innuendo

Indian Sounds: The soft, the trippy, the heavy.

2010-12-25T04:38:00.001-08:00

No, there has been no upheaval. It has always been there, and we chose not so see, for a long time. We rather chose to be plundered into the sounds that emanated from foreign shores, because it reeked of a sort of melodramatic insight that we thought we lacked in our own country. Flash forward to the year 2010. If there has been any sort of revelatory revolution, barring Mamata Bannerjee's march against the Communist bastion in West Bengal, it's the music. The bloody, heart-throbbing, mind numbing, solitude inducing, soul crunching music that is being broadcast out of the shores of my country. For years, I/we have held a general disregard for the music that artists in India have produced, solely because it held vibes of non-professionalism, candid plagiarism, and an incessant need/want to sound 'international'. Now, much to my and the general music-loving Indian's ears' respite, there is what we call, hope. I would like to take this opportunity to tell you about a few bands/artists who have been making headlines in India and abroad. They sound genuine, probably because they are, and because the music they make is thought-provoking and thoughtful at the same time. It is made with a pinch of sensibility, and they still hold onto their ideals of musicmanship. They sample, they blast bass drums, they scream in tone, they croon and they are funky, to say the least. I would like to list my favourites.

Sulk Station

I love Beth Gibbons. I love her to bits. Her voice drips melancholy, easy and calm for those evenings and mornings when you want to see the world but from under the duvet. Thing is, Portishead doesn't do a lot of travelling these days, and neither does Elizabeth Fraser. So in walked Tanvi Rao, and brought along this dude with a misplaced baseball cap, a sampler and a laptop loaded with music software, and Tanvi brought along her croon. No disrespect to Gibbons, but Tanvi sounds more accessible. She slides over vocal duties, ever so effervescently, whispering words that resound over the sampled bass Rahul Giri sets up beautifully. They are 2 people on a mellowdramatic mission, as they say. I was literally taken aback when I heard 'Wait', one of their earlier songs. A touch of classical Carnatic, a dash of falsetto, a dose of low frequency beats, a whole load of trip hop, and you get a seamless mixture that is original to the core. To make things better, they're from Bangalore, the city where I, well, lose myself from time to time. Sulk Station makes it a whole lot easier for me.

Pick'led': Wait , Contentment.

The Bicycle Days

'Bicycle Day' was the day when Albert Hofmann, the father of LSD, decided to trip, not knowing that it would be a trip. I am not sure if the band's name spins from this, but it would make perfect sense if it did. You see, they call themselves an alternative band, but they're a lot more than that, and that would not be my guess. A friend of mine, who happens to know these blokes, asked me to check out their music and comment on their abilities. I listened, and I immediately asked her to pursue, promote and glorify them. Karthik's voice matches the sensibilities that the band portrays: a ghostly, sometimes marauding, omnipotent haze of droptunes. They released their first EP, '42' this year, and I was disappointed for not having access to it. I am still disappointed for not having ever seen them live, because from what my friends tell me, they pack in quite a show, visuals and all. The band have received rave reviews from the Indian music media, and for no small reason. If you listen to Porcupine Tree, Oceansize, Incubus or any other band that fits the mentioned bill, you'll like TBD. And more so, because they're Indian, and influences quoted are Douglas Adams, Bill Hicks, sarcasm, existentialism and peace. The track '27', is just plain goddamned top notch. The sound they create is primal but without being aggressive. Put your headphones on and close those eyes, because the trip is in your mind. The poster boys of Indian psychedelia are here. Valium in a CD. Who'd have thought?

Pick'led': 27, Circles.

Scribe

'M*d*rch*d!!!'. That is exactly what you'll exclaim when you let these guys take over your modestly priced stereo system. No pretensions here. No nice boys in flannel shirts. It's a plain and simple 'Wham, Bam, kaisa laga?' 5 incredibly talented individuals with a single motive - to moshpit the living hell out of your brain with their flaming cocktail of Bollywood catchphrases, blatantly bloody blastbeats, sarcastic jibes and riffs that make Meshuggah proud. They claim to be hardcore, and no one is complaining at their live shows. Scribe is the band that the Indian metal freak has embraced with nonchalant glee, and so have I. 2 albums to their credit, 'Confect' and 'Mark of Teja'. Both will go down as seminal masterpieces in the Indian metal phenomena. Although the first album had it's share of production glitches, no one can ever accuse these guys for not trying. 'Analyze This' starts with Neo's (remember that sci-fi legend?) last monologue from 'The Matrix', followed swiftly by the sound of the snare drums being thrashed to smithereens (smile!!), and the the man called Vishwesh clears his throat. Literally. My favourite song off that album, and for good reason. Midway into the track, I think I hear Slipknot, and therein lies my mistake. I should not be comparing these guys to them, or to any other band. They opened for Lamb of God, they've played at international music festivals, and then some. They are radical and talented enough to stand on their own name, and do a beautifully post-apocalyptic job at that. The second album sees them experiment a bit more, challenge a lot more. Song titles include 'I Love You, Pav Bhaji', 'Dum hai to aage aa!', 'Judge Bread' (Stallone, crap your pants. NOW!), '1234 Dracula', among others. The last song contains a heavy dose of Rajnikanth's dialogues, and for good measure. These guys are goofy, unpretentious, hairy, and love to make fun of contemporary pop culture and the stereotypes they create. They make angry music, but they are not intimidating. Scribe, take the floor, and take a bow.

Pick'led': Analyze This, Analyze That, Mark of Teja (the whole album)

A quaint selection of bhideos for the discerning eyes.

Sulk Station: Contentment

The Bicycle Days: '27'

Scribe: Dum hai to Aage aa

And this is but the beginning.

The Reveal

2010-07-10T08:09:00.000-07:00

High he sat over the water,
Slowly reaching his hands into the slaughter below.
They were gentle, in their execution,
Almost a sullen feline grace.
It caught his eye, suddenly,
The parable he saw in his reflection.
"This is not mine", he reasoned
With a predicatively waning resolve that had seen better days.
A slow, sweeping glance around and the sight
was revealed to Him,
The sky, yellow with surrender, red with spite,
Merging seamlessly with the ooze crawling out of what was once blue with life.
He was the only one still sitting,
With the rest scattered around, still and seemingly comfortable.
A final laboured effort to look up and exhale with guilty relief,
He afforded himself a smile, before collapsing into the ground.
Still and seemingly comfortable.
The horizon was a straight line, devoid in any indentation.

Flutter

2010-03-18T15:46:00.000-07:00

Open a song to settle the heart.
And the windows let the air through.
Can I ask myself another question,
While the record player loops?

A faint smell wafted from where I undid my shoe.
I tried to keep it low.
She said she didn't want to see the orange glow,
So I pretended to settle back in my seemingly juvenile groove.

Helps both ways if you can see through the nook
And crannies too.
Searching for things just out of arms' reach,
The mind conjures images it probably should not view.

Sifting through sand is no job for a cowboy.
Stacked high in shelves like paperwork in a hardware store.
I stole a quick glance while I tried to sweep the floor clean,
And the patch I missed smiled back at me, languid and slow.

Places remained

2009-12-30T04:29:00.000-08:00

I am not a traveler yet.
I am but a journeyman.
Ambiguous, you might say, but it makes perfect sense.
I trade my knowledge and emotions,
My shoes and my traditions,
For a sense of contentment that we search for; usually vapidly.

Places remained from my memory
Of a time when the hands of the clock refused to budge.
They just moved in the back of my mind,
Reminding this fluid for the lack of a better word.
Like a black swan anomaly.
Like snow in a desert.

The cello creakes silently against the winter sun.
It plays a melancholic polytone as the credits drop
Languidly over the vivid screen of life.
It was a good year and warrants a better start,
But, being human is a deterrent to an otherwise perfect world.
I'd rather not have my epitaph written in stone.
Let it be blank. You are cordially invited to scribble a thought or two.

Pillion view

2009-12-22T18:44:00.000-08:00

Elvis has left the building,
And Levi's never invented the rivets.
A new idea born out of a juggled mind
Gorged with white lines drawn surreptitiously clean,
Evokes a sense of rapture that envelopes every other sense.

When goals are set to tones
Reminiscent of the licks the left-handed guitarist conjured,
You can safely assume that you have slowly drifted into uncharted territory
That might seem inviting at first,
But gets ugly when the reptiles trudge away, content, and satiated with a full belly.

Ideas set in stone mirror hopes left behind.
Breaks between the glass lets the shallow air through.
The virtue called Grace might just slip through unnoticed
After that lunatic evening by the poolside.
Tend to the soul with a drink by the sea perhaps.

Stare closer into the looking glass once awake.
It is human to delineate the emotions that surface on such short notice.
Brush away that hair sitting brazenly by your lip
And take heart in the fact that the water the tap emits is still comfortably cold.
Takes little time to turn that gift of God into a tepid collection of unwanted muck.

Shoes help us walk with ease,
All the while keeping us inches away from the ground.
We never really 'hit the road' ; We glide nonchalantly over sharp stones and broken pavements.
Forgiveness is a coherent decision to listen,
When we realize we need to reconcile with our indifference.

#443

2009-11-17T05:53:00.000-08:00

I feel the cold stone floors sometimes,

In my mind when I miss

The abject crying of the 4 month old
Desperately seeking his mother’s assistance.

I remember the public transport and the masters of speed.

Who overcharge, overwhelm, oversteer and overload

Your senses with curses, black smoke, busted suspensions and broken meters.

And then there was the rain.

I recall the nights of relentless staring

At the 17 inch LCD screen that somehow

Held together my monthly wage,

And the daily pack of Navy Cut that I cherished so.

I reminisce about the game nights,

The wanton screaming fuelled by litres of Kingfisher and the proponent of good highs.

A late, albeit goliath bite at the only eatery open at 3 am,

Followed by an afternoon of peace that silently made its presence felt.

I relive those bass-filled drives with

Absent friends and a clear head.

A quick stop at a gas station to replenish the depleted chocolate stock

And pose for photographs with random strangers in the background.

I play the tunes that we used to think we composed

Out of sheer nonchalance and alcohol-induced indulgence.

Don’t take me wrong: we had our moments of pure genius

And more moments of sheer senselessness.

I correlate the good times gone bad and

The bad times that miraculously morphed into the great.

Somehow, between the shades they met with a clear conscience,

Striking a deal to keep misery at hand’s length.

I contemplate the differences and the similarities.

So much of them we had, refusing to let them stand the in way

Of a higher cause that vaguely resembled hope.

The reflection slowly fades, like ripples on the surface

Ease their turbulent energy, pacifying themselves.

Conjoined ideas shimmer under a clear moonlit sky

As friends join hands to pass around a solitary ember,

Wishing the smoke never dissipates.

Silent Departures

2009-06-09T02:56:00.000-07:00

It's been a good one year. Landed back in Bangalore sometime in June last year. Headed straight off to Koramangala 4th block to meet the person who provided me with a place to crash and a place to peace out. Found a job with a kick-ass organization and worked there for the next 9 months before making the final, veritable and almost predicatable plunge of pursuing the holy grail for Indian engineers: A Master's degree. It's been a great year.

There are friends, and then there is the BOD. We had humble beginnings, almost nonchalant. Robin introduced Malik and me to Nitin. Then Hemant came in. Then there was Keshav, more affectionately known as Kezman or Kinky Kezman. We bonded over things seemingly superficial, yet somehow managed to percolate each others' psyches by getting to know the others for their habits, for their deeds and misdeeds, for their lack of emotion and sometimes too much of it. We analyzed each other, we criticized each other , and we spoke our minds. We drank expensive whisky, we indulged in rampant indolence, we didn't care for a while, and then all of a sudden we found the group dissociated, but only spatially. 30th May could not have come earlier in my life.

30th May shall be fondly remembered as the day the BOD converged after two and a half years of being scattered across the globe. It was a much anticipated reunion, and much cherished.

Thanks to ye all.

