Spill Inc.

2011-11-07T09:12:00.000-08:00

Mourning the famine of words, will i ever...?

Unclog attempt - 2

2011-02-05T04:54:00.000-08:00

I have been meaning to and not - to write this post. The reason behind is we all have memories in the back of our mind. To classify them in a mundane manner- some are meant to remind us situations, some are to warn us, many are recollections and the remaining rejuvenate us during hard times.

Today i want to write of the grey side that either lurks in a corner, fills our dispositions when confronted with a crisis and helps us to tread carefully when in new circumstances. But many a time, the 'this' i am telling about dampens our enthusiasm, brings the roller coast of feeling great to a halt and cripples the 'feel good' . And few times and i hope it stays as 'few', it cripples initiative, pushes one to be defensive, creates anxiety and closes the stream of thought. i am talking about fear (other names include- worries, paranoia, oh shit! etc). A couple of examples below:

The first fear i recollect was when i was six. I was in Bombay and walking to the school along with a maid. The shoe laces got untied. We had to stand on the lane divider and she tied the laces. What would i do if she were not around? How could i tie them. I could fall tripping on them, become a laughing stock. At that time the laces seemed too complex. The fear was what if i never learnt to tie them at all. I am all this big adult in some years and i cannot tie my laces. That spun me for days. After a few years when i was tying laces i was filled with relief. Fear when it ends, gives you a relief- not happiness it brings you to neutrality. All that work to feel normal again.

The next one i remember were my high school examinations. I dream of writing one when i am stressed at work or feeling low at times to this day. It is so ingrained in my subconscious that when i am bummed the next dream would be writing that wretched exam and not signing my name on it every time. When the high school was over and lets say it did go fine, i was relieved. I was not happy at my success (seemingly) it was only a huge burden let go. And i was seething with discontent that all that stupid fear led me to further learning at college and not to some super great party ( i was 17). I was let down after carrying my anxiety and working for those exams.

And then 'he' the fear has been a part through my life whenever it came to turning points, during my infatuations, my first job, going to a new place. It makes you edgy and sometimes you want to snap out of it. I wished many times that i had a whip to swoosh it away.

Fear it seems cannot survive alone. Fear is about 'something'. Most of the times it is about stuff you care with your heart or is about a loved one. It gives you the same fluttery feeling in your stomach, like a stone in your neurons or the saltiness in your eyes every time you feel it. Fear is a container/vessel in our mind and when you put anything into it (however sweet) it gets stained, crumpled temporarily at least. Sometimes fear momentarily mutates into anger - hurts you and others and ends in suffering nevertheless.

Is it worth it? No it is not. What you achieve is because of your abilities, your fear does not motivate you. If you had feared if you would fail and did not, it is because of your work. If not for the fear you could have either had it more easier or done the same better. Fear is the entropy of our hope, energy and the faith we have in us.

But then again i know this all and i still hold some of it, so do all of us in different proportions depending on where and who we are. How do you get rid of it? How the hell am i supposed to know. Maybe writing and reminding me about this is one of them? To anyone who is under its spell right now- i hope this post serves a reaffirmation that you (and me of course) are not alone in it. Fear is a container in our heads and so do the hands that can empty it.

Unclog attempts -1

2010-10-26T11:06:00.000-07:00

It is long, long since i felt i am nature. I have thought about nature as if i was an out of the box entity but today it happened - again.

I am an engineer by profession. An imitator. A person who objectifies nature and aims to quench the varying desires of my customers. An engineer and a good one at that can only be akin to a philosopher. What an engineer should acknowledge is - Many inventions are first imitations of nature spiced with our idiosyncrasies.

What we forget or have forgotten already that the place around us or the place you live in owns you. We cannot exist thinking of self as an entity (even subconsciously) by claiming bits of nature as ours when we are nature ourselves. We are subset of the universe and a fleeting one at that. We are the dragon flies. Our lights is the present time and through our translucent wings of thought we guess future. As for the past, we fly and leave behind and our kind und Kinder see it as history the next season. In more than one ways we are dragon flies. During the monsoon of youth, do fly and not linger please.

