle by little I learn to read,
the poetry in eternity.

The air that rustles a few trees,
the feather caught in a breeze,
a twinkle in a strangers eye,
Its all poetry in eternity.

the smoothest walk I have ever seen,
the softest skin I have ever touched,
a beauty made by the unseen,
oh, the poetry in eternity.

In this world I stop to see,
things that change and things that will always be.
I will come and I will go,
but there will always be the poetry of eternity.

Glory

2008-07-03T12:55:00.000+05:30

Is morality defined by actions or hearts?

Can deeds be bad when intentions are good?

Can love and hate sit side by side?

Can glory be found through one man's desire?

here's looking at you , kid!

2008-07-02T14:09:00.001+05:30

Close your eyes. Stand still. Feel the breeze as it whispers around you. The wind is alive. The earth pulses with life. It is more alive than you realize. It will still be alive long after your bones have become dust. It will always be, long after whatever havocs we wreath upon it. It has survived far worse than you. Your life is only a flicker in time when compared to the Earth’s four billion year reign. You are meaningless and in time your very existence will be forgotten, as if you never were.Can you feel your heart beating? It is a simple, dull thud. Yet this announces to the cosmos that life flows through your veins. Singular and short, this life might be the only one you will ever have. It should be pointless.

But it isn’t, is it? Deep within you, from a place, which you cannot explain, a cry arises in defiance. It stubbornly holds on to the ideal that you are not without meaning and whether you know or not, you are making a difference, somewhere, somehow. Your actions are worthy, even if no one will ever remember it. The world is for the taking, I have to seize it. I have given up all for this one moment, for this one chance. There is nowhere to go. My soul will be free. My heart is beating. Can you feel it?

The Lady In Purple

2008-06-19T19:14:00.003+05:30

How to reach those who are to leave?

The task maybe hard but I have decided to strive in any case, since it seems to be a noble quest.

Oh the lady in purple,

I would be hard pressed to admit the truth in a room full of strangers but I must admit to myself that she is a bright lady indeed. The kind who makes you glad to be alive, the kind causes you to celebrate the first step you took in her direction.

Well, how does one describe these feeling without sounding like a lovesick puppy? It is not only the wrong emotion which I wish to portray but also rather pathetic.

But to sound too severe is also a grave sin since to talk about this one in serious tones is self-defeating to a great degree. In the end I suppose I shall merely say what comes to my heart.

While I cannot admit to be smitten and bound by that endearingness called love, I can say that I am being rather drawn. There seems to revolve a lightness around her which I have long denied myself.

While life is a matter that necessitates some sobriety, I feel that perhaps my quests have driven me away from the simple fact that the flower does not bloom merely to spread its own kind but rather there is also an element of beauty and majesty in it.

While it is certainly easy for the multitude to ply the cause of laughter, I am often shocked by the number of smiling faces that fail to have any smiling eyes. I suppose it is a bit moralistic to lecture on the laughter of the soul when I myself am incapacitated to feel it, but my courage is gathered on the knowledge that the first step must be taken up some place, and for me this seems to be it.

Her bright eyes stare at you with a burning glow, capturing you. I was amazed at the intensity of the gaze and have wondered what gives it such strength. The ease with which they fill with tears hides this strength and at many a time caused me to wonder if i am mistaken in my judgement.

But there are singular moments of high clarity, when I can see myself mirrored in those eyes.

You might wonder whether there is anything more to see, or if I am trying to put a pretty sheen on someone who is otherwise lacking. But I assure you the rest is as lovely as any lady can be. But that is a matter which can be said for many of the fairer sex and frankly speaking, every man here who has every loved a girl will fill the world with his cries of the loveliness of his lady and this is a horrid cliché which I refuse to put up.

The rest is just fine and pleasing to look at, which all that is needed.

It is not that I have felt such from the first instance. I must admit that initially I was drawn away by my natural aversion to the strange, different and new. But as the days flew by, circumstances changed. I changed.

Perhaps it was my new found desire to look at anything new. Or perhaps it was merely a slow awakening. As of late, I have begun to realize that I was too quick to draw away and that I should wander away from my familiar places. Nothing can be further from my comfort than her. It is like a challenge and I am taking it up.

I live a cautious life and stay in the corner. She lets go and seizes the moment by the throat. It is a strange to see her just let go and live a life in the ways which I have always heard about but was always cowardly to try.

There seems to be very little she fears and my own doubts melt away in front such confidence. While much what she does is far from what I would ever even consider doing, I am quickly becoming a convert to her concept of doing without thinking too much.

I may or may not ever actually live such a life. But for the moment I salute the one who can and I salute her nature and existence.

I know that she in pain, for there are those who have abandoned her. But for my part I do think that she is someone to keep. For no other reason that she makes me feel more alive just by knowing her.

