tuesday's dream

The atmosphere was blue. Everything felt blue. I could see the sun as a wavering light streaming down the surface of the ocean. It didn't feel strange to walk underneath water. I was walking on the seabed, with my friend. I didn't know who he was.

I saw a foreigner walking near the shore. He appeared to be a Caucasian. His red shirt was standing out in the all consuming blue-ness.

The seabed rose up and merged with the shore. I realized that I was walking with KD, my old room mate. The sea shore was familiar. I easily recognized the open sewers draining into the sea. This was Kovalam.

He pointed towards the land and we went in that direction. Not surprisingly, our clothes were dry and clean, in spite of our underwater sojourn. We soon reached a school. At least I felt that it was a school.

There were many class rooms there. One student had committed something bad and there came this grave priest dressed in a grey tunic with a phantom-like visage pasted above his neck. Without uttering a word, he punished the errant seeker of knowledge. What his sin was, I will never come to know.

Infernal Affairs 2

Continuous hell embodies three components - Uninterrupted time, unlimited space and boundless suffering

It is sheer agony when you realize you are helpless and powerless. Darkly comical too.

Tanha tanha

Tanha tanha yahan pe jeena ye koi baat hai
Koi saathi nahin tera yahaan to ye koi baat hai

Ye zindagi to vaise ek saza hai
Saath kisika ho to aur ye maza hai

Way to go Gen. Pres. Musharraf!

Everyone is blasting Musharraf about his decision to proclaim an Emergency situation in Pakistan. As if, he is trying to cover his ass as the Great Dictator - that's what the media calls him these days..

I am on Musharraf's side. I believe that he is doing what he is doing in order for the future stability of Pakistan.

Has anyone thought about what is going to happen if Mush bows out and hands over the power to 'democracy' ? The democratic parties will woo the fanatics(who have immense influence right now) for votes, and ultimately something resembling the erstwhile Afghan Taliban will take over the reigns of a nuclear power state.

In the current situation, I wish I could do something to give my support to the General.

Screeching tires, and flaming metal.
Free shoes, and longer walks.
What signs be these of..

Marionette

Something is not right. As a matter of fact, everything is wrong. I don't feel that I am living my life. Is this what was 'written' for me by God or his minions? Can I change it? Can I alter the script or will it ultimately be an illusion that I feel, the fact being that it too was in the script. I am a marionette.

Why do I feel that I can change the script. It is because I have the power to do so. I am the mythological superman who hasn't found his power so far. My power would be my initiative, bolstered by commitment and other subtleties.

But why? I too am on a path to the seemingly inevitable realm of death. Will it do me any good or bad if I choose to stick with the morals that my society has imprinted on my psyche. I can't say that I am a very moral man, as I break a lot of laws. Still there is that little moral fiber still entrenched in my kernel.

Why should I get rid of it? It is an interesting question this one. The answer is that - because it will transform me into something different from what I am right now. It will alter my state of extreme apathy to seemingly important things like stability, wealth, power and love. Until I try I can never be sure what changes will actually happen once this transformation happens. I have a hunch that all humans possess latent powers of gargantuan scales.

Tapping these powers for purposes good or bad, is merely dependent on the awareness and initiative of the individual. The evolutionary processes continue as each man progresses to become the mythical superman. Then again, this depends on the rate of degradation vs the rate of progressive evolution.

My values are different from that of most people I know. This is not because I know what my values are, but because I know that I cannot empathize with their values.

Echoing this from an academic perch is easy. Getting down from here and micro managing the actual grit of life is something that I have always shied away from. Fears, I have many. These are common fears. Fear of the future and the fear of society's reactions of my actions. I am afraid of certain forms of punishment. Alas, these are but avatars of the ultimate desire for self preservation. I am attached to myself.

I am a parasite who craves for the well being of my shell. What can such a parasite accomplish? String the flesh puppet to its beck and call?

Alas, in spite of all these trailer trash thoughts, my current perception of reality is that I am being guided through motions and thoughts which the marionette manipulator wishes me to traverse. I wonder who is the manipulator. I wonder who manipulates the manipulator.

Niki's Book-Cover Tag

I was tagged by my friend, Niki-chan who was tagged by Pijush-chan, to take the Book-Cover Tag
domo arigato!! the subject is Book-Cover Tag.

***Rule (there is only one): Go to the advanced book search on Amazon, type your first name into the Title field, and post the most interesting/amusing cover that shows up.

Well, my monicker here be Poison, and the toxicity did draw out a nice title from the Amazon dungeons!

From Booklist

Although Wooding's second stand-alone youth fantasy has its share of violent deaths and other terrifying episodes, the title refers not to a deadly toxin but to its eponymous violet-eyed heroine. Quick-witted, fierce, and fed up with living in a community where residents view misfortune as inevitable, Poison fights back when her baby sister is spirited away by "phaeries." She faces obstacles both physical and mental. In one pivotal scene, she meets her own creator, an all-powerful storyteller whose revelations prompt ruminations about self-determination and the nature of reality. Some readers won't appreciate the shift from familiar quest-story action to quiet, more metaphysical upheavals, and Poison doesn't emerge triumphant in the way that many will expect. Still, Wooding's serpentine plotting and lush, imaginative writing have something to offer to both the more mature audience of The Haunting of Alaizabel Cray (2004) as well as slightly younger genre fans. Try this on readers who enjoyed Angie Sage's Magyk (2005). - Jennifer Mattson

The Resident Cat

Ingrate

I never realized what you have done for me. Never have I been grateful for your being there for me, always. I never understood why you always stood by my choices even when they didn't go along with your ideas. Hurt you, I have a lot. Debased you, derided you. I made you see hell. I didn't understand what you stood for. I didn't know what it meant. Yet, you became strong to bear me, and my iniquities. I didn't look deep enough to see your agony, your pain. I wish I had. I wish I would let you know that now I appreciate your very existence, for without you, I wouldn't be at this space time coordinate now, where I am, what I am, how I am. You are my only lifeline to this world. It took me a lifetime to understand that. I wish I had come to senses earlier. Before damage took its toll. Before all the bad things happened. At the beginning of my time. I do not know the troubles you had to face, the ostracism you had to endure, all thanks to me. I wish I knew how to begin an apology fit for a lifetime of misdeeds. Without you, I am nothing, and shall be nothing.

Reason

A reason to exist. A reason to believe in. A reason. Any reason. It would be my Jerusalem, in my Holy War. Where do I find these fellers? Wish I knew that.

Llosa and Ah Kin

Mario Vargas Llosa is an artist with a magic wand. His words create images so vivid and phantasmagoric, that, to the hapless ganja freak, they appear startlingly real. Poor Jake.

Days trickled by and it was time for the first internal revolution against the bourgeoisie nasal canals. The masses rose in rebellion, their cries amplified into elephantine sniffles and a sad trickle of snot. Air is denied passage henceforth through the canals of Nasale, intoned the leader of the revoluzione.