El Nocturnae

2009-01-29T21:10:00.000-08:00

Nocturnal is nice. The darkness envelopes a lot of the scars, cracks and pits that the sheen of the sun seems to usher forth. I write after a word drought of close to 4 months, or more. Things have changed. Nicely.

Work is humdrum, taxing, belligerent in its arrogance. My manager is Scottish, likes Glen Fiddich and Hibernian, thinks Manchester United is okay just because they got the Ferguson.. I got the hots for a female colleague, actually 3 of them, but they seem too nice. Hot and nice. Hmmmm.

The Goa trip made me feel relaxed, if not over the moon. Lots of KF Premium, Mysore stash, ol' friends, Honda Activas, Baga and the late nights spent doodling on bikes on dark empty roads towards Palolim, more Mysore stash, Okocim Palone and Carlsberg, 3 days away from civilization inside civilized morning glory.

Mysore trips and the fabled Esteem rides, commencing after the 2.5 hour ride on a Volvo B7R tottering at 100 kmph on a highway made exclusively for Audi A4's and BMW Z6's in a state where politicians are confused about their ideologies and about the content and after effects of alcohol. BUt Mysore is still an upliftment. Purple Haze and the DJ who loves Moonspell, although he cannot spell half the name. He also adores Lacuna Coil but only because they have a female vocalist. Bangre waits tables at Haze, and he likes to take over the jukebox before 7 every evening, playing some Zappa, Hendrix, hair metal and also Porcupine Tree. Hence, respect. The drive to the Twilight Zone at 2 am in the morning becomes a trip as we vicariously whupp a Mumbaikar's ass, while jiving to Massive Attack, albeit with such subtlety that his kevlar-based cranium could let very little sarcasm percolate through. CHEERIO!!!!!

Late evenings sitting at Koshy's, meeting new people and reminiscing the old. Getting wasted over Filet Mignon and KF Premiums yet again. Checking the digital wrist watch to apprise oneself of the time, the deadline, the curfew. The rush back home, a quick shower and a quicker change of scene. Some sit and watch at Eastlands, some root for the Stretford end. But all watch with bated breath, hoping for the ball to find the opposing net. Furious chants and even furious screams of contentment. It's all in good faith mate.

Opeth and Bleak, Heir Apparent, Moor's Lament, The Drapery Falls and The Grand Conjuration, in an open air theater in IIT Madras that was constructed only to accomodate the more illustrious Bollywood stars. Opeth made it look like a walk in the park, showering us with brutal intensity in the midst of vociferous tonsil vibrations and head oscillations. It was heaven, hell and everything in between. And the 4 hour risde back to Bangalore from Chennai, at an ambient speed of 120 kmph, in a hotbox of a car with the A/C on. Touch it while you can.

It is good to be back. I shall consume the last morsel of Lay's before I crash for a rather long night at work. It's saturday tomorrow, so should be fun.

E Poxy

2008-08-08T00:51:00.000-07:00

You got your coats in a bunch.
Are you having a hunch,
About the news as it comes on the late show?
Assemble summer days,
LS and purple haze.
Falter and you'll fall on your face slow.

Create a new persona.
A jacuzzi and sauna.
Was it a folly when Alice went through the dark hole?
Visit the apothecary.
Stir a non-existent story.
Get your fix and revel on the dancefloor.

High five the bass drum.
Fill the room with a huge thump.
Dirty colors on the other side of the glass door.
Dark lips in fusion.
Open mating season.
Luck drips like pearls from an oyster shore.

Paralyze the future.
Open a bloody suture.
Tongs and hammers vibrate in cranial rows.
Social apogee on show.
Empathy goes low.
Speak on a megaphone in a fire drill.

Would you go to a jamboree,
Disguised as a soiree?
Sashay and frolic under lines of neon shade.
Limited vocal stations.
Affiliated motions.
Crooked smiles and grins on a bastard face.

Gather round in circles.
Breathe through plastic snorkels.
Let them tell you how to dismantle the atomic bomb.
Point your fingers at turnstiles.
Before you all turn senile,
And the world just laughs and rushes through.

19

2008-08-06T00:58:00.000-07:00

We sat on opposite ends of a round table,
Sipping our coffee with blissful endeavor.
We spoke of days the river flowed with wine
And of nights the curtains were never drawn.
Laughed out loud over broken heels and cracked soles
And pondered over grocery lists forgotten.

But we took sides.
Sides on a round table..
Sides on a circle that meets seamlessly, unhindered.
Rambled & quarrelled with eyes wide shut
And abrogated an agreement made wordlessly.
You thought it was karmic the way we parted on insolent grounds.
I thought it was strange that you voiced it out loud.
Mute was your rebellion. Silence your weapon.
The world your aim and the target, I.

Sleep now behind clouds.
The stars spiral in a helical maze
And swallows dance around the sun
While heaven divides hell.

Flightplan

2008-07-31T02:44:00.000-07:00

The above painting is a Picasso classic called The Old Guitarist. Look closely at the image and you will find a faint outline of a woman painted on the background. Legend has it that Picasso started out painting a picture of an old lady in a sitting position, bit later changed his mind and drew the skewered neck area of the man in the image. Now touted as one of the most progressive and advanced works of the maestro, it also was a precursor to the Cubism era.

As for me, I adore this particular painting. One of the main reasons being the almost doppleganger aura that the picture of the old lady seems to exude, but in a very calming fashion. Eerie, but nice.

And Hemant is going to land early tomorrow morning in Bangalore. He's been away for about 4 months now. The BOD shall be reunited again. Robin's back already. Looking forward to an emancipating next weekend. I'm kinda pumped. It's good to be among friends again, among people who know you as you are and not as they want you to be.

To good times everybody.

In Situ. And Tempering.

2008-07-27T01:17:00.000-07:00

Back to where we belong eh? Work is not throwing much tantrums, so taking an easier week into my veins. Went all the way to KR Puram to get some much needed sustenance. Been listening to a new band (he he) called Brand New. Amazing single called 'Jesus Christ', and getting back to one of me favorite artistes.. Mike Patton, of erstwhile Faith No More, now fronts Tomahawk. And then there's John Stainer drumming his ass off on Battles' debut album. Listen to alternative music, you mushyheads. Wont say it will give you perspective, but it wont atleast not give you no perspective. There.

2 comments received at work. During a group activity at work, we all were asked to devise an act/activity that we would like another individual to perform. I knew that most peole would end up with the same 'sing/dance' routine. I went a little different. 3 walls of the rooms were dotted with square holes in a grid of 20x6. So my plan read: 'Count the number of square holes on the room walls'. And the very generous female sitting next to me touted: 'That is so pseudo-intellectual!!'. Upon prodding a bit more, her definition of pseudo-intellectual was unearthed.. Anything and everything that people don't/won't understand, is pseudo-intellectual. So much for literature, art, science and everythig under the stars.

The second comment ?? That I'm a hottie. Dyamn, 2 years too late.

Seven mirrors. Seven days to peer into.
Seven ropes to choose from.
Seven pairs of shoes I gave away. Yesterday.
Seven steps to the next floor.

Four is my number in crime.
My palms have no digits when dusks enters the sky.
The four seasons rush away. If only the stayed.
Remember the seven pairs I gave away?
I treasured four of them. Till yesterday.

Rid the lawn of the weeds that proliferate.
The continents slide and create mountains, don't they?
Giant, gargantuan mountains. And deep oceans to swim in.
I never liked the frigid waters you inhabit.
I bathed only twice, but quenched a thirst a thousand times.

3 faces that oversee evolution.
Those 3 millenia I survived in clay moulds with glass eyes.
3 suns I have seen set in as many hues.
I need a lunar warmth this time.

One late summer night

2008-05-15T02:57:00.000-07:00

This is not a story per se. It is written from experience, from emotions captured while racing through time and people. It is a collaboration of ideas from people who now live far and away. Call it an abstract collage, if you will, because although it looks like it makes little sense, it is full of actualities that we all confront.

2 AM
We came to a rather shallow halt. The highway has just been cleaned wet. Some idiot of a truck driver managed to dump a load of sand right in the middle of the road. Clogged up a bit of it and forced the Esteem to sway a bit while travelling at 120. Ah.. shit happens... Where's the product man??? Here we go mate.. Let me light it for you. The flame from the Zippo flickers against a rather cold midnight breeze, but we manage to light up a couple of products nonetheless. Dogged persuasion mate. We cant let go of this union. Union?? What union?? Dude.. Like the stars man.. They're shining so brightly like.. you know man.. and then the freakin' breeze like.. WTF?? Dude.. Like I just took 2 drags man.. And you already want me to pass huh?? Like gimme some time man.. Yeah man.. Is cool dude, take your time. We're hammered anyway, so might as well take it peacefully. Yeah man, like back at home I hardly got any man.. Even with the pipe I didnt get enough. I think my capacity has increased. Dude, what was your capacity in college like?? Why do you wanna know that? Just toke man! Peace!! He's like trippin' an aw mate.. Like them Hibs man.. Those guys trip like crazy those buggers ah'd say mate. Hibs an Harts, Glory be tae them Jam Tarts!!!! By the way mate,had ye ever imagined that sumthin' aw dis sort wud be happenin here an aw? I'm like 'yeah.. these guys got it goin' an aw', and boom!! Dude, this stuff is strong.. this is potent shit. Here, I'm done man.. I cant take no more. I'm already seeing things.. He he he he.. Stop laughing man. Feels great, disnae?? Oye, check this. I just wrote this stuff.. Came to my mind so.. Ha ha ..

2:30 AM
Oye, wanna go to Chamundi?? Like we gotta put petrol man.. Frick, I didnt get my debit card man. Koi nahi bey, I got it covered. We'll fill at that place that's open 24*7?? Yeah, aur nahi to kya?? We're goin' to Chamundi?? Dude, this is trippin an aw mate.. Absolutely, ah'd say. But we need some supplies... Dude, like I rolled 5 man. You were rolling while we watched the match?? Ya man.. like I wanted to stock up on that stuff like.. so... cool. Thanks man, you saved us this night.. Ya man, like you just gotta ask me man. Ask and you shall receive.. And check them , they're in the Classics pack on the dash. I rolled them straight man like... Yeah, they're straight alright. You've outdone yourself .. Oye, how much?? 500 ka petrol daal dete hain.. we'll need it later anyway. Ok. Boss?? 500. Speed ya regular?? Speed yaar.. Boss, 500 Speed, ok?

2:45 AM
"Its just no good anymore since you went away ....now I spend my time just making up rhymes of yesterday... One is the loneliest number ..One is the loneliest number..One is the loneliest number since you went away....since you went away".... Whooooh!!! These turns at 90??? Yeah!!!!

2:55 AM
This is just way too beautiful to behold. Yeah, like it's a cosmic connection, right??? It's like you don't really know where you're goin', and end up there by chance. But do you really end up there by chance?? I mean, you gotta want to be to there to be there, right?? But this is just IT. This transgresses everything man. It's way too pure, unadulterated, pristine and dark. It's ours man.. Totally bro, cheers to that mate!! Oye, peace kar. It'll ease out bhai.. You know we've never had things easy. Just take in this moment with friends.. Rest shall sort itself out in time. ACMNW... Ha ha ha ha ha ha.. Dont make me laugh so hard bhai! I'll choke on the smoke... Oye, kuch bhi eh?? Choke ?? Ha ha..
Anyone has plans for tomorrow?? Dude!! ManU's playing Everton tomorow.. Kick off kab hai?? 5:30 I guess... Peaceful.. We gotta go to Mandi man.. Like we're running low like.. No more stuff at home?? I had kept some in the bottom shelf of my cupboard.. That's over man.. I used that to roll these.. Theek hai, we'll go to Mandi tomorrow. Chalega na mere saath?? Of course bhai.. You don't have to ask..

3:15 AM
Open the trunk na.. We'll have better acoustics.. dude, take the smoke man..

An hour of silence

2008-05-01T07:14:00.000-07:00

It's labour day today. Or rather a day to commemorate by not going to work and opening up those pints of beer that have been languishing in your refrigerator for the past fortnight because you were busy chaffing your ass for that American conglomerate which outsourced its work to that Indian IT company you work for. Hard earned break. Enjoy.

