I have turned into an insomniac. Every night I sit up till 3 am. Doing what? Nothing actually. A lot of music has come to be a part of my life. And a room on my own leaves a lot of space for all the introspection & retrospection that I think I have subconsciously needed since a long time now.
The rain lashes at my window. Almost jeering at me…telling me that tomorrow it will be another ordeal to get out of home - in folded jeans and converse chappals and an umbrella…while trying to block the wind that brings the rain from all directions…and then hunting for a taxi to the station…while struggling more to save some part of myself from the water…and walk on the road…hoping that some car doesn’t rush by, merrily splashing me with dirty water… there is so much water… oh it makes me want to sit in an oven and dry myself…it makes me not want to drink water even…it makes my fingertips like crinkled grapes… it makes me feel like a specimen of osmosis…it makes me want to curl up in my bed and sleep till the end of monsoon here…wake me up when September ends!
I called myself “characteristically confused” today. What a term to use. I thought about it all the while in the train while listening to Babylon. Rainy days make me want to listen to happy music. While I popped in some jamuns that I bought from in front of the station. I love the strange taste of jamun…so exotic…not sweet, not sour…just flavoured in its own essence. And I love the colour. Oh royal purple. Like purple satin. So gorgeous.
I think jamun is a gorgeous fruit. Splendid. Super. Grand. Yet so common. And with it, the multiple stories that we read in junior hindi classes… jamun trees and the efforts to steal them from the neighbours garden… or the jamun excesses at granpa’s place. oh I love jamun. And I think purple is beautiful.
Only I hardly wear it. I love black and red. Turquoise and green come next.
A bath before sleeping is a must every night. Mumbai is a huge glorified pothole with pigeon holed houses. Only I feel rather cool – I live with my mom’s brother and his family in a spacious sea facing apartment at the very uppity Malabar Hill. That is, until I move out on my own…which should happen in the next ten days. Sigh. I am so used to my little cousins here. I will miss them so much. I’m such a softie.
These hours to myself are actually useful. The train trips with my books and music is an added advantage if we look at the travelling crap in a slightly positive way. Putting aside some time to think-think is so essential. Everyone should do it. Anywhere. Long bath. Star gazing. Evening walk. Night time. Anytime. It is therapeutic. Makes me ask myself if what I have right now is what I actually want or whether I want more out of life and love.
Love is an overrated concept. Or have I not said that before. Loud and clear? Like from the top of a ten floor building. With a mike. And huge imaginary speakers. But let me correct myself. It isn’t an overrated concept but an overrated word. Otherwise, it is wonderful – this love thing – to be able to give and express and receive – everything abstract and beautiful – and in the words of Beatles, “All you need is love”! I miss being pampered. I miss being loved. I think I just miss dad and mom. And my brother.
Someone once told me…when you start missing your parents everyday…you, my dear friend, are getting old. This is my tenth year of being away from home. And I am missing my family all over again. It feels like school. But I am not young. I must definitely be getting old. I think I need to go back to granpa’s house and try stealing some jamuns again. Purple tongue. Purple memories. Purple fruit. The world is pretty again.
It is 2:44 am now. I think all this thoughtless random scribbling is soon becoming more haphazard…like my thoughts…slumber is taking over me. I think office begins early tomorrow. Oh how I hate punctual bosses. Sleep and let sleep…no? I have a purple tongue. I think my dream tonight shall be tinged purple too. A purple haze is taking over me. And it rains and it rains and it rains and it rains. It never stops. “Wake me up when September ends”. What the heck…one more song won’t kill me… but one more paragraph will.
Whoops…the jamuns are over!
Purple sky. Purple fullstop.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Abyss of Thought
I am tired. Of nothing. And yet of everything. How old do I sound? How old can I possibly sound? And I am all of 23.
I think the initial euphoria of a job and all that crappy jazz has fizzed out in its good ol’ due time. It’s been 3 weeks and oh I am so sick…so sick of work or rather no work – well, yes I have a job but I don’t know whether I am working productively or not. Earlier I would question my existence. Now I don’t even need to question that. Why? It is so simple. I don’t question that which has no answer anymore.
Remember my earlier posts on why this, why that, why me, why him, why despair, why not joy! Now it is a silent sort of a resignation where my mere strength to fight my own questions in my own head has gone plop!