As I lay prone on the dusty mattress struggling against the anarchists, who had invaded my innards, the sheer beauty of it all was inescapable. I was more alive then, than at most points of time. I felt like Chev Chelios riding Eve in the middle of a mob, yelling to the world - I am alive, I am alive.

Hours oozed past and the Mayan sun god Ah Kin bored down on the mob with such vengeance that they melted away, leaving Ah Kin strangely contented.

The red child was hanging on to the hem of the mauve mother. They were staring strangely at me, as I attempted framing a smile, attempting to convey that I am as harmless as a turtledove.

The scent of the vegetable stall hit as it had hit Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, albeit on a much much smaller scale, thanks to genetics as well as a desensitized nose. The Chennai sun appeared to be trifling as I sailed through tree-less, and shadow-less avenues. The gods' habits are indeed abstruse.

Tlaloc, the Aztec god of rain and lightning unleashed his fury one night when three from a clan met under the roof of another. Heedless of Tlaloc the brazen ones embarked on the grand voyage to home ground, a few kilometres away.

Alas Tlaloc was too powerful. He simply smashed to defeat Bosch, the god of the spark plug. And I, who represents the defeated human spirit(always?) had to push the heavy motorcycle back to its roost through rivers of muck and the wrath of Tlaloc.

To the battered mind, the Ballad of the Easy Rider came across as a welcome distraction. A tinge of purple sadness dyed the canvas as Captain America and Billy made their way through the film, rolling in coke, grass, gasoline, girls and LSD. Its sound track is still ringing in my insomniac mind.

Never did I fancy that the Knights who say Ni, from the Holy Grail, were the legacy of George Hanson, after having taken a swig of whiskey in the morning. Ni to you all. Ni. Why did it take me so long to watch Easy Rider, after having heard about it for so many goddamn years? Ni.

Vargas Llosa is a sorcerer. He is.

Who will remember you?

Fallen in the field of battle,
The old soldier said -
Who will remember me?
Who will remember me?

Indeed, some of us live to be remembered by the future generations, to be gawked at, made fun at, or to be idolized or idealized. All our endeavors bear no meaning if they are not saved for posterity. Still how does that give any meaning in the long term with extra long emphasis on long. Maybe, spanning from now to the end of time itself.

The end of time is a welcome concept. I wish I knew when everything is going to end for good. It might be handy to be prepared with a specific date and time at hand, rather than expecting salvation at the beginning of every random day, wondering if judgment has arrived in the form of the anti Christ or the Kalki.

It is interesting that both Hinduism and Christianity have their doomsday Gods yet to be unleashed. Seems like a nice bluff to keep an errant population under control through the systematic application of fear. Fear is always an effective, if crude method of keeping human subjects' behaviour within acceptable control limits.

A regime of fear might be resented and resented to such extent that rebellion might erupt, engulf and topple the very regime, if it's not nipped at the bud. A regime of complete fear based on mind control should be easy to administer from the point of view of the rulers. Riddick might become such a Necromanga emperor who walks in the misty shrouds of fear.

Fear is powerful. So is anger. Both can blind men long enough for irreversible mistakes to have been set into motion. A little untimely cough can trigger an avalanche, and in these days of global warming it might not be entirely false to say that entire populations might be wiped out by a tear misplaced.

A distinction needs to be made between pure animal fear and the fear of the future. Or are both the same? The fear of the future drives us on to accomplish many things as our destinies unfold. This fear is baseless if we are going to be no more than dust and water at the end of the road.

What if, we do have the spiritual bit entrenched in our bodies. A little bit of soul which migrates from bodies and worlds and uses this animal husk as a motel. That would be interesting. My only wish in such a case, is that my soul will remember my life in this shell, lest it encounters similar situations down the lane, where no live eye has gazed upon.

Case Study - Bruin

Bruin appears to you as the everyman. He has a face and a body which could be hard to pick out from the melting pot of humanity in which he sought to thrive in.

His body language is more interesting. He moves as if his entire body is stiff and a long time ago, he had stopped moving his arms while walking, since it seemed to be more efficient in his perception.

He used to read a lot of books and boy, did they make an impression on him. He had read of the oriental concept of 'hara' from a Lustbader novel, and tried to emulate the motion of a person who had 'hara', the central rooting force in the human body.

He didn't know anything about 'hara'other than what the books told him. Most gaijins always walked with a bounce in their stride. People with 'hara' lacked that bounce. They moved with purpose. The end result was that his movements became robotic. This gait became associated with him. It looked intimidating and robotic to most.

If Bruin stood alongside anyone the same size as him, either in girth or length, he would appear to be the smaller one. His body structure or language was such.

If we move along, and start analyzing Bruin's mind, we would encounter a weird mix of everything which has gone wrong, either completely or in parts.

Bruin manifests himself as a being who is eager to showcase his efforts for any cause that he is with. The fact, however, is that secretly he wishes for the defeat of that very cause. He wants to live and he wants to die. He loves portraying himself to himself as well as to others as 'he man who tried', but couldn't succeed because of overwhelming external forces.

I guess that is so, because he doesn't know what he wants really. He thinks that he wants to be an old man, secure in his lone lighthouse, reminiscing his colourful life while a thunderstorm rages without. Beautiful is not the word I can think of to describe this trait of Bruin's. I am partial towards the use of the word 'wishful' in its place.

He carries many painful scars in his memory. The make him older in some aspects. Thankfully, he has a memory which forgets most things, until they are re-triggered into life by some catalyst. He wishes that he could withdraw from this world completely and watch it from some coccoon as the dramas enfold. Crazy old Bruin.

I am fucked. The half bitten cigarette butt's journey is still incomplete. It must survive many more kicks and flames before it reaches its final destination.

Many a times have I pondered up on this point. Solemn at times, jovial at others. Never have I been able to decrypt this enigma. Zemblanity is merely dependent on perspective. If you have a 'positive' outlook at life, it transforms itself into serendipity, without you even knowing it.

Sometimes, you wonder why is it that you want to be happy all the time? Of course, you never can be happy at all times. There are the usual bumps in the blacktop while you try to sail along with the wind.


Keeping all those aside, the fact remains that I am happy when I am not happy. I am happy when I wade neck deep in sadness. If that makes sense.

Days, weeks and months are whizzing past me like seconds. I remember waking up on Monday and all of a sudden it's Saturday morning.

I don't know where those five days went. The fact remains that they are lost for good. Sad.

Dreams remain dreams. Is this one?

Pondicherry Bike Trip

Went to Pondicherry last Sunday. Find the details at Divine Thoughts.