Started looking for some music that complements my life, or rather the abject lack of one. Searched true and hard and lo behold!! - there was mathcore and math rock to the rescue. To the 'average' person (sorry) its just noise. To me, its chaos in a Rubik's Cube. Slit and turn the pieces, decipher the complex break beats in your head, dissect the cryptic lyrics.. It's all about thinking, something I have not indulged in in the last few months. Just staple stalemate it has been. So Dillinger Escape Plan and Battles gave me someting to think about. And 65daysofstatic as well. But thenthey have no lyrics.

Was speaking to a photographer friend today. He claims to be dyslexic. Strangely the swear words never come out wrong from his mouth, nor the names of the chicks he digs. He wanted a little help with an introduction for an online exhibition of his photographs, and the write up that he had written was pretty obese and morbid, summarising the lack of depth in modern India and her denizens. I understood what he meant and noticing a few grammatical errors, corrected them. I helped another person.

Yellow lights on Southern Avenue.
Yellow flowers carpet the footpath
Where she diligently sits with an assortment
Of nicotine based products.
A lamp burns steady against a fleeting
April wind that hardly flutters a feeling.

Fingers entwined she speaks sweet nothings
Into his heavy ear while he gazes at the
Boats cutting through the tepid water of the Lake
Or so he wants her to believe.
The old man in Nike overalls casts a concerned look
Before waltzing away to his own tune.

Taxi on the sidewalk all burnished and pretty
Driver in tow sips his evening tea while
Recounting his dealings from the day's work.
Smart, suave, sassy, black.
A Japanese make, isn't it?
I would look ravishing in it, he ponders.

Walk with an empty mind as I
Buy my filter tipped from the old lady.
It's always the 3.50 rupees madam,
A Gold Flake and a packs of mints.
Then on the 223 from Panchanantala
Drop down at Lord's.

It's always a blur to me.

Keep Telling Myself It's Alright (Ashes Divide) Review

2008-04-10T08:41:00.000-07:00

Faintly apt that I'd come across this masterful offering from Billy Howerdel on Steven Wilson's MySpace page. Ashes Divide is basically Billy's solo creation, wherein he wrote all the songs, composed all the music, and played most of the music and instruments, in addition to producing the same album, called Keep Telling Myself It's Alright.

Now for those who don't know, Howerdel is a former member of A Perfect Circle and has worked as a sessions musician with many alternative bands, Smashing Pumpkins being a standout amongst them. The name of the band is somewhat of a confuser, as the band exudes nothing of the nu-metal angst that is usually associated with morbid, almost moribund names that evoke the entrails of a burning ground. On the contrary, the album combines elements of A Perfect Circle, but only to give the listener a feel of Howerdel's imagination and his inherent control of the guitar. He employs numerous loops, FXs and on some tracks, crunching power chords that stand as testaments to Howerdel's capacity as a musician, something that was overshadowed during his stint as APC's guitar-maniac due to the histronics of another superbly talented musician called Maynard James Keenan. Surprisingly, Keenan leaves his mark here as well, in the form of his 13 year old son Devo, who plays cello on one of the tracks. The rest of the musicians are APC veterans, with Josh Freese assuming membrane busting duties and Paz Lenchantin getting back on the 4-string. Alkaline Trio's Matt Skiba makes an appearance here as well.

Now getting to the sound, it would be worth mentioning that there are vivid resemblances to 30 seconds to Mars and a little of Chevelle. The APC effect is carried off here, of course, but not in the same vitriolic manner of Thirteenth Step or eMotive. It's more relaxed, prog and blatantly alternative. The single 'The Stone' harks out APC strains, solely because Howerdel wanted the listener to be lured in by the APC sound, from where the person would be taken into a more concrete dimension of expansive guitaring and projectile lyrics. Howerdel is not a great vocalist, but he makes good on this one, carrying off the songs with appropriate aplomb and tenacity. The opener 'Stripped Away' starts with heavy riffs, and progresses into an easy listener. 'Too Late' and 'Forever Can Be' are the tracks of the album , the latter being an emotional ballad that rises from slow acoustic guitar work and metamorphoses into an almost atmospheric orchestral work. These are but 3 of the songs, and the rest of them stand alone on their own credo.

The only con in this album is it's length. At 44 minutes, it packs a lethal punch, but once the 6 and half minute closer is over, you're begging for more. Go get it. Period.

http://rapidshare.com/files/105411297/ASHES_dIVIDE.rar.html

Natural Anthem

2008-03-31T08:57:00.000-07:00

I take a breath,

And pull the air in until there's nothing left.

I'm feeling green, almost happy

Like teenage lovers between their sheets.

Knuckles clenched to white as

the landing gear retract for flight.

My head's a balloon inflating with the altitude.

Blowing smoke rings into the insipid atmosphere.

I watch the patchwork farms' slow fade

Into the ocean's arms

And from here they can't see me stare.

As I experience the stale taste of recycled air.

Calm down now, I say,

Release them cares.

Into the stale taste of recycled air,

So that I may live with my sins,

In perfect harmonious neglect.

The sea breeze enacts a chaffing effect

On the looking glass as

The light bends at the cracks,

Creating silhouettes on peeling walls.

Bold static harks loud from across the mantlepiece

Where I rest my radio.

It lures me into the mesmerising nothingness

Incarcerated by 5 brick walls and a wooden floor.

This place is not a prison.

These vestiges are not my friends.

Inhaling thrills trough rolled up bills,

Emptying crystal tumblers only to be filled again.

And again.

There are liveried guards at the entrance.

They smile as I enter, but do not permit me to leave.

There is a tangible world outside this 6 sided box,

Different from the one the soot from the candles creates on the walls.

Sometimes it's too bright to see.

But the phenomenon does not cease any night.

I clear my eyes and stare at the candelabra,

Suture my mind shut,

Empty the crystal tumbler

And inhale the stale recycled air.

I have been travelling too long, too far, too wide. I need closure, I want closure... I wish.

Newsflash in 10 parts

2008-03-25T08:58:00.000-07:00

(a)

Four.

Insane.

Gunspark.

Crimson greeting.

(b)

Bipolar.

Art.

White.

Sniff/snort.

(c)

Pencil heel.

Suffused hips.

Holiday.

In Normandy.

(d)

Blending.

Amber pride.

Particulate.

Obsolete.

(e)

Binary.

Cheat.

Kleptomaniac.

Outcast.

(f)

Smoke.

Trance.

Epiphany.

Cloudburst.

(g)

Zephyr.

Draft.

Gust.

Politik.

(h)

Dogstar.

Sirius.

Grave.

Epitaph.

(i)

Trot.

Heave.

Swallow.

Smile.

(j)

Tyre.

Tire.

Tie her.

Re-tire.

C for a Cause

2008-03-21T02:18:00.001-07:00

Season 9 of Southpark. I was happily lounging off on my bed and smiling unconsciously to myself because I anticipated a flurry of humor to wash me away. I was watching Southpark, unhindered, after about a gap of 2 years. I remember seeing till season 7 while I was in college. But that's the story for another day.

The second episode of that season's called 'Die Hippie, Die'. It starts off with Cartman dresed up as a pest controller who speacialises in eradicating hippies, because 'all they do is smoke pot and smell bad'. Cartman had earlier encountered these 'vile' creatures and plans to rid the town clean of these abominations, as he fears Southpark will soon be infested by them hippies, who, as is their credo, start a jam band festival whenever they grow in numbers at a particular place. So much is the resolve of Cartman in the face of adversity, that he single handedly imprisons 63 hippies in his basement, keeping them satisfied with a regular tdose of joints, brownies and guitars.

Meanwhile, Kyle, Stan and Kenny encounter a group of 1st year students from the University of Colorado at Boulder, who tell them that they are being slaves to the corporations while they mooch off the hard labor of the common man for a pittance. Kyle, Stan and Kenny realize their folly and join the hippies, who, now having grown into a sizeable number, agree to start a jam band festival in Southpark to fight the corporations. Their reason: "We will show the corporations that we do not need them. We can live off ourselves". But somewhere down the line, the festival continues for 9 days and the young boys, previously disillusioned by the corporate mumbo-jumbo, come to the conclusion that they have achieved nothing in the past week but "got high and smoked crappy weed all the time". Subtle, but ironic.

Somehow, we've all been there. We've all believed in a cause, stood up for it, tried to make converts out of people who did not give a rat's ass about it anyway. We resolved not to give in to the shenanigans that dictated the life of the 'common man' as he was too influenced by the dictates of society. We wanted to be the social factors that altered community/human behavior as we considered ourselves a notch above our neighbors. All this while smoking pot oursleves, getting hammered out of what was left of our senses, and glorifying Pink Floyd as if they were the only British progresive band that ever walked the earth. We wanted to be above the ordinary, and then somehow we lost it all.

This is usually what humans do. And by humans, I mean myself too. I have done the very same things mentioned in the above paragraph. We join a moving wave, hoping to alter its course, but get carried away by the flow, land on an obscure beach somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and choose to stay there as its calm, serene, peaceful and away from the 'drags of life'. Unfortunately, these 'drags of life' are what give character to our existence. To try to change them is human intuition. Its also called evolution, to try to move on to something better. But when the 'moving on' becomes 'moving in a tangent', things go awry. And then we just don't care. It applies to hippies as much as it does to mothers who leave their children unattended to fend for themselves at 2 am at night. It applies as much to a politician trying to make things right as it does to the anarchist trying to rebel against that very same politician. It applies as much to the aspiring MBA candidate trying his heart out to get into a good B-School as it does to the NGO worker who teaches slum kids the basic alphabets.

It great to have a goal. It's even better to progress towards it. It'll be absolutely smashing if we actually make it to half of the way towards converting that dream into reality. We gotta try.

The cause never dies. Neither does the mind that carries and nurtures it. The latter just chooses to ignore it till it is beneficial for the host to take up the cause again. It's also called being an oppotunist bastard.

Dare

2008-03-13T03:46:00.000-07:00

Ripping this idea off from a friend's blog post. One of the better fifteen minutes I've spent in the last few days.. and strangely enough, makes coincidental sense.
Here are the 'How-to's...

1. Put your MP3 player/Media player on shuffle
2. For each question, press the 'next' button to get your answer.
3. You must write the name of the song no matter what.

a.IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY?” YOU SAY? Stop me: Mark Ronson (n.a)
b.WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY? Too long / Steam Machine - Daft Punk (Yea baby!)
c.WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GIRL? Twilight is my Robe - Opeth (run for covr people)
d.HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY? Chosen ones - Megadeth ( Don't mess with moi)
e.WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE? Breathe - Pink Floyd (See, Papa never lies)
f.WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO? From here to eternity - Iron Maiden (Eddie, you the man!!)
g.WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU? Great day for freedom - Pink Floyd (Aww, thanks guys)
h.WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS? Underneath it All - No Doubt ( dyamn!!)
i.WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN? Strangelove - Depeche Mode ( this IS eerie)
j.WHAT IS 2+2? Rust in Peace - Megadeth(n.a)
k.WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND? But, Honestly - Foo Fighters
l.WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE? FFF - Megadeth (now this is a Mustaine overdose issue)
m.WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY? Probably couldn't see for the lights but you were looking straight at me - Arctic Monkeys (Story of my life. Big deal)
n.WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP? Just - Radiohead( I love ye Yorkie! Ye said it mate!)
o.WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE? Message from a self-destructing turnip - Porcupine Tree (Couldn't put this in a more sardonic manner)
p.WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU? What if I do? - Foo Fighters (Probably what the think the whole time)
q.WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING? Metanoia pt 2 - Porcupine Tree (Kill me somebody)
r.WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL? Knot comes loose - My Morning Jacket ( I can see the relief on the faces of the gathered milieu!)
s.WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST? All my life - Foo Fighters (Ummmm, yeah, kinda)
t.WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET? Brain Damage - Pink Floyd (Bow minions!! Papa has done it again!)
u.WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS? She looks to me - RHCP (n.a)
v.WHAT SHOULD YOU POST THIS AS? Dare - Gorillaz (Yeah??!!! I dared to post this soddy experience.. so here goes nothing)

As you can see, age is no hindrance when it comes to wasting time through redundant and obtuse methods.. But that's the joy of life. It's shit. So help yourself.