I think it was better when grassy indulgences and such sinful sessions made me look at the moon and say that there is nothing larger that connects people…whoever at that very moment is looking at the moon, are all, at a certain level connected through that sublime entity, to each other. And this is a part of a conversation on the terrace when ‘joint’ studies formed an inevitable part of our weekly curriculum and such larger-than-normal-life statements were made apart from the very silly singing in chorus and hogging on wai-wai and maggi at midnight. Meaningful results of the great roll of weed!
To think of it, as human beings, we are on a roll – and by that I men roll downwards… life keeps getting worse…in some way or the other…for me the word ‘responsibility’ spells ‘worse’…not the sort of responsibility where you are incharge of yourself…I am totally in favour of the ‘each women for herself’ theory…where my problem essentially crops up is the big deal about marriage and being responsible for someone whose life is knotted with yours…or things like a bank account and bills…oh life just keeps getting worse… after twenty two it is all a trip downhill and there is no trekking or the effort for it anymore.
So back to what I was saying. So I am tired and haggard. I already want to retire in the hills with a load of books and some 100 gbs of music. I want to inherit indecent amounts of money from some long lost royal uncle who realised that I am the right heir and then I don’t need to work anymore. And then I want to eventually open a coffee store of my own…with lovely exotic flavours, the right music, student discounts, cosy red couches and a corner with books. Ah…that is life…and what I am living right now is nowhere near it. Instead of a hill station there is a rain infested, muck filled city with humidity and sweaty local trains, instead of my café there is a production house for which I work, from which I am getting easily detached. Instead of my wishful inheritance there is a measly salary and a difficult existence. And instead of an ‘ah’, there is a ‘ouch’!
And then I set out to do the very tiresome job of thinking…and then my abysmal effort of jotting some thoughts down and posting it onto my blog…for further record and a reference for my erstwhile mental state incase I find myself, in a few years, in some mental institution taking therapy on soul searching and other such “who am I” crap!
Because there isn’t just my professional life that I am dissatisfied with, my personal life has also got me in limbo. I mean with all due respects to the romantic writers and the stupid movies that gave us a totally unreal and a screwed up definition of love, I realise that maybe there is no love…maybe nothing is unconditional…maybe it is all give and take…maybe sometimes it is just give give give…maybe at the end of the day it is plain convenience sprinkled with a little amount of fondness…but there is no passion, no driving force to go out of ones way to do something for their so called loved one, no real investment. Maybe we all are so tired of looking that now staying with the one already there is an easier bet…and anyway, the whole wooing process is so much of an effort that even mouldy, old relationships – where there is no sweet nothings and no romance, no random surprises and no special efforts – is better than looking for newer grounds.
I don’t believe in this. I am still a hopeless romantic at heart. I still believe in keeping a relationship alive…that everyday is a new day and that every dinner is a new date…but does it matter what I believe in when, in reality, I see nothing of the sort. It all seems to come down to routine and to habit. And I hardly want to be someone’s monotonous habit. And yet somewhere, in my deep denial, I think I am becoming just that! I think basic human nature is sadomasochistic. I know there is affection, I know there is genuine concern, but I also know that I must have no expectations – and that sometimes gives me a sense of void – the fact that the heart is capable of loving but not trusting and yet staying right there – in that abyss of uncertainty.
I am an impatient person. So impatient! If things are not going right, I want to jump right in and take charge – and then I want to hold the confused reins of my life and try and untangle them fast and start the ride in another direction altogether – never mind if that direction may lead to dead end or yet another twist! Here I am, one month old in my organisation – dissatisfied with work, confused about my role, vague about my aim – and I am thinking of taking off and switching yet again. Is there any point a person reaches professional satisfaction? I suppose…but I am far from it….so so far away!
The froth and gloss of “working” is disappearing – with every swig I take, the mug of life looks bleak and negative – maybe I need another refill…or maybe I need a change of drink itself. Or maybe I just need to go and get drunk one day. It’s been so long – beer beckons me…every time I cross Leopolds and glance at the multiple pitchers inside, I let out a subconscious sigh. Where are the glorious days that were…the all-ladies drinking outings…ah I forget…I am 23 now…and it is all downhill from here onwards.