I wish her well and hope that she continues in happier paths. I have had very little time to make a dent in her life. But you know, sometimes it is better to try than to know that you never did.

She carries her sorrows with a shrug. But I have a feeling that if one were to dig deeper, whole worlds might be found.

I intend to dig deeper.

But my time with er was so short that sometimes the whole thing seems pointless.

However in celebration and acceptance of her teachings, I shall make my attempt anyway.

Not for any end but simply to say that may hap I too can at least try to live life on her terms.

I salute the lady in purple.

New beginnings

2008-06-18T12:06:00.000+05:30

It’s a new world. I hath finally reached. The air is sweeter with everyone looking to get saved, this place as a false bubble of hopefulness, as though none here can contain their expectations. Everywhere you go you meet bright faces filled with the air of possibility. It does lend a feeling of limitless and makes one giddy yet my past clings to me like the last rays of sunlight, still livening the sky long after the sun has faded. This past refuses to let me believe a place where things can be possible. The weight of failure is a heavy burden to bear and, as those among my brothers who have borne it know, it is equally harder to remove. Yet I did not come here to fall back to my old ways. I came for a future and I shall have one. I do stop to wonder if the powers that be might have mercy on my soul this time around. Yet the magic of this new world cannot be denied.
If naught for the proof before my very eyes I would not agree that nothing has truly changed. The world has changed yet stayed the same. Perhaps that is a good thing. A smile in a stranger’s eye and the beauty of the eternal breeze gently caress me as I laugh at the sight of the poetry of eternity. You and me will be long gone my friend, but this poetry will still remain, playing to a tune which we cannot hear but one can feel it from time to time.
The companions remain mostly. Some have been here for long and others are as fresh eyed as me. I feel the general nature of people as a whole does not change, only the masks ever change. I suppose it is to this end which my bring myself up, since one hopes that with the changing masks perhaps unfavoured fortune will turn its weary face to mine once more.
I find myself occupied in my trade, since it a good means to turn built up energy into a gain of some nature. My trade as a maker of words as oft bought me in contact with numerous peoples and ideas, not all of which was pleasing yet a far bit was intriguing. Perhaps the biggest change was my recent shift from the writer of news to the deliverer of it. In some deep recess of my mind, I can feel a steady beacon glow, as day after day I give good news to far strangers,, whose faces I do not see, yet whose smiles are heard as clear as day. In this world full of frowns, it is a unique and splendid feeling to feel those smiles. My gifts are not mighty, neither are they life altering. But they are unexpected, a sudden redemption in the middle of a long day. I have spoken to fewer than a hundred yet I feel like I have lifted the burdens of mankind itself.
It is to the gentle tunes of a minstrel in the distance that I toil, surrounded by the free and the fair. It is good, a new day dawns. I wonder and await the days ahead.

Sweet farewell

2008-06-17T12:57:00.002+05:30

I have done no sin. I have done no wrong. I was neither innocent nor the guilty. I was the twilghter in a whirlwind of circumstance, none of which was in my hand. If love has not failed me then can it be that I have failed to love?
The truth it seems is, as always, somewhere in between these two. Love has eluded me and there probably is no one more desperate to find it. The human race has but one big question. Are we alone in the universe? it reflects the ancient fear embedded in each and every one of us who wonders whether we are alone, right here, among the uncountable masses.
I am alone. Lonely. Surely no cliché is too small to describe me. The road less taken is what I strived for, but apparent it is now that it was never meant to be. The crosses of others I bore aloft, yet my cross was deemed to heavy or perhaps the very idea that someone has to bear another ones cross was wrong to begin with. A concept I seem to have failed to grasp entirely. Innocent I stand, shattered. The only solace comes from the cold comfort of having the last word. Yet, what does this achieve? Words are but words and do not cause the world to turn nor the sun to shine on me. Angels may guide our steps but in the great hall of justice, where all the fair creatures would stand to judge all those sinned against, I will not be deemed as being wronged, since there is no fairer truth than the singular fact that you cannot force someone to love you.
"Perhaps you were not what she was looking for" were the cautious words of a worried companion, yet each syllable hits like a hammer blow, since as always, one cannot see ones own flaws. I see none in this battered soul of mine that would halt a willing from loving it, but it seems that my love was given to one who was neither loving nor willing. Force of will might bend the greatest of stones but when will did not bend will, it was obvious I had the lost the battle before it even began. What worldly goods or immortal soul I would not sacrifice to have a chance wherein I was in the favour, where i was viewed in a different light. Where I was not judged as unworthy.
There nothing to do but to do something. The Earth has but one universal truth and that is time, which is always moving just out of reach. My time seems to have passed and it is the beginning of a new time. It is time to consider a new world and see if my fortunes can be made in fresh soil. I bid you sweet farewell, my precious old world, the jewel of my crown. To whatever end, the old world was sweet and beautiful for the short while it was in existence. I bid you farewell. The sun rises in the east. It is towards the new light I make my way now.

meaning less

2008-06-13T03:57:00.000+05:30

My love was fair, it was sweet.