Peace

Savant

2008-03-09T07:12:00.001-07:00

Periscope extends the lens.
Concave and clean.
Peer through. Peer through to the side.
It asks nothing, yet regales with morbid fecundity.
Laugh. Would you like another body?
We have plenty more.
Light another smoke master.
The strobes have only focused yet.

Surreptitiously you lick those lips master?
Do not be afraid, mesays.
They are but forlorn remnants of a larger prey.
Vanquish. Dominate. Subjugate.
They are yours for the making.
Firm, but they can talk. They whisper
Your name if asked.
Don’t you fancy that master?

Feel it against your veins sire.
Velveteen rabbits come for way more. Yes.
And you will be venerated. Parched soul.
It shall help you revel under the pink moon
And orange stars.
Your fingers come clean, don’t they?
No one shall judge you.
The mind is the slave.

Cut a hole, yes, cut that hole.
Inhale that aroma.
Almost reminiscent of the package Mamma gathered
For that early spring morning
She called birthday.
Explore the gift sire.
Cut a hole. Yes.
Cut loose.

You are sweating master.
Which part races?
Against time and against grain?
Dig harder I pray. The cornucopia lies almost
Within reach. Move them.
Strap your head up sire.
Glance at those pale green eyes.
Do you feel them at the base of your spine?

Feel them under your skin?
Tormenting the mitochondrial detail
To hark out in agonizing pain.
Feel them over your palms?
The amber nectar oozing out of your grasp
You held so rigidly, slipping away.
Feel them around you neck sire?
Asphyxiating almost. Begging questions
That require subtle replies.
Feel them on the mirror master?
Stripped clean, as naked as the wind on these desolate shores.
As naked as you and I shall ever be.

Come again sire. Come to me.
I shall not judge.
Cut the hole again master,
Shall we?

The painting is an impression by Jordanian cubist and visual artist Muhanna Al-Dura

Crane of thought

2008-03-03T06:10:00.000-08:00

I'd rather it rained today.
The streets are flushed dry.
The rickshaws tyres are deflated due to the tepid heat.
The fruit seller has a busy time selling juicy cucumbers laced with rock salt.
I'd rather it rained today.

I'd rather not board the bus today.
So many people. So little time.
So little space. So many tales.
I'll try walking. And observe.
I'd rather not board the bus today.

I'd rather not work today,
And revel in my subjugation.
Surrounded by peering eyes behind thick ocular paraphernalia,
Made thicker by conformity and CRT radiation.
I'd rather not work today.

I'd rather not gorge on the same lunch today,
As I did the whole of last week.
Kanaida's noodles appeals to the tagged generation walking out of the flamboyant edifice.
Guess I'll be having baked flour marinated with soy and dressed with chicken.
I'd rather not gorge on the same lunch today.

I'd rather not stop by the pub tonight.
They stopped stocking Kingfisher Premium. Now it's all Dansberg and Budweiser.
I'll buy a few pints off Khokhon, sit in my compressed verandah
Under the sodium lights and crease my innards with the tar from the Regulars.
I'd rather not stop by the pub tonight.

I'd rather not watch the news tonight.
He says, she says, then he says again. She foulmouths him.
Someone fires an explosive rocket , claiming peace.
Another gets hanged for hanging others.
I'd rather not watch the news tonight.

I'd rather not listen to Meshuggah tonight.
I feel like Frusciante though.
Niandra Lades & Inside of Emptiness.
Free flowing, gut wrenchingly smooth, clear guitar work with subjective lyrics.
I'd rather not listen to Meshuggah tonight.

I'd rather not sleep tonight.
Tomorrow shall not ponder over my rancid needs.
I wish to see the fire rise at daybreak,
And provide impetus to the ebbing tide.
I'd rather not sleep tonight.

I'd rather we changed everyday,
Just a bit.
Add a little spark to an other wise predictable chain of thought.
I'd rather we altered ourselves everyday, just a bit,
To elicit a smile on the opposite face.

2008-02-24T07:54:00.000-08:00

The last few weeks have been fulfilling. Or fruitful? Or productive?? I don’t know. Etymology was never my subject of choice. Anyway, all jokes apart, Management Development Institute and Institute of Management Technology ‘cordially’ invited me to their respective GD/PI sessions for admission to their MBA courses. Dyamn bro!!!! I finally feel SO blessed!! I have joined an elite class of students who have braved the toughest of challenges (namely Miiiiiaaaaaaaaaaaaaooooooooooo) to secure a score worthy of their caliber and ability. Yeah, we see it all.

Attended the IMS workshop for ‘Achievers’.. Another word for ‘losers-who-didn’t-get-to-the-IIM’s-but-still-want-to-piss-family-cash’… was pretty objective, as opposed to my expectations. Same bunch of students ho either want to help Dad run the family business or to climb the corporate ladder into becoming an efficient manager. Don’t we already have enough of them? Why are the best minds in this country ONLY thinking about wealth generation, for themselves?? Why would they want to exponentially augment the coffer strength of companies that are already riding high on cheap labor and substantial balances?? So that you can boss around and possibly flog those budding freshers who join the company, thus vent your frustration through more ‘professional’ channels??

To most MBA aspirants, thinking differently is procrastinating like Calvin. They can either state the rigid, clichéd statements made infamous by thousands of similar aspirants, or they can come up with a monstrosity of an answer that will blow the living brains out of you. And when there is an answer that is differently honest, refreshing but not original, it is scoffed at for ‘trying too hard’. It’s tough to impress, but it’s easy to fake. And that’s how the cookie crumbles.

Everybody tells everybody else to think beyond the box… Fuck you Shiv Khera.. He never helped anybody make themselves more efficient thought leaders. But people still quote him. Sad, utterly sad.

Solve et Coagula

2008-02-07T06:48:00.000-08:00

Talked to a friend of mine after a really long time. Now that I’m jobless (pun intended), I have very little to do but procrastinate. Got thinking.

Raj Thackeray declaring that North Indians are unfit for Maharashtra. The Forward Bloc causing a 12hr bandh and albeit a few million man-hours lost in productivity. There’s an Anthrax scare in Nadia. That’s what the TV says. I’m just a normal, law abiding, segregated, middle class loner. I watch what I’m told to watch. I read what I’m shown. I rebel when told to pick up arms. I cry out in agony when I see my able bodied, sound minded, educated and deserving OBC friends get the job I wanted. To hell if hey got it NOT on reservation but merit. But I’m still chirpy as hell. You see, the government just jabbed me with a new dose of democratic euphoria inducing drug. It’s called PROMISE.

The new Indian middle class is a rampant, bulging enigma that seems to have outgrown its cloak of secrecy. They are the bourgeoisie of the developing world, see? They work in high end IT companies with salaries that roughly translate to $10,000 annually. They work like sniffer-dogs on acid. They keep this country’s economy in check. Or so it would seem. Their labor is repaid with what, you might ask? Well, they’re told that their ‘services are no longer required’ because the rupee has suddenly, catastrophically, risen against the dollar!!! God, oh my God!!! That’s economic heresy. The USA was, all this time, trying their level best to keep this in check... alas, they could not. Blame it on an emerging economy where talent is now as common as sand in a desert. So how do we manage this rather horrific dilemma? Fire them Indians, I say.

And for good reason too. Employees in TCS & IBM entered their blissful, cocooned workplace one fine morning to be told that they were fired? Is it their fault that the rupee rose against the dollar?? Hasn’t the industry been trying to garner a stronger currency because of globalization? Because of social liberalization? Then why this volte face? India was not waiting for this.

Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama have both been crying themselves hoarse, stating with ‘passion’ that they’ll get back the American jobs for the Americans, snatch it away from Indians…. He he he he he… These Senators are doing a great job of creating nationalist factions, I’ll say that. Well, I’m sure that when these very same conglomerates , who control the global economy, notice that they’ll end up paying $40,000 for a job that can be done at a fourth of the price, all the Presidents will have a different song to sing.

We’ve lived on their promises for so, so long now that we forget where we come from. We forget to think, to remember. Rather, we choose not to. There is no mobilization of collective thought. It’s lying dormant. No one wills to speak. Not that they’re tired or thoughtless. They just don’t want to. No issue is too big or too small… it needs a proper forum to be addressed. It’s all right to ask for more. We forget to differentiate between what we want and what we need, often confusing one for the other. The media does not help either. All of them – the media, the politicians and the critics – feed off the same cesspool and blame each other for the miseries of a country. This confuses a generation for which 9 to 6 is the main mantra. We confuse profitability for efficiency. We confuse radicalism for anarchy. We confuse nationalism for Hindutva. We confuse our privileges for our rights.

Every man for himself. Every single one….. Only then can we unite in a common, non-disparate manner to solve issues that matter, and let issues that rake in moolah and viewer ship lie to rest.

My friend also passed on a small anecdote. Marx once, apparently, said: “I’m not a Marxist”, because people totally misunderstood what he meant. I’m sure they still do, and Marx, if alive today, would echo the same. Probably with more vigour and vodka.

Peace

Jadavpur

2008-02-06T00:31:00.000-08:00

4 cups of black and still he continues.
7 stubs in the stainless steel ashtray
Ashes overflow. Fire rests beside.
Rimless glasses scan around the mesh of unknown
Faces for a faint shimmer.
A quick glance at the old Tissot,
Thin hand sweeps away at time.

3 tables across diagonally,
Beside the window, see?
She sits there everyday, from noon
Till dusk falls into this neighbourhood
And the honking of the rickshaws takes centre stage.
Designated waiter serves the same latte everyday,
At her whim and sleight of hand.

New footfalls today.
All from the Arts Department.
1st year. Unmistakably.
Discussing Goddard, Ray and Karnad.
Adding to their repertoire of the unknown and the assumed.
Always trying to outdo the others’ lack of knowledge,
Accompanied by red tea and incessant flicks of the thumb and index fingers.

Don’t think he’s from around here.
Adorned in a faded khadi kurta and Bata flip-flops.
Subterfuges as he rolls in a Capstan paper, eyes darting across the hall from time to time.
Is anyone prying? Looking? Asking for some?
Satisfied, he beckons the waiter in white overalls and a white ‘topi’.
‘Ek cappuccino dena, jaldi’, he orders,
And runs a wet tongue over his rolled enigma.

I haven’t been here long.
I haven’t been gone long either.
Little has changed, a lot has altered.
The crowd’s still frantic. The students still curious. The waiters are still obliging.
A smile pasted firmly on their lips, In spite of the lack of ventilation in the kitchen.
I like it here.
I like to watch.

It feels great to be back in Calcutta. Some things are amiss, but the city's still too beautiful to behold.

The Preservation of A Dying Soul

2007-11-28T05:16:00.000-08:00

The last few weeks have been a little obnoxious, to say the least. First there was the mother of all exams, the Common Admission Test which has now acquired the shape of a national orgasmotron more than anything else. It went off like it was supposed to, a subtle smack on the posterior for unassuming students like me, and slaps of hand banging bravado among other peer groups going gung-ho on their performances. Applaud, applaud. It's over, so forget it. One week of procrastination and another MBA exam rears its head. Yawn. Hmm.

With these few ordeals over, and few more to go, I sat back in Mysore at the B.O.D headquarters late into the night last Sunday after everybody had given into stupored sleep. And I did what I do best, reflect. 2007 is about to end, and a conniving little year it turned out to be, for me and for a lot of people around me as well. I definitely found a new direction in my endeavors, after having trodden the path of anonymity and recklessness for a good 6 months. This year was heart heartbreakingly tough, humiliatingly embarrassing, testing and liberating. I achieved something of common importance and that helped me win back the esteem and admiration of the people who matter most to me. Other than that, it has been the same ol' year, with the exception of the 2 wonderful and technically brilliant Porcupine Tree albums.