Have you ever wondered, however pathetic our lives may be, if a gun is held against our heads, we still beg to be let to live, we still pray with all our strength for our silly little meaningless lives…and why is it so precious? Don’t they say there is a whole new world out there?...then why is death looked at with so much fear…every minute is fought for till the end…with surgeries and meditations and allopathic and homeopathic doses! Well then, I suppose however ugly life may get, it is actually the most beautiful gift we have. So even when random inconsequential thoughts of flinging myself from a cliff does enter my very messed up mind, I never actually get around to executing it – it is way too scary…and maybe even I don’t want to let go of my gift. Though, people call suicide cowardice…I personally think it takes a bloody lot of courage to go and actually do it. But I may be wrong…and I may not even know…I haven’t killed myself yet.
Oh and here I go…deviating again…
What was I talking about…about my tiredness and lack of effort to question the purpose of my insignificant existence…or maybe I was just talking…you know, yapping through letters and words…and it all started randomly and it shall, as usual, and as my life, end randomly.
Well hah…how depressing, isn’t it?...not really…I’m sneaking into the kitchen for some toast topped with chocolate syrup…little joys of life…and maybe that is enough to get me through the next day…and maybe grape jam can get my though the subsequent week even… ah well, welcome to my world….welcome to my erratic abyss of thought.
I think the initial euphoria of a job and all that crappy jazz has fizzed out in its good ol’ due time. It’s been 3 weeks and oh I am so sick…so sick of work or rather no work – well, yes I have a job but I don’t know whether I am working productively or not. Earlier I would question my existence. Now I don’t even need to question that. Why? It is so simple. I don’t question that which has no answer anymore.
Remember my earlier posts on why this, why that, why me, why him, why despair, why not joy! Now it is a silent sort of a resignation where my mere strength to fight my own questions in my own head has gone plop!
I think it was better when grassy indulgences and such sinful sessions made me look at the moon and say that there is nothing larger that connects people…whoever at that very moment is looking at the moon, are all, at a certain level connected through that sublime entity, to each other. And this is a part of a conversation on the terrace when ‘joint’ studies formed an inevitable part of our weekly curriculum and such larger-than-normal-life statements were made apart from the very silly singing in chorus and hogging on wai-wai and maggi at midnight. Meaningful results of the great roll of weed!
To think of it, as human beings, we are on a roll – and by that I men roll downwards… life keeps getting worse…in some way or the other…for me the word ‘responsibility’ spells ‘worse’…not the sort of responsibility where you are incharge of yourself…I am totally in favour of the ‘each women for herself’ theory…where my problem essentially crops up is the big deal about marriage and being responsible for someone whose life is knotted with yours…or things like a bank account and bills…oh life just keeps getting worse… after twenty two it is all a trip downhill and there is no trekking or the effort for it anymore.
So back to what I was saying. So I am tired and haggard. I already want to retire in the hills with a load of books and some 100 gbs of music. I want to inherit indecent amounts of money from some long lost royal uncle who realised that I am the right heir and then I don’t need to work anymore. And then I want to eventually open a coffee store of my own…with lovely exotic flavours, the right music, student discounts, cosy red couches and a corner with books. Ah…that is life…and what I am living right now is nowhere near it. Instead of a hill station there is a rain infested, muck filled city with humidity and sweaty local trains, instead of my café there is a production house for which I work, from which I am getting easily detached. Instead of my wishful inheritance there is a measly salary and a difficult existence. And instead of an ‘ah’, there is a ‘ouch’!
And then I set out to do the very tiresome job of thinking…and then my abysmal effort of jotting some thoughts down and posting it onto my blog…for further record and a reference for my erstwhile mental state incase I find myself, in a few years, in some mental institution taking therapy on soul searching and other such “who am I” crap!
Because there isn’t just my professional life that I am dissatisfied with, my personal life has also got me in limbo. I mean with all due respects to the romantic writers and the stupid movies that gave us a totally unreal and a screwed up definition of love, I realise that maybe there is no love…maybe nothing is unconditional…maybe it is all give and take…maybe sometimes it is just give give give…maybe at the end of the day it is plain convenience sprinkled with a little amount of fondness…but there is no passion, no driving force to go out of ones way to do something for their so called loved one, no real investment. Maybe we all are so tired of looking that now staying with the one already there is an easier bet…and anyway, the whole wooing process is so much of an effort that even mouldy, old relationships – where there is no sweet nothings and no romance, no random surprises and no special efforts – is better than looking for newer grounds.
