El Nocturnae

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

(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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.