My friend was not so lucky. His tragic spiral staircase was built for him early this year. And the staircase was valved. You could only go down it, no matter what you did. No matter what he did. In many ways, more than one, I see a lot of me in him , and vice versa. He was possessed by an anomaly that had no cure. Parasitic in nature and destructive too. He was between a rock and a hard place, and out of luck. He tried desperately to change the course of his life, to start afresh, to clean up, but things kept stuck, like that thin fiber of chicken that refuses to budge from between your molars no matter what you floss with. You then begin to live with it. He did the same. Just like I did. We never truly faced our alter-egos , we chose to exist peacefully with them. They didn't let us. They got the better of us. We still kept hanging on. We begged to borrow, and borrowed to steal. Lived on expired time and ate stale food to see another day through.

After all the resistance, reason and remorse he portrayed, he was left to fend off his own mettle, thrown off a moving car onto the footpath in the dead of night this Sunday last. He was humiliated, bludgeoned with a stick sharper than most tongues , ridiculed for his actions by comrades he used to call his own till a few months back, called names for being a help to someone. I know the feeling. Been there while in college. Not for the same reasons, but with the same consequences.

I feel happy for him now. He will do well to get out of his rut and find some semblance that would lend a little balance to his skewed life. He will do ok. He had a horrific accident about a month back, and he's come back stronger than anyone who's had 3 orthopedic surgeries on the same day. He's much wiser than he thinks he is.

For a brief idea about how we felt during our own respective periods of spiraling down the mahogany staircase etched with gargoyles, take a look at the graffiti above, and imagine a faint perverse smirk on the face of the policeman. The child is us.

To my friend, brother and ally.

A slow draft

2007-10-18T03:05:00.000-07:00

You come not as the autumn leaves on the birch
Gently swirling down into forgotten piles
But as the spring break
Welcoming in its soft harshness.

You appear not like the orange sun on those
Early summer mornings beset with tepid air
But as the dewdrops on the green
Breaking the light into a multitude of hues, except Indigo.

You smell not like the quenched earth on
A drenched monsoon afternoon
But like a bouquet of carnations handwoven
By seers atop the lofty plains.

You radiate not like the strobe lights
Furtively illuminating our deeds
But like the face of the clay idol
Feverishly worshipped by pagans and atheists alike.

You stand alone
Not like me.
But like the sky
Blue, pristine and unharried.

You I call my own
Not like the pages of the novella I flip
But like the beat that
Resounds inside me.

This is for my agnostic friend, and the influence he's left on me.

Visceral Ideologies

2007-10-01T22:09:00.000-07:00

Firstly, I have not posted in a while, and was getting itchy to type in something. So here goes.
Got up this morning to the humble rantings of a slobbered Homer Simpson, screeching me out of my morning happiness. I sat down with my cup of tea and enjoyed the episode in which Lisa goes all out to protect her school from becoming another parish church Sunday school where they abolish all scientific theories in favor of the greatest theory of 'em all: Creationism... In short, it means: Balls to you Darwin!!!!! In the end, as always, better sense prevails and the Creationism theory is dumped in favor of its more scientific counterpart, but not without the help of an intelligent Marge and an animated, albeit simian Homer who wrestles his bottle of beer like a Hollock Gibbon would wrestle an Olive Baboon, establishing the fact that we have, infact, descended from apes. Thank you Lord!!

Got me thinking. The Bible, the Gita, the Zend Avesta and every other conceivable 'Holy Book', including the one by the psychosomatic Heaven's Gate, all say the same thing: That we are the creations of a Higher Power that we can never ever gauge, but can only revere, sometimes blindly, as most people do. What is religion? "A religion is a set of common beliefs and practices generally held by a group of people, often codified as prayer, ritual, and religious law. Religion also encompasses ancestral or cultural traditions, writings, history, and mythology, as well as personal faith and mystic experience. The term "religion" refers to both the personal practices related to communal faith and to group rituals and communication stemming from shared conviction.".. Focus on the words 'mythology' and 'tradition'... Essentially means that religion is for the masses, of the masses, by the masses. So much for that Lincoln.

Thereby we come to the concept of superstition. Edmund Burke once said "Superstition is the religion for feeble minds". Although the vice versa of this statement is not advocated by me, I agree with him completely. Religion has been sown, harvested, reaped and exfoliated meticulously by our seers and politicians alike. Religion IS to opiate the masses, gather them under a spell wherein their cognitive and rational thoughts can be diverted for a lesser cause. When I say this, I do NOT intend to demean Hinduism. For all I know, Valmiki and Ved Vyasa are two of the greatest literary icons India's ever had. They wrote two epics which had their foundations in history, with a generous dose of imginative fantasy thrown in so as to make the perfect recipe for an epic omnibus. The issues and the thoughts potrayed through both the semi-biographical epicas still find relevance in our modern, somehow dystopian world. The sad part is, the theories and ideas the two great poets wanted to convey has been, over the ages, barbarically misconstrued, boiled, ringed and served with garnish to appeal to the masses, who, without a single second thought, will grab the shovel nearest to them when anyone says that Ram was a mythological figure.. for God's sake (yeah :-P), he was!!!!

Over the ages, we've had numerous instances, as history has been a witness, where eminent individuals have had their heads cut off, or their faces maimed, or their families wiped out, because they chose to reason scientifically over following religion hypnotically. We've also had instances where civilizations have been wiped out for want of 'Holy Land', temples, churches and 'Holy Water'. Blood has flown without remorse, hatred, bigotry and racial disrimination has thrived without check, and mankind has spiralled way beyond his control. Pretty scary.

I still believe religion should be practised, by anyone who wants to. It's his/her fundamental right, no matter where you reside. It is the one thing humanity still takes refuge in, like a placebo that helps ward off all evil. I only wish that humanity extracts the fanaticism that somehow embodies the religion of today. Suprisingly enough, religion , which helped theorise Creationism, has effectively been successful in establishing it's own credo. Because if we were ACTUALLY evolving, would we be the way we are?

There you go, the solution is the problem.

So long.

Acid House

2007-09-03T11:49:00.001-07:00

The girl from the Far East sits with
The man from the Far West across the
Bar serving redwood liquid in cut glass dinnerware.
She breathes in the array of aroma
Penetrating the joint belligerent with
The smoke of the defeated as they file through
One at a time for their ration of Scotch.

He relaxes in the plush leather kept innocuously by the
Table the bimbo seats herself on,
Catching rude glances at his suede jacket and impeccable table manners.
He sways his head to the rhythm
That The Who lays down through the Onkyo speakers
And sways his mind to the rhythm of her legs between his, hidden under the table.
He thinks of calling but the transmission device he owns
Seems to have developed an intelligence of its own
As it refuses to be found.
Or so he tends to believe.
She's asleep by now.

There sits the expat with his H1B visa
Busy filling his face with the charms the New World has to offer by way of
Pork chops in gravy and the obvious Jack Daniels and water.
Soothed by the sight of another lost soul across the mahogany table
Feeling enclosed in their conjugal loneliness.
"Never taste the meat that they serve you there,
It's as sour as it is sexual"
Were the words his albeit spiritual matriarch had infused in him,
The latter of the above 2 quotes implied and not spoken.
Independence finds flight in ignorance. Just tonight.

Looks like she's from the Tinseltown of the poor,
Accompanied by the Olive baboon past his prime
In shirts strictly made for Hawaii or Bermuda.
They seem lost in time, space and the 4th dimension
As they regale in the purple resplendence
Of the certain calming hysteria
Caused by excess suffusion of cocaine. White.
Far from pristine. Far from joyous.
Rapture encloses them this dusk as they lose the shackles that their 23 year
Age difference brings to the fore.

I sit with friends across the scene that tells me a million stories in black and gray.
We drink our liquor, strain our necks to speak , lose our sight as we light our
Cigarettes in surroundings as dark
As the porthole of a ship on a cloudless moonless night.
We came for our fix this night.
Found way more than we bargained for.
Realized little.
Accepted nothing.

The sun rises, Orange hues in an azure sea.

60 Eons

2007-08-12T02:34:00.000-07:00

60 years of Independence. 60 years of freedom from oppression, tyranny, fear, strife, poverty, hunger, backlashes and many other epithets. 60 years of a nation that is centuries old. And what have these 60 years brought us?

It gave us democracy, another subtle metaphor for a family based autocracy. It gave us the Right to Equality and the Right to Free Speech. It gave us the nuclear bomb and nuclear power. It gave us Air India and numerous other small time operators jostling for public space. It gave us Tatas, Jindals, Mittals, Godrejs and Kelvinators. It gave us the Maruti and the Priya scooter. It gave us our own space program and the midday meal scheme. It gave us Pandit Bhimsen Joshi, Mahalakshmi Iyer, Prestorika and The Superfuzz. It gave us IIT's and IIM's. It gave us caste based reservation. It gave us the(and still gives us) thief/dacoit/rapist turned politician. It gave us the Indian Cricket Team down the ages and the rather unknown pugilists who won us numerous Gold medals and numerous other world meets. It gave us the most beautiful natural scenery in the world and the most violent racial/communal violence the world has ever seen in a long time. It gave us the appreciating Rupee, and cost many of us of our Saturday beer. It gave us Khajuraho, Uma Bharti and the Majlis Ittehadul Musilmeen. It gave us bigotry and the Mandal Commission. It gave us the Khalistan Movement and Operation Blue Star. It gave us ULFA, Naxals, Veerappan and the Communist Party of India. It gave us Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose and Jyoti Basu. It gave us Special Economic Zones and Singur. It gave us domestic violence and the most alarmingly increasing population. It gave us Delhi - the prettiest metropolis in the country, Mumbai - the richest city in the country and Dang in Gujarat, where cows have more to chew than most people there do. It gave us a plethora of medals at the SAF and Asian Games, and the absolute lack of them at the Olympics. It gave us Aryabhatta, C.V. Raman, Ramanujam, and Harshad Mehta. It gave us The Alien by Satyajit Ray which was shamelessly copied by Columbia Pictures and Spielberg to make E.T . And the list goes on, and on, and on.........

60 years is but a fleck of dust on the garment of what we cal India. Wish we could rinse this garment clean of its grease and grime, and have it glistening at sunrise.

Gratitude Under a Red Sky

2007-07-21T08:58:00.000-07:00

I walked you through,
The Aisle as it magnified it's reach across,
The vast expanse of Our existence,
Embodied by the subtle radiance the Moon brings.

You smiled in twinkles,
That cascaded through the rippling water,
Under the dreamcast skies,
Studded with Stars that lit up the cobbled stones
Leading to the Sanctity of your arms.

The repetative charade that surrounds this mortality,
So easily broken by a single whiff of your musk,
Akin to the West Wind blowing in another Celtic charm
To appease the torment that seeps through in phases.

Be my Amazonian Grace and fly
Me away to the wonder that lies far.
Far beyond arms' length.
Far beyond human breath.
Far beyond sapien thought,
To immortlise my dream.
--------------------------------------------------------------------

Is it unfortunate that I still yearn?
Or just sick?

The Fall or the Utter Lack of It

2007-07-15T07:42:00.000-07:00

With friends on a balmy Saturday afternoon. The clock strikes 12 as we enter the foyer of Koshy's on MG Road. The place has a quaint and laid-back feel to it, something that symbolises the essence of a Saturday afternoon: calm, slow and relaxed, almost disconnected. People of all ages and barriers have converged here. They need their time out - from the routine outside, the traffic, the incessant rantings they receive from their bosses, the constant familial demands that bog them down, from walking their dog just because their wives want them to do so.. and to grab that pint of beer with mates.. It's all there. That aside, there's the prime selection of gorgeous beauties, mildly assorted with freakish wannabes from the neighbouring upmarket colleges; the former basking in the rapt attention that flow their way while the latter try their best and flirt with their eyes to fish for silent compliments. Again, the former are accompanied by handsome men with muscular jaws and in shirts that seem to be tottering on the brink of explosion, while the latter have their own kennel wherein they assiduously maintain a litter of anxious and jerky boys whose jeans barely cling to their waists. Then there are the septuagenarians... trying to forget their miseries for an afternoon with friends. Guess it's all worthwhile.