I don’t believe in this. I am still a hopeless romantic at heart. I still believe in keeping a relationship alive…that everyday is a new day and that every dinner is a new date…but does it matter what I believe in when, in reality, I see nothing of the sort. It all seems to come down to routine and to habit. And I hardly want to be someone’s monotonous habit. And yet somewhere, in my deep denial, I think I am becoming just that! I think basic human nature is sadomasochistic. I know there is affection, I know there is genuine concern, but I also know that I must have no expectations – and that sometimes gives me a sense of void – the fact that the heart is capable of loving but not trusting and yet staying right there – in that abyss of uncertainty.
I am an impatient person. So impatient! If things are not going right, I want to jump right in and take charge – and then I want to hold the confused reins of my life and try and untangle them fast and start the ride in another direction altogether – never mind if that direction may lead to dead end or yet another twist! Here I am, one month old in my organisation – dissatisfied with work, confused about my role, vague about my aim – and I am thinking of taking off and switching yet again. Is there any point a person reaches professional satisfaction? I suppose…but I am far from it….so so far away!
The froth and gloss of “working” is disappearing – with every swig I take, the mug of life looks bleak and negative – maybe I need another refill…or maybe I need a change of drink itself. Or maybe I just need to go and get drunk one day. It’s been so long – beer beckons me…every time I cross Leopolds and glance at the multiple pitchers inside, I let out a subconscious sigh. Where are the glorious days that were…the all-ladies drinking outings…ah I forget…I am 23 now…and it is all downhill from here onwards.
Have you ever wondered, however pathetic our lives may be, if a gun is held against our heads, we still beg to be let to live, we still pray with all our strength for our silly little meaningless lives…and why is it so precious? Don’t they say there is a whole new world out there?...then why is death looked at with so much fear…every minute is fought for till the end…with surgeries and meditations and allopathic and homeopathic doses! Well then, I suppose however ugly life may get, it is actually the most beautiful gift we have. So even when random inconsequential thoughts of flinging myself from a cliff does enter my very messed up mind, I never actually get around to executing it – it is way too scary…and maybe even I don’t want to let go of my gift. Though, people call suicide cowardice…I personally think it takes a bloody lot of courage to go and actually do it. But I may be wrong…and I may not even know…I haven’t killed myself yet.
Oh and here I go…deviating again…
What was I talking about…about my tiredness and lack of effort to question the purpose of my insignificant existence…or maybe I was just talking…you know, yapping through letters and words…and it all started randomly and it shall, as usual, and as my life, end randomly.
Well hah…how depressing, isn’t it?...not really…I’m sneaking into the kitchen for some toast topped with chocolate syrup…little joys of life…and maybe that is enough to get me through the next day…and maybe grape jam can get my though the subsequent week even… ah well, welcome to my world….welcome to my erratic abyss of thought.
Hypotenuse
Crib quota of the day is over. Missing my city is a continuous phenomenon. I have learnt to live with it.
Memories are sweet and linger in my head like the smell of lilacs.
The train chugs at its usual pace. All kinds of women sit, chit, chat, stare, wonder, ponder.
There is something in the wind. It isn’t love.
Music plays in my ear even though my ipod stays hidden somewhere in my backpack.
Dinner is homely. Children can be so philosophical. Return of innocence. And sense.
My best friend is coming for 2 months. Such joy has gripped my heart.
Safety net of friends comes to rescue. I am covered till August.
Am I a social butterfly? He says that. I just like meeting my friends. Such angels.
The sea is mighty and violent. The rain drops hit my ageing face. I can be so dramatic.
When do I wear my white pants? Muck and dirt engulf this monsoon wrecked city.
Bob Dylan. Such great music. Courtesy Pix.
The bed is big and cluttered. Because it is big I sleep diagonally. I am a hypotenuse.
Somehow I am not upset anymore. This is life. Live it.
And what is life?
The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind.
The answer is blowing in the wind.
Memories are sweet and linger in my head like the smell of lilacs.
The train chugs at its usual pace. All kinds of women sit, chit, chat, stare, wonder, ponder.
There is something in the wind. It isn’t love.
Music plays in my ear even though my ipod stays hidden somewhere in my backpack.
Dinner is homely. Children can be so philosophical. Return of innocence. And sense.
My best friend is coming for 2 months. Such joy has gripped my heart.
Safety net of friends comes to rescue. I am covered till August.
Am I a social butterfly? He says that. I just like meeting my friends. Such angels.
The sea is mighty and violent. The rain drops hit my ageing face. I can be so dramatic.