This is bad. I can feel the bile rising up my gut. A bad taste, that lingers on. Knowing that your own flesh is in rebellion. Pardon me Shylock. I tried to avoid this. The medical journals don't seem to be too good now. It seems to me that, zemblanity is not going to stop pursuing me. I don't want to go back and be all wired up again. I don't mind the hypodermics. I don't mind the mindless piercings. I don't want to be left alone again in some antiseptic hospital room waiting restlessly to cease the feeling of being supremely useless. If it does happen, I am going to subscribe to the methodologies of the Indian astrology practitioners. I am supposed to be in a state of bad luck as per the stars. Under the worst influence of the vile Saturn, sitting smug amidst his rings up in the sky above. So many chances. So many lost. Many more ignored. Where is this road headed for. Fear is a wonderful thing. Fear of the unknown has an allure of its own. I don't want to declare war on the gods again. They have been tossing and squishing me around for quite a while like a burnt out cigarette butt. Well. Fuck them. I know that much more is in stock for me. They are going to try to make me cry out. Well, I may. Maybe I will change my point of view, switch careers and become an astrologer.

All things usually come to an end. The end is reliable. It is always there for you. Waiting, knowing, in cold certainty that it is the only thing which persists. Is there anything anywhere without a beginning or an end? There are always gray areas, but those are probably gray because we are not able to shed enough light on them or we are not equipped with the right kind of digging equipment to gather the dirt on them.

Why am I blabbering about the end? Is mine near? I am ever persistent in my attempts to make it closer than ever. Still I stop short since I can't find in me the courage to take the final step. To take the plunge in the deep unknown, and I don't mean deep sea diving here. People say that it's cowardly to take one's own life. In my opinion, it takes maximum courage to end one's life.

I have always envied Forrest Gump for his lucky streak. A series of serendipitious events continuously happening to the not-too-bright millionaire that is Gump. I wish I were as dumb as Gump so that I could trade places with him! Lucky Gump.

If I were to make a movie of my recent past. It would make Gump go dumber. It would be the exact reverse of what was happening to Gump in that movie. I am sure that Edward A Murphy Jr, will be the first person to run up to the Pearly Gates and give me a welcoming embrace when my time comes. He would have been glad to see me live my life.

There are two ways to do anything. The right way and the not-so-right or wrong way. I try choosing the first always, and end up performing the second, and this is not a willingly done act. I never know until it's too late that through my actions I was validating Murphy's law.

There are patterns everywhere. I believe that if a person can identify the patterns which bob around him, he can correlate them with his experience as well as that of the vast treasury of human experience in general, to come up with a decision which is probabilistically destined to be a successful one, or in plain terms, the right one.

The confoundedness arises when someone actually interprets the patterns correctly and decides to risk making a wrong decision in the expectation that the pattern too must come to an end, although the chances of that are slim. That little brain wave that men possess, is exploited to the maximum by the casinos worldwide.

I wish I could play Russian roulette. It would make the mundaneness dissolve away for the few fleeting moments when the eagerness and anxiety of wanting to know whether the bullet has my name on it, would make me alive.

I wish I were alive.

Sick to the core, everything is a blur. These last moments of clarity are to savored in ecstasy. Substance D. I am waiting for it. Where are the little blue flowers? The messiahs of brain damage and limitless mind twisting. The wind in the sky whipped up a little fireball. The fireball tumbled down like a chopper with a busted tail rotor. It zeroed in on the forehead and made a quick spiral towards it. Crashed. Crashed all the way into the head. Churning up dead gray cells. And slush. The hemispheres went down in a cosmic blast. Only the charring pain remained. Throb throb throb. The veins were pumping blood dancing to the beat of some mysterious pendulum. The drizzle of snot is unbelievably irritating. Eagerly do I wait for the end. For a new beginning, or total darkness. For the point of no return or advance. To immortal stagnation.

8 Random Facts about Poison

niki-chan tagged me with this one!

The Rules of this tag:
1. Link to your tagger and post these rules.
2. List eight (8) random facts about yourself.
3. Tag eight people at the end of your post and list their names (linking to them).
4. Let them know they've been tagged by leaving them a comment on their blogs.

*************************ooOoo***********************

1 I have difficulty in differentiating between reality and dreams.
2 I don't have character. At least none which can be termed to be really mine.
3 I tend to be a good reflector of the company I am with. I blend in.
4 I hate it when I am not doing anything, even though I may proclaim otherwise.
5 I don't have a favourite food. Or favourite music.
6 My favourite movie is Apocalypse Now Redux.
7 I had a dog which was with me for sixteen years. I authorized its euthanasia.
8 I have been on a continuous bad luck streak since April 2007.

Anyone who's interested to state 8 random facts are welcome to take this tag up! (Sorry... I can't follow rules 3 and 4!)

Mantis!

Becoming the Buddha

A state of no desire,
I crave for desperately.

Too much time at hand is a bad thing at times. This is one of those times~!

Dissatisfied with the current state being?

Yup.

What is it that you don't like about your life right now?

I don't know.

You are in a pretty stable state now, na?

Yeah, you could say that.

Then why are you not happy man?!

I am not sure dude. I am living with old friends after a very long time.

Isn't that a good thing?

Its always good to have people with similar vibes around, yup.

So...you don't like Chennai or what?

I don't dislike Chennai. I can't say that I like it. Its not the reason I am unhappy.

Is it because two of your good friends are leaving Chennai as soon as you stepped in?

Nah. Couldn't be that. I have lived the lone ranger life for too long to be affected by that.

Then what's bugging you?

Well, a friend told me to sit in a quiet place and ponder upon this.

And...?

Well I did just that. And the only reason I find is that I have too much time at hand.

That causes you to be sad?!

Yeah! Crazy isn't it?

Totally~!

Tag ~ Niki-chan

<> got this tag from Niki-chan. domo arigato!! this was a welcome diversion :)

Two Things TMI.

Two Names You Go By
1. shocky
2. akosoto

Two Things You Are Wearing Right Now:
1. white business formal shirt
2. green bermudas

Two Things You Would Want (or have) in a Relationship:
1. Love of course lol
2. Life

Two of Your Favorite Things to do:
1. wandering
2. watching movies

Two Things You Want Very Badly At The Moment:
1. sleep
2. wake up

Two things you did last night:
1. meet up with friends
2. ride different bikes around chennai

Two things you ate today:
1. chappathi
2. puttu

Two people you Last Talked To:
1. stryker
2. pottu

Two Things You're doing tomorrow:
1. hoepfully learn something
2. act upon an old resolution

Two Favorite Holidays:
1. saturday
2. sunday

Two Books you recently read
1. head first jsp and servlets
2. an artist of the floating world

Two things you wish you did better
1. riding
2. choosing lottery tickets

Two shows you watch on tv
1. the simpsons
2. spongebob squarepants

Probably many thousands of people have felt before, what I am feeling now. The effect of the bittersweet symphony by the Verve. Strangely enough I am becoming sadder as the song is progressing. I can find no tangible reason for this. Some songs.