And then there's us.. three flimsy boys in flimsy T-shirts with flimsy demeanour and flimsy 'attitudes'. We represent the youth gone haywire, ballistic and we remain forgotten.. Because there are a countless number amongst this population who breathe, think and believe the same way we do. And yet are different. And diffident. We're a sombre breed, who take pleasure in remaining anonymous. The things and situations we bear, coupled with the odd directions our lives adhere to, are not the hoi-polloi's cup of tea. We regale in our own brand of sanctimonious black humor. We like our music to be aggressive, mellow and circumstantial. We like our books the be provocative and thought inducing. (Camus, anyone?) We like our coffee black. We like our food clean and devoid of religion. We try to live IN the moment, and not FOR the moment. We try NOT to judge. We like to fondle with imagination. We like to see the world in grey. Black and white is retro. Period. We do not find any holistic pleasure in viewing the world the same way others do.

So we sit and have our food. Our beer. and our talk. Diverse in nature. Music, politics, social and moral apathy, degradation of culture, degradation of imagination. Degradation of human emotions, and the lack thereof. We talk. We feel light. Momentarily. And we move on until the next time we meet and discuss another diverse range of issues that no one would usually think of treading. Therein lies the whole point. Humans are, by nature, and will be, cowards. Sick and nubile cowards. They shy away. They fear themselves. They want to avoid and not confront as they are afraid of retribution. We (three) were too, at one point of time. But life has a subtle and rather sarcastic approach to everything. It exposes you to beliefs and issues just when you don't want them to appear in front of you and scare you out of your wits. It tests you. It wants to see if you're up to the task. If you aren't, you'll put your tail between your legs and cry until a good Samaritan walks in and relieves you of your worldly burden.

And if you are, then you know who you are.

We live in paradox personified. We live in December, perennially. It's always cold, isn't it? It's up to us to find out ways to keep ourselves warm without being too dependent on the thermostat.

I guess.

Skyline

2007-07-12T01:31:00.000-07:00

42nd Saturday by Night.
Stars glance through furtive clouds
Against a sky that smells of Dahlias
In the throes of Summer.

79, and one in their heads
Shimmer with delight in the confines
Of the beleagured joint.
Speaking of things lost
Mourning for beliefs unearthed.
Contradiction serves them, dressed in fuchsia.
Appealing. Arrogant. Astounding.

Swallow with a flourish
And get to reside for extended bantering.
Smile.
Please.

42nd Sunday by Morning.
Sun peeks lazily through hazy eyes.
Command. Run.

2007-07-06T23:27:00.000-07:00

LUNCH?

The square table sits four this afternoon.
Four from seperate paths.
Aiming to smile with the day.
Unhindered. Unwarranted.

The juices flow.
Creation beckons them with arms stretched across.
Thoughts tumble down like
Cascading white rapids on crack.
Fuelled by the twirling strands of nicotine smoke,
Harking their prescence.

Incidents are exchanged at a feverish pace.
They believe this day shall end with them.
And vice versa.
Yet they conform to the common stand adopted by humanity
To live to see the light of another day.
Another day sang froid.

Dusk sets in as the bubbles in the wine disappear.
Words are spoken without the utterance of a single syllable.
The laughter subsides. Stops short of dying away altogether.
"It's better that way", he said.
"Hope to meet you all next week."
We acknowledge in silence.

TheArtOf

2007-05-13T22:40:00.000-07:00

And the days fo by in this rampant heat of the summer sun as Calcutta bathes in the sweat of innocents. I lie awake with my lightbulb sun hovering around my head all night.. I've started working nights, become a nocturnal predator in my own terms, dissecting and feeding on raw need as and when it arises. I've conveniently segregated myself from those around me, only answering the call of my communication device whenever it displays the name of a person long lost..

I've been having conversations.. With the Dead..Not as per se, but with people who had been lost, or whom I'd distanced myself from for my own sweet needs. We converse about things gone past, and how they COULD have remained the same had life NOT been so cruel and botched up our fairy tale plans. I seek refuge in my loneliness and listen to the volley of words hurled at me. The emotive factor in my brain kick starts and tells me to go ahead and make ends meet.. let's speak, let's converse, share and cuddle if necessary.. Forget all that has happened..Forgive all that has occured. Go ahead and fuck up your life once again, and let's see if we end up in the dry deserts of Ethiopia once again...

Too many options and too many distractions to deter us from our daily diagnoses. How will man ever survive if the gjosts of the past do NOT let go? And then we're told to give up our chemicval afflictions and addictions..

Oh, to be rid of this dipthongonian world.. where everyone recites 2 conflicting versions of the same story at the same time.

2007-01-16T07:55:00.000-08:00

21st Century Schizophreniac

"When you're ripe you'll bleed out of control.

You'll bleed out of control.

You like attention

It's proof to you you're alive.

Stop parading your angles.

Confused?

You'll know when you're ripe.

Because when you're ripe you'll bleed out of control.

You'll bleed out of control.

You're pregnant with all this space

Thick with honey,

but I lost my taste.

You're into depression because

it matches your eyes.

Stop this faux to be famous.

Confused?

You'll know when you're ripe."

A little too much space for comfort, I'd believe. What do we do with it? Thaw it from it's period of dormancy to alleviate our present status of non conformity? To allow alien individual needs to race forward without judgement or perception, without direction or rationality. Instinct and desire play a vital role in allowing the human mind it's requisite amount of 'freedom'. It allows a man all the unnecessary axial propulsion he needs, so that finally, he'll do nothing but provide himself with a vital headrush.Little does he know that this headrush that feels so tantalizingly amazing, orgasmic and calming, is just another in a long chain of 'duds'. He gets hooked onto it. We all do. We all have our own personal meth tablets hidden under the crack on the carpet floor.

It's a common human need, the crutch. How you manage to use it varies. You can put it to literal use, or you can use it as a weapon to ward off detractors, and junkies who'll come begging you for more crack... That's when we realize he need for a symbiotic relationship. Give to recieve, if you want any. And now comes the tricky part. How do we determine where to stop, and where to resume? How can you still have this relationship that takes a little more than the actual bargain from you, and leave you with less? Is it a combination that works?

We all abso-fuckin-lutely need pain to see what pleasure is all about. You need to see the sun set to know that it'll rise the next day. You need to get hammered on dope to even remotely realize what it is to be sober. You need to get screwed out of all your living happiness to know that happiness exists.
Twisted way this cosmos works.. In all it's shenanigans, it's more of an
psychologically primitive system. It's not justified, hell no. But it IS the way it will remain nonetheless. The Creator was/is one psychosomatically enhanced S&M addict, as much as I hate to say this.

Asking for space in life is like Oliver asking for more broth. He knows he'll end up getting shit, but he'll take it nonetheless, because he needs it to know what broth is NOT like.

At the end of the day if you have a bunch of compatriots who share the same inane, fucked up zeal about life, regale with them and look around to check what the moment carries. It carries with itself a dose of functionality and self-healing. It serves as the watering ground for us hyenas running around in packs of 5 and laughing our hairy asses off. It alleviates. It soothes. It helps subside. Smile one more day without having to know that you have a duty to perform, without having to know that someone, somewhere is judging you, without having to know that you're answerable or for that matter, redundant. This is not the same thing as being ignorant. Not at all. And neither is it about
avoiding. The inevitability of our mortality hardly allows us that privilege. It is the parallel universe that we carve out for ourselves. Accept it or deny it, it exists in all of us.

The best liquor is the one that gives you the worst hangover headache. Trust
me.

2006-12-19T06:21:00.000-08:00

Paid in Full

A lucid posture
Admist broken skies
Black with the Tar
From the earth.

Old man ponders with intensity about forthcoming drought
Of locusts in the corn fields
When tis season of the Ripe
Harvest seems red this time.

Turn the stone
To water, He said
How, He did not
Leaving the hands caught in
The Grapevine.

Meander in his waltzing glory
Giving up need
Bohemian times require rapid measures
Of self construction

2006-09-18T20:13:00.000-07:00

Bron-Yor-Stomp

This DEFINITELY has been one of the best weekends ever.

Given the fact that a friend of ours had to cancel his birthday fiesta because of unforseen catastrophic divine interventions, we postponed it to Friday night as we had to get back on saturday for our compre preps. ( It's heart breaking!) Started off with beer and small talk. Then we decide it's time to bring in the booze. So onwards to the car, where we pile in with organised chaos and we're off a decent place where a good scotch is warranted. And we pick up a bottle of a concoction called Black Dog. Hadn't ever imagined we'd get this poison in Mysore, but the again, God shows mercy in the oddest of ways. Price notwithstanding, we buy it with desperate grins on our faces.

Back in the car, and this time we arrive at a common consensus that we need proper glasses to enjoy our drink. KD Road to the rescue, where we bought 6 glasses for as many people, got ice and got back home. And then there was no looking back.

Thinking of it now, I can exactly remember the look on my Dad's face when he used to cherish his glass of Chivas Regal, and I, flummoxed, never made sense of it then . Now I do. It's a connoisseur's dream to palate such a creamy liquor. All six of us, happy and contented, in our rampant moods, have never had such a peaceful time. And then hunger struck. US Pizza never sounded more blissful than on that day. We hogged on those delicious meaty pieces of heaven. One particular flavor called 'Punjab da Puttar' caught hold of our taste buds, so much so that even the only resident vegetarian among us could not resist but pop a slice into his mouth. And believe me when I tell you this, he's become a convert.After all had settled down, the night ended with a drive down the highway to Ooty at 140 kmph, stopping at a deserted place on the way to take in the breathtaking sight of the horizon with white clouds penetrating the black sky, and nothing impeding our vision through an immense open landscape.

This is a memory.Sad part is I'm back in my lab at 3 in the morning on a saturday night finishing up on a module for my stream compre.

2006-08-29T23:06:00.000-07:00

De-Prozac

Futility.
Ripping at the seams of,
A breakdown of consequence,
Mass produced in the hyperventilated
Mind of the Sapien being.

Dare.
To Unscar the flesh that,
Binds you in Absolution.
Trigger the calm fury,
To unleash the war within.

Unscathed.
By the Laws of Lust,
Forever defiling the emotional sanctity.
Remove doubts that grip your Soul,
Crucify this cycle of Abuse.

Undulate.
Through the amber fields,
The Velvet Underground caresses your feet.
Feast on the golden orbs of the midday Sun.
Inhale the essence of existence.
Flow on the languid wings of eternity,
For your time is not now,
To depart into the lateral darkness.

2006-08-21T05:51:00.000-07:00

ABSOLUTION

A white stained porcelain sink,
Supported by rusted turrets.
Against a crumbling wall,
Peeling off paint from eons before.

The cracked silver from the shattered mirror,
Illuminates a ghostly reflection ,
Far from human.
Far from driven.

Ashes of empires burnt long ago,
Mixed with the omnipresent polluting dust,
Reside on the tattered carpet,
Where the flowers have withered to a deranged spot of grey yellow.

Limp bodies from the week before's revelry,
Lie unattended on the cushy mattress.
The stink of methanol pervades the infertile atmosphere,
Preventing the ether from taking over the town.

The creased rays on the Sun muscles its way through,
Into the muddy waters of the dead morning.
An eye creaks open with a hideous glare,
To draw the last threadbare curtain on the emerging day.