When do I wear my white pants? Muck and dirt engulf this monsoon wrecked city.
Bob Dylan. Such great music. Courtesy Pix.
The bed is big and cluttered. Because it is big I sleep diagonally. I am a hypotenuse.
Somehow I am not upset anymore. This is life. Live it.
And what is life?
The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind.
The answer is blowing in the wind.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Parasites of Technology
My phone has no signal. I feel terribly handicapped. What have we become? Slaves of electronic contraptions! Dependents of wired voices!
I think our cell phones are almost synonymous with another limb…it’s like an extension of the self… and a nuisance at times.
I think of all the times I have used the phone to express my anger and depression. I recall the times I have been utterly stupid and dialled a number and lowered my ego.
But there have been times when the conversation courtesy airtel or hutch has ended with a smile or a leap of joy in the otherwise stable heart.
So then I suppose it cannot be such a bad thing. And yet what a nuisance it can prove to be… buzzing and ringing and interrupting conversations, arguments, discussions and sometimes even sex! We have indeed succumbed to the 10 digit numbers. We have been taken over by aliens called sim cards and recharge coupons. We have lost all our privacy and disconnect from the social world and reconnect into a personal world. The world is suddenly such a small place that I sometimes feel claustrophobic – as if a cloth is being tied around my neck and I can’t breathe and then I feel sick and my lungs want to burst.
Look at me!!... I keep glancing at my silver coloured phone…I keep seeing the left side of the screen, checking whether the damn signal has re-entered my life or not.
I am a victim too, I am!
- Oh signal return…phone buzzes…typing ends…talking starts –
Goodnight.
I think our cell phones are almost synonymous with another limb…it’s like an extension of the self… and a nuisance at times.
I think of all the times I have used the phone to express my anger and depression. I recall the times I have been utterly stupid and dialled a number and lowered my ego.
But there have been times when the conversation courtesy airtel or hutch has ended with a smile or a leap of joy in the otherwise stable heart.
So then I suppose it cannot be such a bad thing. And yet what a nuisance it can prove to be… buzzing and ringing and interrupting conversations, arguments, discussions and sometimes even sex! We have indeed succumbed to the 10 digit numbers. We have been taken over by aliens called sim cards and recharge coupons. We have lost all our privacy and disconnect from the social world and reconnect into a personal world. The world is suddenly such a small place that I sometimes feel claustrophobic – as if a cloth is being tied around my neck and I can’t breathe and then I feel sick and my lungs want to burst.
Look at me!!... I keep glancing at my silver coloured phone…I keep seeing the left side of the screen, checking whether the damn signal has re-entered my life or not.
I am a victim too, I am!
- Oh signal return…phone buzzes…typing ends…talking starts –
Goodnight.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Incompletion
I went to help my aunt and uncle pick curtains for the house yesterday. Fab India – with all its frills at the price tags… I mean this is what I call business…hire the rural handicraft artists and weavers…get them to make all the fancy stuff…sort them in the assorted ranges and then quote the price ten times over if not more. And pay the poor workers one hundredth of the profit.
Yet…I was there, looking at the beautiful curtains…trying to mix and match and get my aesthetic sense on a roll… peacock blue with gold work against a beige-gold printed one… blue and white printed one against a plain white basic looking curtain…and other combinations that we made from the “sheer” section – you know the kind where it is semi-transparent…so that the sun-rays just about come and kiss your feet in the morning and the light at dawn just about sneaks in and stealthily wraps itself around you.
Which reminds me I am right now wallowing in sheer boredom. Its amazing how one word has so many meanings. Sheer curtains. Sheer boredom. Sheer joy.
Back to the curtains – and I don’t know anymore, why I started writing about them in the first place.
‘Snow hey oh’ is playing in my ears right now. RHCP. There is nothing to do at office. My boss is missing. Ah well, its my dramatic way of saying that he didn’t come to office today. Considering what monotony rules my life right now, I am making everything and anything seem of proportional heights…it is called making a mock epic out of one of the chapters of my very normal mortally-limited life.
Song changed to ‘Across the Universe’…did I mention how much I like this song?...let me elucidate - or actually…just read the lyrics if you wish to… or scroll down if not.
Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup,
They slither while they pass,
they slip away across the universe
Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind,
Possessing and caressing me.