The crow can fly where he wants to. He can eat what he finds along the way. He can even crap on those he doesn't like. I want to be a crow. An anthropomorphic crow, akin to them uncannily intelligent creatures in Pearls before swine. I wish I had a guard duck here. The feeling of loneliness is becoming more and more amplified even though I am in the deep of human congregation.

The victims lose their faces in a blur of shame and numerousness. Even the army of bashi bazouks have no identity. They seek revenge or use revenge as a self motivation to imprint on the victims one of the most widely used and cruel forms of primitive dominance. They cry out loud in fear, then in terror and ultimately in resignation, accepting the inescapable fate that they have been subjected to. This continues in a vicious circle once the ravaged seek revenge, and finally manage to get some. It was sad to read about a Russian soldier boasting that "two million of our children were born" in Germany. Shit happens and it happens again and again and again. Only the perpetrators' ethnicity or nationality changes.

The stench of stale cigarette smoke is strangely soothing, in a degenerate way. The air temperature is at acceptable levels thanks to a rain which raged a few hours ago. Some people like the rain. I hate it.

Life is as usual as it comes. Always at the same juncture, knowing not what the fuck next to do. Crossroads seem to be popping up at every turn. This is inspite of my being apparently 'content' at my current settings.

I think I had read somewhere that, had man been content from day one of the dawn of the human age, we would still be foraging for berries along with the chimps. Because we are always pissed, we 'progress.' Why am I preaching?

Today it rained for a long time. Me and Shyam thought that god was pissing on us. Earlier we were preparing smoodles in the dark, prior to the vodka and the kings, when he noticed around five ants scurrying on top of the dry noodle strands, which were slowly sinking into the boiling water. Possessed, we watched them drown and die.

Heck, I didn't care if the ant was a good ant or a bad ant. One thing was sure. They were dead ants. That crapper Crom is pissing on me too frequently. I gota bite him where he hurts; I draw my inspiration from the ants. Die fighting they say. But in the end, die die die. I wish I could close my eyes tonight and never wake up ever.

Would that be death? Or something in the twilight zone?

I have never known a place like Mumbai before. There was a sense of belonging here which I had never experienced elsewhere. The world remains as ephemeral as ever. The curtains have been closed for this particular stage. Adios Mumbai, with a thousand threads left hanging mid way. I will have to leave you probably although you've ingrained yourself in my blood. I know that you wouldn't care about one soul departing from your hellish and hallowed self.

How is it possible that I chat with the same person every time I get chucked. One of nature's wonders. Now I know what to do when I need a transfer!

I didn't have a real chance to experience Chennai during the two months that I had stayed there. I guess I should try to rectify during my next stint there.

I have kinda lost three months of my life. The first two were spent in and out of hospitals getting treated and mistreated. Then again, I now think that this break was good for me. I have managed to study some new stuff, and get certified in that, and my nerves too are back in shape. I probably won't turn to drinks again since that would be the end of me thanks to my out of shape liver. I donno how to make head or tail out of all this.

Lighthouse

Red and White lighthouse @ Kovalam, Trivandrum

Pier

View from a sea bridge @ Valiyathura, Trivandrum

All my life I have been confused about God and religion. Having had the (mis)fortune to have a multi religious family helped increase the confusion.. It was kinda ingrained into me somehow there is someone up there who looks after the things of the world. More or less, I have paid obeisance to that creature, I guess out of the innate fear that we, humans have for the unknown.

The pious and the religious all fall into hard times. They say God is testing them and that they will emerge stronger or whatever. Well. I would say that they are using it as a crutch. I too was using the damn thing as a crutch for quite some time now. There is no point in hanging on to something which doesn't give a crap about you in all probability, assuming it exists.

The communists and hedonists and satanists, all probably have the same success/failure/suffering rate as the other religious communities and hypocrites loitering around the world of the living. It doesn't seem to matter what the hell you do. I have reason to feel that the cause effect theory aka Karma exists in some form in the world of the living. However, it can also be pretty much over ruled if you choose to. Then there are freak occurrences which happen beyond your control even if you are 'God''s lamb or Satan's uncle. Well. Que damn sera sera.

Now I choose to oppose all Gods though there is that little ingrained bullshit part of me which mumbles that this is wrong. Shut up you little voice. Zemblanity has been pursuing me for quite an abnormally long time now. Things can get worse, if the Gods get offended and decide to fuck me up more. Well. Do your best or worst. If you exist. Like I care.

The dawn of Crom

I have listened to atheists, theists and agnostics. I have tended to agree with them, all of them, since their concepts suit them. But for me, even if I am given solid proof that there is no God, when dilemmas arise, I turn to God. I pray. I pray to a God, about whom I don’t know anything. Why should I do that, when there seems to be a more fitting solution at hand.

What is the point in finding a God? There has been no solid success for anyone in that venture. A solution that reveals itself like the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, is to create one for your own purposes.
Adopting one is simpler. Like remaking an old movie in Technicolor, with some added dash and glamour.

I hereby create/adopt my God, who is called Crom. The origin of Crom, as I know it, comes from the creativity of the creator of Conan the Barbarian. Crom is the God of Conan. Crom is a harsh God, who cares little about what happens to his believers. But, he is God. I ask a lot from God, but Crom chooses not to hear it, and allows his believers to fend for themselves in the battleground of life. Crom, the Northern God, is such a God.

Now, that he has formally restarted his existence out of the comic strips, I have a direction in which I can divert my prayers. Towards the great God Crom.

I, his believer and re-creator choose to plagiarise from the script of the movie, Kingdom of Heaven, some phrases, which I hope, will guide me, in the journey of life, with Crom by my side.

The ones alive chanted – “What man is a man who does not make this world better.”

The dead men chanted – “Such as we are, you will be.”

What say ye those who care to read?

SCREW YOU GODS…ALL THOSE OF YOU GODS WHO EXIST FOR REAL OR FOR IMAGINARY…MY MIDDLE FINGER GOES STRAIGHT UP YOUR STUPID FACES, IF YOU HAVE SUCH A THING AS A FACE. SCREW YOU ALL. SCREW YOU TOO, DEAR CROM.

They ought to find some method to regrow broken nerves.

I have FOUND the MEANING OF LIFE!

After twenty two years of futile search, I have found out the meaning of life. At last!


life - the period between birth and death

Courtesy - Oxford Advanced Learner's Dictionary of Current English , divs

The answer was in front of me all these years. Sigh!

You Are External - Realist - Empowered

You feel your life is controlled externally. You tend to attribute most things to luck or karma. You don't own your successes or your failures. You tend to take life as it comes, but you're also apt to feel helpless. You are a realist when it comes to luck. You don't attribute everything to luck, but you do know some things are random. You don't beat yourself up when bad things happen to you... But you do your best to try to make your own luck. You have a good deal of power, but you also know the pecking order. You realize that working the system does get you further. You know who to defer to and who to control. When it comes to the game of life, you play things flawlessly.