2006-08-14T05:12:00.000-07:00

From 'Hysteria' by Muse

"It's bugging me, grating me
and twisting me around
I'm endlessly caving in
and turning inside out

'cause i want it now
i want it now
give me your heart and you soul
and i'm not breaking out
i'm breaking out
last chance to lose control

it's holding me, morphing me
and forcing me to strive
to be endlessly cold within
and dreaming i'm alive

'cause i want it now
i want it now
give me your heart and your soul
and i'm not breaking down
i'm breaking out
last chance to lose control

and want you now
i want you now
i'll feel my heart implode
and i'm breaking out
escaping now
feeling my faith erode"

It's an eroding state of everything out of the ordinary. Days pass in a stupid haze, rowing on endless glasses of vodka and expansive music, trips down memory lane and drives up Chamundi hills to smoke a few in constant company. Predictable crap that seems to have garnered a strong hold over my otherwise nonchalant life. I'm metamorphing into something I dread. This life less ordinary, tripping on adulterated choices of wisdom that most definitely all of us would like to avoid. Slogging in a corporate world where all everyone's bothered with is signing into work at 9 and signing out at 5:30 sharp. Fucking predictable creeps.

I feel everything of the song above. The head reels in concentric patterns at times when I've managed to completely lose control of everything I hold/held dear. Spiralling down a bottomless pit of self ignorance and loathing that freaks you out. Friends are an image of what they should be. No one, absolutely no one feels like my friends from college. Fucking posers in a materialistic world, drinking Blender's Pride through the night, discussing Black Sabbath and newer methods of smoking weed through the bucket..

Where the fuck am I stranded???

2006-05-23T04:39:00.000-07:00

I'm turning senile!!!! Mind does not comprehend the subtleties that it perceives in the extraordinary psychedelic hues. Fuck. I wish I was dead.

2006-05-23T04:33:00.000-07:00

RED

Taunting.
The deceiver knocks.
On your doorstep he beckons,
You to step into his mistake.
Congregated sorrow, overwhelming misery.
All converging in a condescending glare.

Outstretched fingers.
Seeking. The unfaithful.
Apocalyptic. You ride on.
The wagon stumbles incessantly,
On pins and needles.
Move on. Far beyond driven.

Hungry heart lusts for more.
Conscience a deterrent to this masquerade.
Eyes flee in blatant ignorance,
To realms unforeseen before.
Praying for luck to give way to intentions,
The soul hardens. Locked.
Transition complete.

Load for a new destiny.
See afar. Limited vision.
Ashes left behind on the wet grass,
Sizzle as they fade away.
From memory.
Into a dimension to be gathered until the journey is deemed done.

The link has collapsed.
You are now another.
Tears brim at the edges as the Sword cuts at flesh again.
Never-ending saga of deception shall continue.
Insatiate.
And the pain shall pass

2006-05-22T00:05:00.000-07:00

SHTICK

Chameleon colors lurk in the shadows.
Obscured by the coming night,
As they impale the foreign senses within.
To project a claustrophobic sight.

Straw hats in the bullion market.
Waving forth to beckon the wind.
Change engulfs a searing nation.
Distraught with fright and homophobic dreams.

And the nonchalant enemy leers at the prey.
Wiping his wipsy yellow mouth dry.
Contemplating his kill as the moon rises tonight.
Amidst black clouds in the smoke filled skies.

Angry fists and hoarded shouts.
Barrels a land of scholars nigh.
Retribution in blood is asked for again.
Deliverance shall be a matter of time.

Evil hides in the shadows it breeds,
Pregnant with schemes of domination still.
Crush the vermin with the feet,
Of Humanity.
Man triumphs again,
At will.

Sick and tired of this reservation crap. It's swaying the nation by the day and an oppressive government, with a de facto prime minister, who literally sniffs the feet of his leader, is trying to clamp down on rights of the nation. We must be heard. This technical evil needs to be stopped in it's tracks , otherwise humanity will become the veritable political bait for our croked politicians who will do anything to further their idiosyncratic needs.

2006-05-20T23:30:00.000-07:00

And herewith lies....

What is it that maketh the man? His pride? Demanour? Attitude? Disposition? Or the subtlety at handling daily ordinary chores in a not so ordinary way? I'm a human being with many a weaving down my back, and it hurts at times when I try to keep myself straight. I'm crooked. Intensely crooked. At times, I purposefully loathe myself for having deranged the life blood inside me. It makes me cringe, and then comes the pitfalls.... I realise that I'm not what I want to be. I just am not.

Very few of us are blessed to be granted a status in life where our prescence, and opinions, hold a certain value. We all crave for that point in life where the aforementioned might happen. But in reality, how many of us ARE really that blessed? Are we just pawns, at the vehement mercy of high society pricks who view us with nothing but scorn? Or are we individuals with a dire voice, just waiting to be listened? I'm one of the latter. I'm waiting to be listened. Grant me an ear and I shall regale you with the necessities of life. My Life. And we'll all find out that in someway or the other, we're not really set apart. Just a few pieces missing, that's all.

I need souls around me.Rehabilitation is not easy and it comes with a heavy price. I need to drain the listless life force inside me and forge it anew. Fast. I need help. Listen to me. Judge me. But I suggest, do not impale me.

2006-04-25T09:10:00.000-07:00

GIVEN TO FLY

Waiting at the footsteps,
Of a rocky courtyard,
On a fiery April afternoon,
Anticipating the calm the wind will bring.

Looking forward,
Into your eyes that reflect the seas,
Capturing the elegance the moon bestows.
On the creation that is your face.

Longing,
For you to lead me away.
Into the desolation that,
Shall be my grave. Eternally.

Moving forward with time,
Your remembrance causes you to flutter.
As the clouds spell my name,
When the oceans shall be kissing your feet

Talked. Face to face after a gap of fourty days. She has passed on and I want her to. I'm too banal an individual to do any good to her. She will reside in peace and happiness, away from my lunacy. My longing and love may never diminish, though I have been asked to let time heal me. And she may remember me as anything she wants to remember me as. Because all that counts is her remembrance.

2006-04-24T10:11:00.000-07:00

DERELICT

"Electives are posted.
No call back or complaints.
Once painted , cannot be delayed.
Walk on home."

Circling in circadian rhythms,
He sees the day in a downtrodden haze.
Brushing fingers against the walls,
Of hope, waiting for a change.

Opportunity knocks.
He smells the recycled air.
Creature of habit, he moves sideways.
With laboured breathing and sallow skin.

His imagination comes alive.
Suspicion's on the rise.
The devils in his ears,
Tells him what he never wants to hear.

Opportunity gone. Devils smile.
Perplexed man breathes a sigh.
Unknown to formality, he's unaware of his surroundings.
He sits down with his bowl tonight.

Caught in the sea of humanity,
He gropes at a passer by.
A sneer and a bark puts him in his place.
He sits down with his bowl again tonight.

Story of my life revisited. All this while waiting for that golden sparkle to break down from between the clouds and offer me the chance of redemption. None came. They all went through, in a single file. And I kept waiting. Expectantly. Drooling at the prospect of finding a new lease, whereas in my mind I knew there was none until I created my own hole out of my morbid trepidations.

Iron Maiden , in the song "The thin line between love and hate", say thus:
"When a person turns to wrong,
Is there a right to be, belong?
Part of things at every cost.
At what price a life is lost?

At what point do we begin?
Fighter's spirit, will to win.
And what makes a man decide?
To choose to wrong or righteous road?"

This is not one of their most famous songs, but I find a direct reference to this one in particular. What is the price at which we give ourselves up? Is it worth the payment due? And is the transaction, or whatever you call it, always legal as perceived my society? It is a highly complicated maze to traipse through I believe.

I have made a host of scary deals. I have made a flurry of insidious attempts at regaining my sanity in every mortal manner. And in the process, I have lost much to grieve for. The poem should be my epitaph if I am ever to be buried. For I am ever frightened of the oncoming winds. I want change, and I'm terrified of accepting it lest it be something that I am not expecting. I have listened to the demons in my mind far too long. It is time to let go and dream in light, and hold onto the single branch of faith that was offered to me yesterday.

Yes, I sit down with my bowl again tonight. Believing that the next night will usher in a gratifying change

2006-04-22T01:56:00.000-07:00

L E T M E D R O W N

stretch the bones over my skin
stretch the skin over my hand
im going to the holy land
stretch the marks over my eyes
burn the candle deep inside
yeah you know where im coming from
give up the greed, you dont have to feed me
give up to fate, you dont have to need me
so let it go, let it go, let it go, wont you let it
drown me in you, drown me in you, drown me in you
slip down the darkness to the mouth
damn the water burn the wine
im going home for the very last time
so throw it away, you dont have to take me
make no mistakes im what you make me
so let it go, let it go, let it go, wont you let it
drown me in you, drown me in you, drown me in you, drown me in you
i see you turn around and burning down
the feeling starts to sink
i feel the hurt surround me
please dissolve me
she's resolved to be
so heal my wounds without a trace
and seal my tomb without my face
im going to the lonely place
give up to greed, you dont have to feed me
give up to fate, you dont have to need me
so let it go, let it go, let it go, wont you let it
drown me in you, drown me in you, drown me in you
drown me in you, drown me in you, drown me in you, drown me in you
drown me in you, drown me in

Burn the Candle.
Let me drown.
Chris Cornell is God. Kim Thayil his Apprentice

2006-04-22T01:26:00.000-07:00

Say my hell is the closet
I'm stuck inside
Can't see the light
And my heaven is a nice house in the sky
Got central heating
And I'm alright
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Can't see the light
Keep it locked up inside
Don't talk about it
Talk about the weather

Can't see the light
Open up my head and let me out,
little baby
Here we have been standing for a long, long time
Treading trodden trails for a long, long time

I say my hell is the closet
I'm stuck inside
Can't see the light
And my heaven is a nice house in the sky
Got central heating and I'm alright
Here we have been standing for a long, long time
Treading trodden trails for a long, long time

I find sometimes it's easy to be myself
Sometimes I find it's better to be somebody else

I see you young and soft oh little baby
Little feet, little hands, little baby
One year of cryin' and the words creep up inside
Creep into your mind
So much to say
Here we have been standing for a long, long time
Treading trodden trails for a long, long time
I find sometimes it's easy to be myself
Sometimes I find it's better to be somebody else

So much to say
Open up my head and let me out
Little baby

Coup de grace of a song. Just rings in my head whenever I play it on the comp. Has a feel to it that very few bands can fathom. And has a subtle hint that very few people can gather. It's my perception though. How long do we stand alone? Is there really anyone behind us? Or in front of us, guiding us? Or pretending to, just to condescend with a small smile and let us know that they're there? It's all too juxtaposed and lonesome really. And then we realise the effect that we hold on those very same people. Maybe they were justa figment of our own imagination. Probably they were. We're all alone. All of us. We find solace in an empty hand that offers grace not for the sake of it, but because they have to. Period

2006-02-21T11:55:00.000-08:00

COMPASSION

Certainly I will not walk away.
The whiff of lavender on your collar,
Arrests me in my wake.
I cannot pull away,
From the eyes that pierce so deeply.
Exploring the inner fathoms of my being,
Salvaging the will to exist.

Dealings that occur as if I were a child,
Playful with rampant ignorance.
No control over your persistence,
You mould me with your silken strength.
The smile that lines your lips,
Like the subtle radiance the gloaming brings.
Subsides the rattling turbulence,
That feeds on my misery.

I see with half open eyes,
As I tumble into sleep.
You cradle my lifeless head,
As if it was a lotus in bloom.
I feel the pieces fit now,
Because I saw them topple together.

Forge my life anew now.
I do not need my second skin.
Walk with our limbs entwined.
You will be my sense of speed.

2006-02-09T12:07:00.000-08:00

EULOGY

Soldiers move in
As they paint the foreign skies.
Red.
With the blood of enemies,
Through shattered eyes.
"Forward!" they march on
Puppets in a rag show.
"Kill!" drilled into them.
Boundaries unknown.

Rabid rulers lust for more,
Theaterics of holy wars.
Submitting to faith,
And paralytic justice,
Rendered mortal long before.
"Advance!" they shout!
To hapless victims
Of hope spurned eons ago.
Sneer with facist pride,
As they dog the spoils of dispute.