Jai guru deva om
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes,
That call me on and on across the universe,
Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box they
Tumble blindly as they make their way
Across the universe
Jai guru deva om
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Sounds of laughter shades of life are ringing
Through my open mind inciting and inviting me
Limitless undying love which shines around me like amillion suns,
it calls me on and on
Across the universe
Jai guru deva om
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Jai guru deva
Jai guru deva
Jai guru deva
Jai guru deva
- Song ends –
Another song starts – but now I am distracted. I am wondering when can I get out of the office and when I can meet Kartik.
Now let me tell you who he is. He is my adopted sibling. I am the damned eldest one in the family…no cousin is older and no one my age… in solitude of my aged self, I have grown up, always being prodded to set an example for the “kids”…for gods sake… I like being human… I like being lazy and sleeping all day too, I like my beer outings, I like lying in a hammock all day with a book, I like going to crowded, crazy concerts…I like being wonderfully flawed and fun… I don’t want to be an example… if they need an example, they can go look at the autobiography of Gandhi or something… I can hardly be a good mould for any of those children to melt and set into.
So back to Kartik and why I wish to meet him today and have a nice chatty dinner time together…I need to talk…I need to figure out some things in my head and he helps me do just that…and with an amazing amount of patience… I need to know if where I am right now is the right place to be…I need to be sure of what I am doing and if my decisions are, in any way, going to affect other close ones.
Messed up I am….messed up is my head… and I am so bored right now… and I have a book…but I am being greedy…and only a few pages are left that I want to finish in the train…it is a train read and it started that way and it shall end that way.
And I suddenly realised that I started talking about the shopping spree and never ended that… It feels like such an incomplete piece….this random scribbling…but then again… I don’t know why I started talking about it in the first place so now I won’t bother to go back to it… let it be incomplete…like most of us are anyway. And in this utterly incomplete sense of being…I shall stop writing now. Full stop? Comma! Ellipses? Whatever.
Yet…I was there, looking at the beautiful curtains…trying to mix and match and get my aesthetic sense on a roll… peacock blue with gold work against a beige-gold printed one… blue and white printed one against a plain white basic looking curtain…and other combinations that we made from the “sheer” section – you know the kind where it is semi-transparent…so that the sun-rays just about come and kiss your feet in the morning and the light at dawn just about sneaks in and stealthily wraps itself around you.
Which reminds me I am right now wallowing in sheer boredom. Its amazing how one word has so many meanings. Sheer curtains. Sheer boredom. Sheer joy.
Back to the curtains – and I don’t know anymore, why I started writing about them in the first place.
‘Snow hey oh’ is playing in my ears right now. RHCP. There is nothing to do at office. My boss is missing. Ah well, its my dramatic way of saying that he didn’t come to office today. Considering what monotony rules my life right now, I am making everything and anything seem of proportional heights…it is called making a mock epic out of one of the chapters of my very normal mortally-limited life.
Song changed to ‘Across the Universe’…did I mention how much I like this song?...let me elucidate - or actually…just read the lyrics if you wish to… or scroll down if not.
Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup,
They slither while they pass,
they slip away across the universe
Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind,
Possessing and caressing me.
Jai guru deva om
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes,
That call me on and on across the universe,
Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box they
Tumble blindly as they make their way
Across the universe
Jai guru deva om
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Sounds of laughter shades of life are ringing
Through my open mind inciting and inviting me
Limitless undying love which shines around me like amillion suns,
it calls me on and on
Across the universe
Jai guru deva om
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Jai guru deva
Jai guru deva
Jai guru deva
Jai guru deva
- Song ends –
Another song starts – but now I am distracted. I am wondering when can I get out of the office and when I can meet Kartik.
Now let me tell you who he is. He is my adopted sibling. I am the damned eldest one in the family…no cousin is older and no one my age… in solitude of my aged self, I have grown up, always being prodded to set an example for the “kids”…for gods sake… I like being human… I like being lazy and sleeping all day too, I like my beer outings, I like lying in a hammock all day with a book, I like going to crowded, crazy concerts…I like being wonderfully flawed and fun… I don’t want to be an example… if they need an example, they can go look at the autobiography of Gandhi or something… I can hardly be a good mould for any of those children to melt and set into.
So back to Kartik and why I wish to meet him today and have a nice chatty dinner time together…I need to talk…I need to figure out some things in my head and he helps me do just that…and with an amazing amount of patience… I need to know if where I am right now is the right place to be…I need to be sure of what I am doing and if my decisions are, in any way, going to affect other close ones.