The Three Dimension Luck and Power Test

Amor fati...hell

A powerless puppet, have I become, in the hands of Fate. It has been trampling me, in manners so diverse, over the last two months, that I have ceased to imagine what is lined up next, since my very limited thought processes can scarcely fathom its hidden agenda. The latest ‘blow’ came yesterday.

This is akin to the tides going only one way, not even feinting to return back. By virtue of probability, the wheel of fortune should rotate, at least a little bit in my favour now. The moon waxes and wanes. The days and nights regularly alternate, athough having different frequencies, at different longitudes.

The fortune favours the brave, I have heard. How about the stoic? The one, who bites his lips and bears whatever that fate throws at him, albeit with some initial chagrin. I guess, fate likes to toy around, till he breaks. It’s either that, or the frequency of reversal is very slow in my particular case.

I came upon ‘Amor fati’ in wiki, which seemed to have been Nietzche’s take on fate. I haven’t read much of him. I don’t know what he taught or thought.

“Amor fati is a Latin phrase that loosely translates to "love of fate" or "love of one's fate". It is used to describe an attitude in which one sees everything that happens in one's life, including suffering and loss, as good. That is, one feels that everything that happens is destiny's way of reaching its ultimate purpose, and so should be considered good. Moreover, it is characterized by an acceptance of the events that occur in one's life.”

So should one continue in apathy, and be a mute and patient spectator, or is there any difference at all, in trying to combat fate, however futile it is. But then again, if there was some method to know it was futile in reality, it would have simplified things a lot. Especially for someone who doesn’t give a care about the ultimate fate.

Update - My best buddy got his arm broken tonight in Pune. I am a bloody jinx.

Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi (Fortune, Empress of the World) - Carl Orff

1. Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi (Fortune, Empress of the World)
O Fortuna (Chorus) O Fortune

O Fortuna O Fortune,
velut luna like the moon
statu variabilis, you are changeable,
semper crescis ever waxing
aut decrescis; and waning;
vita detestabilis hateful life
nunc obdurat first oppresses
et tunc curat and then soothes
ludo mentis aciem, as fancy takes it;
egestatem, poverty
potestatem and power
dissolvit ut glaciem. it melts them like ice.

Sors immanis Fate - monstrous
et inanis, and empty,
rota tu volubilis, you whirling wheel,
status malus, you are malevolent,
vana salus well-being is vain
semper dissolubilis, and always fades to nothing,
obumbrata shadowed
et velata and veiled
michi quoque niteris; you plague me too;
nunc per ludum now through the game
dorsum nudum I bring my bare back
fero tui sceleris. to your villainy.


Sors salutis Fate is against me
et virtutis in health
michi nunc contraria, and virtue,
est affectus driven on
et defectus and weighted down,
semper in angaria. always enslaved.
Hac in hora So at this hour
sine mora without delay
corde pulsum tangite; pluck the vibrating strings;
quod per sortem since Fate
sternit fortem, strikes down the string man,
mecum omnes plangite! everyone weep with me!




Courtesy - http://www-astro.physics.ox.ac.uk/~rejs/carmlyr.html

Faith and Vision

The visionless underdog whimpered lightly under the covers. Whining out of fragmented visions of the past juxtaposed with blinding images from the future. A man without a vision, what good is he in this world of now? A weight to the earth. Theoretically, all of us have remained, and will probably remain as weights to the earth, unless some bright spark finds out a way to recycle human mass into energy. Keep whimpering, cur. Keep wishing that either science or providence will deliver you from your misery. You have no faith in either.

Kinsmen and Kafka

When you are alone, and licking your wounds, you only have your kinsmen to look after you. If they care enough for you, it’s either out of future considerations, obligation or affection. The rest of the world becomes separated by a hardly perceptible sheet of Asahi glass. It is suddenly lonelier and colder, although electromagnetic waves penetrate the crystal infrequently enough, bringing in their wings, tidings both old and new.

Connor McLeod was banished from his clan since he was different. Gregor Samsa was tolerated more out of fear/apprehension, than anything else, after the metamorphosis. Equally were the kinsmen relieved when these anomalies left their sights, and they could continue with their lives, until another Connor or Gregor sprang up. Certain things which happen to the body or mind, can negate all the good will that has been generated to date, and cause society to view the person(s) with fear, suspicion, amusement, revolt or pity. I now understand Kafka, a tiny bit more than before.

May 1, 2007

May 1, 2007 – The morning was horrible. It felt like I was made of crystal and put together using dry putty. Any posture was impossible. I didn’t have a temperature. Still, I was shivering like anything for almost four hours. It subsided after that. I have never been a conventionally religious person. I had my own theories and hypotheses and I stood by them, albeit their being mercurial in their nature. I never subscribed to the concept of sin, and I had a clear conscience most of the time. If I turn back and look at my life, and how I have lived it so far, from a conventional zealot’s point of view, it would be nothing less than a confetti sin festival. Karma. Maybe it’s all coming back to me. Maybe it’s all the play of freak chance and fickle fate. I wonder what fate has lined up for me next. It has been complete and chaotic zemblanity, which has been prevailing over my life since the beginning of March. There is an old saying in Malayalam – Vinasha kaley vipareetha buddhi. Roughly translated it means, you make all the wrong decisions, when your time is not right. I have been making one too many, consistently. And la bilirubina has decided to be with me, at the same levels, which might cause some more new troubles, in the days ahead. At least it’s not increasing at stratospheric rates.

There seems to be nothing more to write.

Universally Applicable(?)

Is there someone you know?
You’re loving them so,
But taking them all for granted.
You may lose them one day,
Someone takes them away,
And they don’t hear the words you longed to say…

-(from ‘Everything I own’ – Bread)

I'll be back(maybe)

Taking a break for a week. Will probably be wasting time in some hospital room wired up again. Cheerio.

La Bilirubina

Around four or five weeks ago, this scribe made the mistake of appealing to the divine for a virus. No simple virus did I crave for. Malaise was I suffering from, and I wanted more, since masochism by mischance, happened to be the word of the moment. I sent an sms declaring that I would be honoured to get Ebola or Marburg viruses, and to bleed restlessly to death, internally.

Somewhere high above or wherever it is that such world changing decisions are made, someone made a clerical mistake. Deliberate or not, I shall never find out, and I started having chills in the morning, at the workplace, on Maundy Thursday. I was half crazed wondering how in the world, can a bottle of beer cause such a bad hangover. It felt like my body was made of glass, and someone was trying to hammer it down to smithereens. Off I went to the wellness room, and slept off, still half dazed for the next 5 hours, which seemed like forever.