It was all I had, Fulfilled all my need.

Though I was strong, She was weak.

My soul she stained with callous deceit.

I still have her, yes, she is with another,

I still have her, probably forever.

I meet her now, as she weeps,

She is in pain, cut so deep.

I try to care, show all my love.

She pushes me away. I am not what she needs.

"Meet me tomorrow", she screams in shame,

Tomorrow, where all is washed away like rain.

This is where I stay, banished from sad,

Forbidden to enter, meant only for the happy.

Oh my love, who does not want what I gave.

In eternity I love you. You , who I cannot save.

Apology

2008-06-06T00:15:00.005+05:30

In Kannada we have a phrase; “In a thunderstorm, water will even pour from the rafters of your home, it will flood all places, high and low. Still the dog will lick it off the ground and only in as much quantity as one lap from a pool.”

I am sorry.
Love and care cannot be forced out of someone,
I am sorry I tried.

I am sorry.
Care is defined by the little gestures,
the small things and deep emotions,
I am sorry I tried to force it out of you.

I am sorry.
One cannot be taught to care,
Respect cannot be beaten into one,
I am sorry I tried.

I am sorry.
To live a life of dignity,
comes from the inside.
One cannot be taught the right thing to do,
I am sorry I tried.

In the end, I am sorry,
For everything I forced you to do,
I am sorry I tried.

For all the times I tried to make you do,
Something you just didn’t want to you.
I realize that I have no right,
that you cannot be forced to live a better life.
I am sorry, but I tried.

I am sorry.

Beauty

2008-05-28T18:43:00.002+05:30

The mountain and the fish and the tiger and the stream will never know that you came to visit. They will never understand the feelings that arose within you when you saw them or the awe they inspired in you. But just because they dont know it, doesnt lower the value of your visit does it? their beauty is unaffected and your joy is also not affected in any way. treat people like this. See their beauty, appreciate it, but if they dont respond, then it okie. Atleast you saw something beautiful.

Of dreams and rogues

2008-05-24T15:29:00.003+05:30

The sound of music filled the air. The glow of Chandeliers bathed him. Huge pillars soared into a sky filled with millions of stars and cold blue moon. Hundreds of dancers twirled gracefully on a vast expanse of polished black granite, as he stood and watched them, mesmerized by this mirage from another world. They were all masked and cloaked, their identities irrelevant to the night. Nothing seemed to matter here.

Suddenly they stopped and bowed in his direction, inviting him to join their dance. He hesitated, but joined anyway, it seemed to be the only choice. It was a quick and lively dance. The men danced in soft stationary circles, as the women spun from partner to partner with every change of beat. It was an alien world, yet he was filled with a strange joy.

A woman spun into his arms just then, and the world stopped ticking. She was an unattainable being, the very symbol of desire itself. The breath stopped in his lungs as he struggled to comprehend her power. The gown was blood red and a golden mask glittered on her face, from which eyes filled with laughter studied him. There was nothing which she could not see, nothing that was hidden from her scrutiny.

“You want me don’t you?” she asked; her voice haunting and feather soft.

“Yes” he answered gruffly, his emotions going wildly out of control. He gripped her tighter, his nails digging into her soft flesh.

He danced in silence, no words seemed necessary. But then the beat changed and she spun out of his arms. He was horrified at this loss and stopped in shock, almost missing the next woman who came to him. A cry of despair froze in his throat as she called to him from her next partner.

“Ah-a-ah! Be cautious, if you misstep then you are out of the dance!” Her voice was like a song, full of highs and lows. He immediately straightened up, forcing his senses back into his own control. He did not want to leave the dance because somehow he knew that leaving the dance meant leaving her forever.

Round and round she danced, perfect in every way. Round and round he danced with ever increasing care, waiting until she came back to him again. This time he held her tighter, never wanting to let go.

“Do you want me”? She asked again.

“Forever” he whispered.

“You could have me…” she said. But once again the beat had changed and she moved on, her words trailing after her. ”…but for that…”

“For that what?” he screamed, completely forgetting the dance, the next woman and the mirage. The dance stopped abruptly and the mirage seemed to fade. It was not so perfect without the blur of the dancers. In the edges men sat and cried, their ragged hands out stretched towards an unseen fate, while tattered woman floated like ghosts among the refuse. The floor was polished but did not reflect the sky and the stars did not twinkle, dead spectators to the events below. Even the woman’s beauty seemed to burn out, her gown now appearing soaked, as little drops of blood dripped silently to the floor below.

Her voice floated through him, a mixture of care and pity. It echoed through his head, even as he stared at her unblinking.

“For that General, you have to pay attention to the dance…”

General Vinayak awoke with a start, the gentle laugh of a woman still ringing in his ears.