Messed up I am….messed up is my head… and I am so bored right now… and I have a book…but I am being greedy…and only a few pages are left that I want to finish in the train…it is a train read and it started that way and it shall end that way.
And I suddenly realised that I started talking about the shopping spree and never ended that… It feels like such an incomplete piece….this random scribbling…but then again… I don’t know why I started talking about it in the first place so now I won’t bother to go back to it… let it be incomplete…like most of us are anyway. And in this utterly incomplete sense of being…I shall stop writing now. Full stop? Comma! Ellipses? Whatever.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Losing My Monotony
I had left living. Left what I loved the most. Left my world of fantasy and imagination. Abandoned my world of words and wonder. Forgotten my world that I weaved with poetry and knitted with prose.
And to my utter surprise, all this comes back to me in a local train – the train that I take daily from home to work and back.
Morning: Platform no. 3, Grant Road station. Borivili train. Ladies first class.
And then a half hour journey. So to kill the boredom what do I do – I pick a book – random book that I wanted to read once upon a time – The curious incident of the dog in the night time.
Night: Platform no. 3, Andheri station. Churchgate train. Ladies first class. And the read continues.
Now I wait to hop on to the train so that I get my daily slot of reading.
Immersed in a world of my own…occasionally glancing up to make sure that I don’t miss my station…sometimes being interrupted by a lady selling an assorted range of accessories, sometimes being poked by a beggar girl…amidst the heat and the crowd and the rush of life in Mumbai… I sit with my eyes glued to the book…happily flipping one page after another…feeling that old me return.
I have come to realise the importance of my time…”my” exclusive time…my train time… if I’m not reading, I’m listening to music…if I’m not listening to music, I am thinking… and I think I’m sorting my head out.
So do I know now what do I want out of life? Not really. But some of that horrid confusion and storm in my head has ebbed… some focus has come about… or atleast some strange sort of peace had regained itself in me…I think it’s the reading…I think its my own time slot in the train…when I am alone and no one really exists around me… the rambling and bumbling ladies aside, the humidity that ruins my hair aside, the sweat, the grime, the terrible traffic aside…atleast I have rediscovered reading.
It gives me peace. It sorts me out. It makes me happy. It makes me think. It’s a welcome break in my otherwise monotonous life.
If nothing else (yet), atleast Mumbai has made me lose my monotony. And beautifully so.
Back to Mark Haddon and his book. It is a wonderful train read!
And to my utter surprise, all this comes back to me in a local train – the train that I take daily from home to work and back.
Morning: Platform no. 3, Grant Road station. Borivili train. Ladies first class.
And then a half hour journey. So to kill the boredom what do I do – I pick a book – random book that I wanted to read once upon a time – The curious incident of the dog in the night time.
Night: Platform no. 3, Andheri station. Churchgate train. Ladies first class. And the read continues.
Now I wait to hop on to the train so that I get my daily slot of reading.
Immersed in a world of my own…occasionally glancing up to make sure that I don’t miss my station…sometimes being interrupted by a lady selling an assorted range of accessories, sometimes being poked by a beggar girl…amidst the heat and the crowd and the rush of life in Mumbai… I sit with my eyes glued to the book…happily flipping one page after another…feeling that old me return.
I have come to realise the importance of my time…”my” exclusive time…my train time… if I’m not reading, I’m listening to music…if I’m not listening to music, I am thinking… and I think I’m sorting my head out.
So do I know now what do I want out of life? Not really. But some of that horrid confusion and storm in my head has ebbed… some focus has come about… or atleast some strange sort of peace had regained itself in me…I think it’s the reading…I think its my own time slot in the train…when I am alone and no one really exists around me… the rambling and bumbling ladies aside, the humidity that ruins my hair aside, the sweat, the grime, the terrible traffic aside…atleast I have rediscovered reading.
It gives me peace. It sorts me out. It makes me happy. It makes me think. It’s a welcome break in my otherwise monotonous life.
If nothing else (yet), atleast Mumbai has made me lose my monotony. And beautifully so.
Back to Mark Haddon and his book. It is a wonderful train read!
Black Bombay
Its like an invisible force. Like black magic. Evil. Foreboding. Yet tempting. Pulling me towards itself. Giving me unnecessary hopes, inculcating in me, a resigned indifference, asking me never to expect from people – for it is, paradoxically, a selfish but warm, rainy but sunny, expensive but cheap, crowded but personal and a hateful but likeable place. This is Mumbai. I am returning to it – yet again. Except last time was shit. There was illness in the air, hatred in the blood, tears in my eyes and so much of a mental void.