The air conditioning did it. I could stand it no more. I was vibrating more than an out of control dildo. Somehow I managed to get outside the office and sit at the ledge near the bus stop, a hot cup of tea in hand, and watching BEST buses swarm past, manoeuvring past gargantuan pot holes flanked by MMRDA’s – Please bear with us for a better tomorrow, poster boards. The mercury was rising, both outside and inside. It must have been around 40 degrees centigrade outside. I didn’t even break a sweat. Heck, I was shivering. Again de Sade’s masochism played spoilsport, and I decided to hang in there till 1820 hours, when the first instalment of the shuttles to Thane would be launched.

After the usual, one hour plus bumpy ride, I reached my destination and headed straight for the doc in a housing colony somewhat near to my pad. She thought that I had typical malaria symptoms, and I was to take a lot of fluids, and take rest and chloroquin or whatever its name was. Good Friday saw Tango and Darth invade Mumbai. Darth had come from Pune to get a new rig from Lamington street, and Tango had dropped by from Bengaluru(I don’t know if the spelling’s right. I feel that the name itself is wrong.) to see Mumbai and me. Little did they expect to see the wreck that I was then.

Another great friend of mine, Abhi, who is incidentally a med student, was on his way on board the Netravathi express, when I called up and said, boss – Mumbai darshan would be hard ‘cos I felt like I was plastered by an Express Train smack in the middle. The resourceful dude jumped trains at Goa and made it to Mangalore through methods I’d rather not delve into. And made it back to Trivandrum in one piece. He is one very unique person.

Easter. The anti malarial course was over. No fever. Accompanied Darth and his BFR(Big F-ing Rig) to Teen Naka or somewhere near that and packed them off into a Shivneri Volvo getting ready to thrash the Mumbai Pune express highway. Back to 601 B, and I was down and out. Tango woke up and surveyed me with apprehension and concern. By the way, Tango started morphing into a teddy bear, from that moment.

He lugged me to a near by hospital in the Hiranandani Estate, and there were no docs there since it was a Sunday..! So they decided to play Dracula and take my blood, so that when I came on Monday, the doc in question would have some info about the enemy at hand. Evening, poor Tango made a solitary trip to Santa Cruz, and had a hell of a week after that. God bless his soul, which is not departed yet. I was lying in cold sweat, generated by the combined efforts of Mahavitaran’s 5 hour long power cut, the soaring temperatures outside, and the fever within, when the call came. It was from that demmed hospital asking me to go back there to give another sample since the first one had clotted. I almost felt like running away to Trivandrum. My health, however, had deteriorated to despicably low levels. There were no seats available on any flight to Trivandrum that night.

The sun rose on Monday, and my roomie Machaan failed to rise with it since he had arrived past midnight on Sunday, from Pune. The chap uses the suburban rail to get to Kurla and from there he has to travel to the BCK(Bandra Kurla Complex) where his client, the National Stock Exchange resides. It was rush hour, and he decided not to go to the office. Fate.

By noon, he could see that I was getting deflated and we decided that its best that I be packed off ASAP. He booked a ticket for me, and he saw me off at Santa Cruz. The train ride to Kurla was the high point of the day. I was seeing everything skewed and kaleidoscopically. The people are normally colourful there. But that day, everything seemed to have been obscenely painted by some mad artist.

Codename GP, came to pick me up from the airport. I was on my last keg of energy, and had the flight been late, ‘picking up’ would have assumed a far more literal meaning. Reached home. Home seemed as alien as the last time I came here. I knew the rooms, and the basic structure. I crashed, having not the energy to ruminate over cruddy things.

Subin. That’s the name of one heck of a guy. I am so indebted to him that I wouldn’t be able to repay him in this world. Brothers in blood. He happened to be around, and he took me to a hospital near by. I went to a random doctor, who albeit being unbearably taciturn, was seated in room number 13. Coming to think of it, I have been telling a lot of people with my association with that mystic number. For the last N movies which I’ve watched, mostly at PVR,Mulund, my seat number would be 13. I guess that happened consistently because they strive to keep people in the middle seats, and I have a penchant for watching movies alone. I am digressing. Let’s get back to the central core of the rant in progress.

Plugged into a ‘drip’ for the first time in my life, they pumped artesunate and saline into the blood stream, taking the assumption that my malady was drug resistant malaria. But no, said the loco taciturn doctor(maybe I will refer to him as Tactor, or Tr. in short)said that I had jaundice, and he had diagnosed it as hep A. I hated those 6 days in the hospital. Being wired up felt bad enough. Being stuck with a doctor who was from the CIA was even worse. He gave out information on a need to know basis.

When I reached home, my med friend Abhi loaned me his laptop and his GPRS enabled phone using which I am blogging this right now. My old computer had conked in a crematory fashion last December, white smoke and bright sparks spewing from its innards. Many of my friends dropped by to see me, and that was the only solace during the house arrest. Three weeks later, the serum bilirubin levels are steadily, maybe even exponentially climbing, and I am starting to wonder if I will start seeing things as yellow, one of these days. Maybe. Went for a second opinion and underwent some more tests in the morning. Hoping to know something concrete tomorrow. And I hope to God that there is a cure for whatever it is. Argh, I am tired of typing. Adios

The probability of a good thing lasting for long is abysmally low. Yin yang. Bah.

The silent cry

This is the name of a Kenzaburo Oe book. The main man is Mitsusaburo, who is a thinking vegetable, without any initiative. His brother Takashi lives in a dream world, but his actions redden the real world of Oe's fiction. The silent cry refers to what agony Mitsusaburo's friend who had hanged himself naked to death, with his face painted crimson and a cucumber thrust up his anus, had caused the man to do the deed. Mitsu mitsu mitsu...He would never budge even if he was cuckolded by his little brother. Such was the magnificence of his indifference. What I feel is that he probably was affected by the actions of others, but he simply chooses not to do anything about it, by sheer will power. Takashi too takes the suicide route if I remember right, but not before replicating his grandfather's brother's and great grandfather's brothers actions, in banding up the village youth and rallying them successfully in pillaging the Korean supermarket. The pace at which normalcy resumes is startling. Oe...what the heck.

Sin City

Even though I'm no more than a monster, don't I, too, have the right to live?

Oh Dae-su : Laugh and the world laughs with you. Weep and you weep alone.

Oldboy(2003)
(originally from 'Solitude' by Ella Wheeler Wilcox)

Hard Times

The lifeline is in three separate pieces.
:-D

It feels so good to have nothing of consequence to engage myself in. Hardly do I dare to bolster the claim that I have been engaged in anything of any consequence previously. But, the fact is that, at present, I am bored, I am happy, I want it to be like this till I get bored of this.

Roots drag a tree to a ground, even as its shoots reach out desperately for the skies. Setting roots at different places is a bad thing. It’s hard to fulfil the obligations which come at different space coordinates at the same time. I guess this is what the old men meant by the phrase, or was it a proverb - no man can serve two masters.