"Who's to blame?
Who's to claim?"
The lives of innocents
Laundered like dust to the wind.
Through gory sacrificial rites
They drank the blood
Of brethren still.
No remorse.
No memory left.
Of annhilation caused by savage means.
Mothers cry as they lose their lives,
To salivating human greed.

2006-02-07T22:50:00.000-08:00

SMOKE

I see,
Through the eyes of the stranger
I call a friend.
Dragging wishfully as
Charismatic smoke fills
The enchanted room.
I crave for the amorous,
Lustfully,
Not knowing the perils
That should overcome me,
With an indomitable force.

I wallow in my
New found glory.
Not imagining the iron grip
That is embracing me
With resounding force.
I choose to ignore,
As it gathers me away
From perdition. I think.
It obsesses itself with
My lifeless entity.
As I lie unflinching,
It strengthens over.
Lost soul.

I see
Through the eyes of a stranger
I call myself.
Watching on a screen,
Wishing I could play
It in rewind.
As the credits roll by
Signifying the end.
I missed the best part.
Can I please go back?
To the Start?

I am just a man.

2005-11-19T01:13:00.000-08:00

TIDE

I would wait if told.
I would stay if asked.
I would cry if pleaded.
I would repent if found guilty

.I just stayed there
.Standing straight ramrod as the cold winds
Washed me away in silly ignorance.
No one turned around to see. Once.

My eyes froze from the view.
My sticky fingers numbing the turmoil inside.
I tried to receive as much light as I could.
But of no avail.

Your gown in grey caressed the flimsy air,
As you walked with a halo far beyond you.
Assuming an ego only I could see,
You taunted me. To hate you.

Pushed against an edge, unfathomable.
A new fear overcoming me with glee.
I try to flee my detractors in a moment’s ambush.
Only to tie myself down tighter.

Your eyes brim with a fire I’ve never seen before.
Ready to consume in an engulfing inferno.
Rising against ashes of gluttony,
You shiver at my demise. With satisfaction.

Contorted beyond recognition.
You left me a derelict.
I pass streets filled with misery.
Chalking up a past of inconsequence.

I would have embraced if asked.
I would have smiled if spoken to.
I would have dug deep if told to.
But bow I would never before you.

2005-10-31T01:17:00.000-08:00

Hallowed corpses

I cannot see where this is leading me too. The final answer betrays me. I'm in need of retribution from an unknown enemy. It is a botheration that seems to be getting the better of me as time flies by with heavy wings. I ride of the crosswinds of hope, blissfully unaware of the next surprise that anticipates my arrival with a cruel grin. I'm lost in a Rubic's cube where all the seperate small squares hold a differnent pattern. I have images and words playing in my head in a random pattern reminiscent of the pandemonium in a lunatic's mind. I have passed my existence in a mortified manner, and now I'm a veritable puppet searching for a shelter.

I'm a menace waiting to devour you of your daily needs. I'm misery waiting to supplement your emotions. I'm soliloquy understanding the mirror images in your words. I'm here with one intention.

Drown with me. I will not allow myself to disappear alone

2005-10-26T23:06:00.000-07:00

26.10.05,Neville Creek Road,Fairfax, Montreal.
Hello.
I seem to be growing a little weary of mysurroundings, I guess. Because it has been a while since I last spoke to you. Eerie, actually. Hey, areyou still drinking that soda pop stuff that momwas so vehement about us not having? Didn’t shesay something like “it wears your teeth away”?
Anyway, I do hope you’re keeping up well on yourpart. As far as I’m concerned, things seem to begoing according to plan. Mostly, that is. Otherwiseit’s really a sorry state of affairs that hardly seemsto bother anybody. Not that I’m complaining oranything. It’s just that it’s a tremendous burdenfor me to carry around now. Last time I talked toMa she was very unsure of herself, let alone me. Idon’t know what prompted her, but she was verysure of the fact that she didn’t want me aroundthen. It was very unsettling, but I don’t think Ishould be blaming her. I mean, things have been soblurry in the past two years that you somehow losetrack of time. And suddenly there you are lookingat the mirror straight up and reminiscing aboutwhat you did. Retrospect is a killer, man. I neverthought that I’d dig so deep some day that climbingout would be a challenge.
I didn’t want you to be indicted into this because of me. In the past, you’ve had enough trouble keepingme away from trouble. Last year when I came toyou asking for help, Ma got so livid. She hasn’tbeen the same lately. And frankly, she seems veryhostile. It’s bummer, really. I don’t remember doingsomething intentionally just to unsettle her. It’sjust my methodology. It’s so very uncharacteristicand unconventional. She always had problemscoming to terms with it. She just never came toterms with me, I guess. That’s what she told mewith a straight face.That she never did and never will come to termswith me or my actions, no matter how much Irectify myself or my methods.
She still blames me for Dad’s death. She does notmince words when it comes to Dad. He was the idealfor the whole family. I just cannot get that day outof my head. I mean, I was in the car too. Her versionis that I did not call 911 too soon. Was it really myfault? I was just too shocked from all the blood- his and mine. That was the car he loved, nurtured andlived. I took it away from him and it in turn tookhim away from her. And us, in a way.
Does she still talk to you about me? Not that I expecther to, but yes, somewhere down inside I do feel thatshe does want to. Her trauma is justified, but only to a certain extent.
Enough of me. What is with you these days?Ok..First let me clarify something. You must bewondering “Why is this creep writing to me?”. Idon’t blame you. I just did not have anything elseto do. I’m just waiting for tommorow. Eagerly.Booked my flight to Chicago. Will be gone for along time. And believe me, this time, I am notgonna come back grovelling and beg you guys forhelp. I have done enough of that.
So Ted is four now? He grew up fast. Am I still hisfavourite uncle? Not that he has a choice, but still.It’s nice being somebody’s favourite. Oh.. I almostforgot. Me and Linda broke up. Same old differences. I don’t reciprocate, I don’t yield, I don’ttry. All of it was there in her speech that reeked ofmonotony- Her’s. She said that she found thisrestaurant guy from uptown whom she’s beenseeing for about three months now, and that he’s allthat I’m not. And more. So I got a little bold andasked her if he’s all that I am. I did get her on thatone. She was a little stupified. Didn’t really expectme to be that caustic with her, which was anotherone of her complaints, by the way, becauseaccording to her, I just was never man enough.So she just packed up and left. The apartment hasbeen empty for sometime now. I really did like herand even felt that with this new job, I might betaking us somewhere. I guess all’s well that endswell, huh?
I’m confused Tim. I’m lost and I feel betrayed. I’mthoroughly mismanaged. I’m so much in a tangle.I get giddy just going downtown to buy my groceries. I have not quit smoking. It just keepsincreasing exponentially. I have been doing toomuch grass too, unfortunately. I don’t know how toexplain that to you, but that’s possibly the onlytime of the day when I feel safe in my own own crusty mould that I have created for myself to sleepin. I feel pure. I’m my own God at that time and ina few hours time, I’m brooding again when the high disappears. It’s fucking pathetic, don’t you think?Giving myself an extended inertial boost ofsatisfaction when there is none lying around? Itwas my own ambition to prove myself worthy ofmy own self at some point in life. I have no idea asto when that is gonna happen. Surprisingly, I don’tfeel pressured right now. I feel a little upbeat. Maybeit’s the weather. It’s been awfully cloudy. I thinkit’s going to hail tonight. Somehow I seem to drawlittle doses of strength from misery. Yes, laugh allyou can at my double standards. It’s the truth. I’m actually smiling now.
I have to go finish up the last of my packing.There’s not a lot to take. I just want to make surethat I’m not carrying any extra baggage, lest Imake a tragic compromise yet again andsomething makes me wander back to Fairfax. I amsure that I don’t want to be back here. Too manymemories too handle. Too many grudges to wallow through.

You take care of yourself. And give Holly all thatshe needs. She’s been a great friend to me. I cannotthank her enough. Her Spanish ommelettes andchocolate shakes are the best ever. Give my love toTed. All of it. I don’t want to get on his bad side!So…This is it then. Adios, chum. Cannot promiseor even tell you when I’m going to get back to you.It’s not going to be soon. I don’t know if it’s evergonna be. But you’ll always be my family. Youcame back for me. I’ll never forget that.

Thanks for everything. And more.Pete..

2005-10-18T03:29:00.000-07:00

Dusk to Dawn

I wait by the sea.
The sands coalesce at my toes.
Winds blow from the East.
I look at the waters for easy company.

Easy come, easy go.
Not a care in the world.
Touching the shore for an instant,
And retreating in haste.

Prying eyes weigh down on my back.
I do my best to lose them.
The more I evade, the more they persist.
Eating me slowly. Parasite.

The rains come down now.
Slowly at first. And then they break loose.
The imprisonment of a thousand years breaks.
Wrecking sweet torrential havoc on my prime.

It washes me away,
Streaking my body in unnatural warmth.
I drench myself in my forsaken misery.
Smiling through the ordeal.

I have never known freedom.
I was never given any.
I opened my arms to the grey sky,
Begging to be embraced.

The sands at my feet are smoother now,
The rain refusing to betray me.
I gather the sand in clumps,
A constant reminder of my former self.

The eyes are distant now, but ever piercing.
Their glare fades with the coming light.
I gather my thoughts for a new hour,
Body perspiring with beads of aspiration.

The horizon looks fuller now,
Heralding in a new dawn.
I turn to walk in the direction of Home.
For I have to start over anew.

2005-10-18T03:23:00.000-07:00

CHANGES

He adorns your crown of hate.
Feeding on your lust for grace.
He pushes you to your limits.
Judging you on your capabilities.
Only the strong survive, or so they say.
His nails claw at your back,
Asking you to redeem your strength.
His sneer mocks at your incompetence.
He is rooting for you to fail.
His velvety voice lashes you like a whip.
His charcoal eyes pierce your conscience.
He changes you according to his will.
He is the master. You are putty.
He taunts. He teases. He trades.
Your self made innocence for a life of subjugation.
You cry out in fear as he binds you in his spell.
Escape is futile. The tides have turned.
You do his bidding. Choice is not a luxury with you.
Days have passed when you were looked up to.
You are now a derelict in the passages of Time.
Your existence is a question itself.
The Soul has passed beyond your reach.
Deafening silence has engulfed you in.
The deep chasm created in your fate.
That corroborates with your unclean self.
You had the choice when you had the will.
The tempting thoughts should have been a distant memory.
But things took a turn, you know not how.
You are now that which should not be.

2005-10-18T03:18:00.000-07:00

SHAMBLES………….

On the bed of hope. She lay.
Twisting. Turning. Crooning.
Slow erotica.
Unabashed feelings.
Her arms beckon to me. Come.
Her scent. Amorous. Percolates the air.
Crooked smile.
Winning ways.
I fell long before.

Incarcerated here I lie. Love sick fool.
Waiting for someone to cut me loose.
Ropes penetrate my wrists.
Blood runs. Cold.
Time moves. Slow.

Mind and heart locked in discontent.
I adore her. I worship her.
I loathe her so.
All reason perfectly.
I am torn to my soul.

Looking up at the harsh light I find,
My eyes blacked out from reality.
Memories conjure.
Words find a way.
I grow a voice anew.

"Rip off the shackles", I speak.
"Slave I will be no more."
I turn to see what I leave behind.
No.
The heart will ache for it no more.

2005-10-18T03:14:00.000-07:00

BLACKENED

I dream in pitch black,
Lined by grazes of white.
Neon shines through glazed eyes tonight.
Thoughts seem to get heavy on my mind.

Obscured by darkness,
I lie on the grass.
Back aching with haggard misery,
I quieten myself somehow.
My eyes are damp with tears of hate.
I know not where they came from.
I stare unflinchingly at the darkness,
As if bracing myself for someone.

In retrospect in my dream I see,
Blurry images of days long past.
Different people. Different faces. Different souls.
Unchanged soul.
Some I know. Some I do not.
How they call me to them now.
I reach out for them.
My strength falters somehow.

The tears come again…… Hate and anguish.
I cry myself to sleep on the grass.
I will dream in pitch black again.
It gets darker every night.