This time – I like to think – that I am stronger, more level headed, rather determined and yet most impulsive.
I like to think people are good. I like to give everyone there, the benefit of the doubt. I also think though, that I like to get hurt – and sadistically, many times so. I like to fall and rise – and bruise and heal – and tell myself…I survived again!
Limitations of a human being …but more than that…limitations of an AV student. Oh why tell me, did I take the blasted course. It taught me more about life than about a job. It made me wary of trusting, depending, and being blind against the malice of many. It taught me, no doubt, little bit of editing, camera and lots of bullshitting. But most of all it taught me – that we make choices … good choices, terrible choices…but at the end of the day we live with our choices and no one else…not our mothers or fathers or lovers… but the individual who made a choice.
I think I make a lot of wrong choices. I think I am rather impulsive and stupid. I also like to think that some good will come out of all of this. I think positive. Well…looking at the really optimistic side…atleast I think!
I haven’t slept well in the past month. Come 6:30 and my eyes snap open. Automatically!! As if an external force is prying my eyelids open and asking me to stop dreaming and start living…reality bites…and it really hurts.
Wishful thinking keeps me going still… I wish I am happy again…I wish someday I have the power to sleep for 12 hours at a stretch again. I wish my dark circles disappear one day. I wish I were pretty.
Rain and muck and crowd and locals and leopolds and odd working hours beckon me again – or may I say, yet again! But will it be that bad? Could it be worse? Could I again be sitting at the window sill finishing a pack of Marlboro lights in a night listening to Bavra mann? Or would I be reading something and eating watermelon while productively doing something out of my life? How much have I wasted…haste makes waste, no?
And yet again – this has been a hasty decision – and only my wishful thinking hopes against hope that it is not wasted this time…that I am not wasted this time…that my joy isn’t wasted this time.
I’ve had enough. Truly had enough. I’m going to give happiness a chance. I am not going to wallow around in hollow, self-indulgent pain. What is a city? It’s an area of land…with roads and houses and some people who don’t even matter. Let’s try to live for a change…and live solely for myself. Let’s defeat black magic. Let’s triumph over Mumbai!
This time – I like to think – that I am stronger, more level headed, rather determined and yet most impulsive.
I like to think people are good. I like to give everyone there, the benefit of the doubt. I also think though, that I like to get hurt – and sadistically, many times so. I like to fall and rise – and bruise and heal – and tell myself…I survived again!
Limitations of a human being …but more than that…limitations of an AV student. Oh why tell me, did I take the blasted course. It taught me more about life than about a job. It made me wary of trusting, depending, and being blind against the malice of many. It taught me, no doubt, little bit of editing, camera and lots of bullshitting. But most of all it taught me – that we make choices … good choices, terrible choices…but at the end of the day we live with our choices and no one else…not our mothers or fathers or lovers… but the individual who made a choice.
I think I make a lot of wrong choices. I think I am rather impulsive and stupid. I also like to think that some good will come out of all of this. I think positive. Well…looking at the really optimistic side…atleast I think!
I haven’t slept well in the past month. Come 6:30 and my eyes snap open. Automatically!! As if an external force is prying my eyelids open and asking me to stop dreaming and start living…reality bites…and it really hurts.
Wishful thinking keeps me going still… I wish I am happy again…I wish someday I have the power to sleep for 12 hours at a stretch again. I wish my dark circles disappear one day. I wish I were pretty.
Rain and muck and crowd and locals and leopolds and odd working hours beckon me again – or may I say, yet again! But will it be that bad? Could it be worse? Could I again be sitting at the window sill finishing a pack of Marlboro lights in a night listening to Bavra mann? Or would I be reading something and eating watermelon while productively doing something out of my life? How much have I wasted…haste makes waste, no?
And yet again – this has been a hasty decision – and only my wishful thinking hopes against hope that it is not wasted this time…that I am not wasted this time…that my joy isn’t wasted this time.
I’ve had enough. Truly had enough. I’m going to give happiness a chance. I am not going to wallow around in hollow, self-indulgent pain. What is a city? It’s an area of land…with roads and houses and some people who don’t even matter. Let’s try to live for a change…and live solely for myself. Let’s defeat black magic. Let’s triumph over Mumbai!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