Klaus Badelt knows how to stir hearts with magic brewed from gushing life and sheer piracy. The Pirates of the Caribbean sound track enthrals the aural apparatus and the mind that lies beneath. How I wish, that I had a play list which had a tune for every mood and season. Music can be a hundred thousand times more expressive when it comes to shedding light to emotions, or setting them alight, or pushing them down to the deepest, dark abyss, where philosopher Krakens frolic.

Colossal squids do exist. Little do we know about them. Maybe their ancestors did Davy Jones’ bidding and ravaged the wooden ships of yore whilst they set forth with their dainty canvas sails and hardened sea men. Krakens ought to exist. For instance. I personally know one Kraken. This Kraken was etymologically derived from Kurukkan, which was a synonym for Fox. What a silly and weird line of thought. Believe me, I didn’t coin this. No. This was the work of another frantic and sick mind. Cheers to you, brother, and Cheers to the Kraken/Kurukkan/Fox/Karadi.

Then again, what can you expect from a twenty two year old kid(that’s me, not him, or the Kraken), who watches The Chronicles of Narnia(The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe), and reads up about rabbit holes in Alice in Wonderland. Even I am surprised, ashamed and proud of myself. Look at me. Look at the big, yellow, kiddish freak! And I call myself a man of the world(which world, eh?). Incredible!

Alice slapped me on the face for peeking into her dreams, so did little Lucy on my intrusion into the Wardrobe, which led to Narnia, the land of Aslan, and the White Witch. There are many references to the Rabbit Hole, the White Rabbit, the Mad Hatter and other wondrous beings in so many of the things that I have watched and read, that when I finally had some time, and a little bit of initiative, I decided to go ahead and Gutenberg it. Well. Eric Van Lustbader, the Wachowskis…Your references sound mysterious and intriguing, but the real deal was something totally crazy, as crazy as the Queen of Hearts, who, in my personal opinion is madder than the Mad Hatter, or anyone else in Wonderland for that matter, as if that matters. Off with their heads!

Maybe someone could make a PhD thesis on multiple universes. Wonderland vs Barrie’s Neverland(Confusing J.M.Barrie’s Neverland with that of the King or MJ, might be a punishable offence in your state of residence. So be aware, and beware. Bow Wow!) vs The Matrix vs Narnia ? Any takers?

Tolkien too leaves much to be explored. Crom will crush me if I miss out on the Hyborean age, the age of Conan the Barbarian. All hail Crom, the harsh God of Cimmeria. Do hail him, weary traveller, else Conan shall smite thee with his jewelled sword, his gigantic melancholies as colossal as ever, with his dark locks flying, and barbarian muscles pumping with barbaric(what else for a Cimmerian mercenary) energy! I hope that Thoth’Amon and Thulsa Doom will spare me their wrath, though I wouldn’t mind a bout or two with Red Sonja. God save King Kull.

No stranger am I to rants. I consider myself to be an expert in cribbing and ranting, when I am in the mood. But this is way past any rant, this is utter garbage! :-D And Ronald McDonald wants me to say this – I’m lovin’ it!

Yellow

Coldplay - Yellow lyrics
Artist: Coldplay



Look at the stars,
Look how they shine for you,
And everything you do,
Yeah they were all yellow,

I came along
I wrote a song for you
And all the things you do
And it was called yellow

So then I took my turn
Oh all the things I've done
And it was all yellow

Your skin
Oh yeah your skin and bones
Turn into something beautiful
D'you know you know I love you so
You know I love you so

I swam across
I jumped across for you
Oh all the things you do
Cause you were all yellow

I drew a line
I drew a line for you
Oh what a thing to do
And it was all yellow

Your skin
Oh yeah your skin and bones
Turn into something beautiful
D'you know for you i bleed myself dry
For you i bleed myself dry

Its true look how they shine for you
look how they shine for you
look how they shine for you
look how they shine for you
look how they shine for you
look how they shine
look at the stars look how they shine for you

Song tag

Lifted this from Deeps’ blog. One is supposed to queue up all the songs one has in a Winamp playlist and play it at random. Since I am using a different person’s pc, the music hardly suited my tastes. Hence, I decided to type in the names of the songs which came up in the mind when the question was posed to it.

(Also I am a QCD guy, Winamp sucks! As usual, I have bent the rules :D)

1. How does the world see you?
Que sera sera – Doris Day and Frank Sinatra

2. Will I have a happy life?
Imagine – John Lennon

3. What do my friends think of me?
Dreamer – Ozzy Osbourne

4. Do people secretly lust after me?
Send me an angel –Scorpions

5. How can I make myself happy?
What a wonderful world – Louis Armstrong

6.What should I do with my life?
Don’t you forget about me – Simple Minds

7. What I feel now?
A pain that I am used to – Depeche Mode

8. What is some good advice for me?
This is the new shit – Marilyn Manson

9. How will I be remembered?
The nobodies – Marilyn Manson

10. What's my signature dancing song?
Lambada

11. What’s my current theme song?
Eye of the Tiger - Survivor

12.What shall be played on my wedding?
Show me how to live - Audioslave

13. What shall they play at my funeral?
The end – The Doors

14. What type of men/women do I like?
Lady of dreams - Kitaro

15.Song for my friends…
You are the sunshine of my life – Stevie Wonder

16 .Song for people I don’t like…
Scum of the earth – Rob Zombie

Eight months have passed since I last took a breath in serenity. I wonder if this can be termed serenity. My principal activities are eating and sleeping. No worries, no hurries. A far cry from what my life was like, hardly two weeks ago.

Back then, I was a staunch supporter of the belief, my own, that I had too many strings attached in the city of hurries, and leaving it would cause too many complications, the least of which would be a blinding confusion in my own mind.

So much time at hand. So much to do, so little to do. Izhiguro’s floating world got me more swamped. The world was floating around me. I too, was in a floating world. Unlike Ono, I was no artist. My mind is getting blown. Why do I get this feeling that I am scripting this for the second time? Maybe I did jot it down in some scribbling pad in Mumbai. No, I didn’t have Izhiguro then. Déjà vu, nonetheless.

I once was in a state of being in which I was a speck, an atom which went with the winds. Floating to wherever the world and its ways took it. That state is what I crave for now. Mentally, I am ready, but the physical self can hardly make it from one room to the next without huffing and puffing, at least, right now.

Full stop. Turn around. Look back. There’s nothing holding you down in that city. You did all that you wanted to do, saw all that you wanted to see. There’s very little else left to do which would be of some interest to you. Be the atom. Be insignificant, yet powerful, in fusion, fission and other unmentionables.

lucky

My luck is holding true these days Obstacles after obstacles tend to daunt my passage, and yet with lady(?) luck’s blessings, I am leaping over these hurdles. To use an old clichéd phrase – that which doesn’t kill you leaves you stronger!

The latest one is a bout with hepatitis, which will have me take rest at home for around two weeks from now. Again, it got diagnosed in time, before it became too bad. Again, it was misdiagnosed as malaria in Mumbai and I was treated for that over there. When finally I was packed off to Trivandrum, the hospital here too assumed that I was having drug resistant malaria and had me on anti malarials again. Those sapped me true and proper.

Once it got diagnosed, it was highly stress relieving. Now all I have to do is take rest, and more rest…!

I had never planned for a vacation this way!

Interesting week.

Had no worries at the beginning of the week.

Got a transfer to Chennai on the 26th. Slightly very despondent.

27th. Thinking thinking thinking.... Drunk drunk drunk....Haywards wonly.

Trying hard to remain in Mumbai. Sharma's birthday party. Met Manneppalli en route to the bar. Drunk drunk drunk....Antiquity. 28th.

Thanks to great man and a great lady, the Chennai plans got bunked. Party time.Drunk drunk drunk....Bacardi and Antiquity. 29th.


Today is the 30th. Stay sober you big liar.

Dream - 19-03-2007 -- 20-03-2007 night time - IST

I am seeing weirder dreams now. Yesterday, the background canvas was a backdrop of coconut palm trees, and there was a tarred road winding around those tall, green-topped sentinels.

A sari-clad lady with a grave countenance was guiding an alien machine towards the tarmac. It had many coach-like attachments at its rear. It was snaking its way to the road like a tame boa on a leash. I guess this was inspired by something similar that I had seen at Santa Cruz airport three days ago.

The scene suddenly went blank. Now I saw a rock face. Steep and unforgiving. A slight man was standing at the base, staring at the rock face. There were some unfamiliar boxes lying on the ground next to him. He picked up a box with seemingly relative ease, and opened it. Rather like opening a mouse trap.

He pressed the opening of the crate against the rock wall. There seemed to be a hole in that wall and a legion of eagles seemed to be scampering into the unfamiliar darkness of the hole. Quite a number of them, managed to escape during this unnatural transition. They flew up into the air, shrieking rebelliously at the uncaring cliff.

He systematically unloaded all the crates into the hole, and moved away. There was a sudden ruckus and all those brown eagles flew out in utter chaos. Their cries were pure agony to my ears.

The sounds started to fade as the eagles started becoming brown specks in the reddish sky. I could still hear a distinct call of agony from within the depths of the dark hole. I shifted my focus. There was a magnificent eagle writhing in agony, inside the cave. It had a white head and crimson feet; it was losing red blood. It was then that the man uttered these words – ‘The queen is dying. I shouldn’t have done that….I shouldn’t have killed her.’

Swapnam

The little black ants were moving up and down a sloping straw, which was placed in a cream colored background. The brownish straw was excessively long, in my estimation. Still anything can happen in a dream.

These little critters were baptized as Karutha Chonan by the people where I come from. The name is confusing, as it means the Black Red One. I had once pondered on how this name came about, and devised a solution. There was a class of little red and black and ants which were called Chonans(Red Ones). The little black ants probably were discovered later and christened as they resembled their red and black cousins.

The Karutha Chonans were nimbler than the regularChonans, and these guys didn't bite or sting. Harmless ants, I should say. I, however, had no idea what they were doing, moving up and down a straw in my dream. Even more weird, why am I still remembering all this!

Suddenly the camera zoomed out and I saw the familiar face of my old friend Moby looking at the ants and smiling like a sage. He had a little straw in his hand, and was playing with the ants.

A pair of big, bad guard ants came along the way to check out this rebel straw which was messing around with their big straw. Moby didn't seem to mind them. My focus shifted down the straw to something which was causing the straw to bend, a bit down the straw.

A huge black and white ant queen was being lugged towards the top of the straw by the worker ants. It was quite an awesome sight. Pffft..


The dream went blank here. Any idea what this mean?

Every man... No man

Every man should have an identity of his own. He was beginning to lose his.

Adaptability has made him lose his likes and dislikes, and mould himself according to his surroundings. The only creature that I can think of, for comparison's purpose, would be a chameleon.

As the seasons go by, he changed in accordance to his company. He tried to become what the people around him wanted him to be. These days, he has become so accustomed to his skill that it has become a curse of sorts.

He no longer knows what he stands for. He doesn't know what his likes or dislikes are. He has become a victim of the very society that he had strived to become a part of.

He has become no man. Is he beyond resurrection? Nein.

Doesn't make sense

I don't know where I am headed for. Can't say - "That makes sense",any more about anything. I imagined myself to be a ship without anchor. Lolling and moving with the waves, which carried me forward towherever it wanted me to be. There used to be a time when I loved this state of being/ fantasy.

I did not care about where life was carrying me to. I was comfortable in the cold certainty that one day I too will end up as dead. So much for the journey. To hell with life and living. There was a sense ofwell being. I turned a blind eye to many realities. I wonder what would have happened had I been more of a man of this world.

I don't belong anywhere. I have nothing. Yet, I live a comfortable life by my standards, which are probably lower than that of many others. I mean to say that my standards are lower. I have lived in conditions which would be deemed to be unfit by most.

I was the king of my castle. It had a moat around it. I had noalligators to guard me moat. The moat itself was a creation of nature.The road rose. The house sank. Rains fell. And bilge water flowed in.Armed with a bucket I bailed out water pail by pail. Looking back, I find it to be remotely valiant. The mighty clouds vs. little boy andbucket. Finally I convinced my mother to procure auxiliary defenses to aid me in the battle.

A 0.5 hp pump, brand name Usha came to my aid. With her I have spent whole nights, pumping, pumping, pumping. She needed breaks every fifteen minutes. That's why I needed to be with her. To flip her power switch, when she started overheating. To cajole her into motion when her motor refused to start up thanks to the long hair of my dog. All this effort, just to keep the moat from invading the sinking castle.Six years of this, made me change my point of view. Thank you.

Mental stress had become the norm those days. Every time a cloud marred the sky face, the back roads of my mind were full of racing thoughts. I used to tell myself that I had emerged a stronger man from this period of my life.

Alas, I couldn't foresee the future. There were worse things in store.My mindset was archaic and I wasn't good enough to handle certain subtle life changing events that were to take place. I crashed. I burned. Got scalded rather. Like Rocky Balboa, I rose up from that shit as well. I left that castle behind, and am now in self imposed exodus.

I left one city. I had to leave one. I choose to take breaks from the city of my present abode. Now, from this 6th floor apartment, when I look down on Ghodbundher road and see the reliable, and seemingly endless flow of vehicles, I have nothing in my mind, but agony…triple distilled agony, whose reasons I know not of.

I deceive myself.

2006. I quit smokes and hard drinks.
So restless that I hardly sit in one locale if given half a chance to roam.
The sad fact is that inspite of city/suburb hopping, I feel nagging doubts about who knows what, in the back of my mind.
Everything is so damn muddy.
Friends are the primary reason for maintenance of sanity.