2010-06-16T11:01:00.000-07:00

Imagine the day when everyone is at peace and not haggling about almost anything, as in similar to the songs sung for ages. On that day, our days would be the dark ages.

...

2010-05-03T11:49:00.000-07:00

Everytime, anytime

when i feel

i feel going, running nowhere

bumping in mirages

bruising against the wind

I want to,I want to

lose a bit of what is mine.

Lose it into the whites,

the whites that float

when i close my eyes.

Less of mine, i hope

will be more of me.

I a bit more whole,

when i drain what

is stuck with the

train of time.

Everytime, anytime

when i feel like staying

I lose me and gain some

Its sum, we call 'mine'

Dilution

2010-03-15T12:10:00.001-07:00

Dheeren swayed through the flowing traffic changing lanes to accommodate the whims of his fellow commuters. His mind along with his foot switched rhythmically with the changing signal lights that punctuated the already stagnated road. The last lights were flickering and the streets were draining the last travelers into their homes. Dheeren had to reach home soon; he was late... lest he be greeted with a contemptuous silence. The thought of hurry gave away when he noticed the traffic slowing to a halt. Applying the brakes, he too could see the red lights. Pursing his lips, he eased the throttle and looked around, only to see a boy a third of his age selling hand towels. Who would buy them? The signal blurred as he observed the dying oscillations of the plastic fir tree that was hung above his head. His attention ensued towards the hand towels. Who would buy those hand towels? Of course then again, the boy could not have made them...Dheeren thoughts drifted away, only to be gathered in the next moments. He started the engine and drove to park aside.

Dheeren strode towards him and faced the boy. The latter involuntarily stretched an orange towel with red threads flanging its borders to Dheeren's chest. On his chanting the price, Dheeren looked away. The street quietened down. After a few words with him, Dheeren led the kid to a stone wall nearby. Both sat and Dheeren's gestures became pronounced and so did the boy's attention as he stared at him agape. After a few vertical and transverse nods, the boy got into Dheeren's car.

The boy was to be educated, regardless of Dheeren's acquaintances’ or his family’s reservations. He was to educate him, at least him. One miserable life will be off the streets. And so in future will a family, spawned by this urchin. The kid was to first stay at a guest place nearby. He was to learn the normal manners of an upper middle class and then go to school. The boy would polish his school shoes and take care that his shirt stains were hidden in the evenings. Dheeren would work on him and make him learn. But, he would never force him. 'To his potential' shall he be worked... a normal childhood was what the boy and every kid deserved. Yes, there would be technicalities to be sorted with regard to school admissions. As for Dheeren’s family, he asserted himself that they would have to deal with it...Maybe if all this did not pan out at first he would get the help of an orphanage. They would share a few tips at the least and render him the courage to carry along. What if the boy had parents? Worse, if he was under child traffickers... then any rescue would have to be implemented in another city...In a few moments his mind raced as to how things could be made feasible. At that precise moment, his pupils narrowed as the sounds from outside the car were less muffled than before, the engines around had revved up. He looked around and the signal was green. Looking around the boy was nowhere to be seen. Dheeren was pushed to drive by the blaring horns behind. He drove. The signal post disappeared behind and more commuters melted into unnamed streets.

2010-03-01T11:49:00.000-08:00

I visited Srirangam a few days back. The temple is among my favorites
in southern India. The deity of this temple is lord Vishnu. As we
entered the sanctum sanctorum of the temple, I along with other
visitors and devotees could see the roof of the main building which is
cast in gold. The deity is housed inside this main building. One of
the many ways to worship is to offer our prayers to this roof cast in
gold. The devotees from below were praying with their hands raised
towards the golden roof/gopuram. I did the same and that was when I
saw him. I am not sure of its gender but for convenience I call it
'him' here.

He was a bird standing atop on this golden roof. He seemed unperturbed
by the numerous people who were rushing in and ushered out by the
priests. I presume we looked like a stream constituted of black
botches surrounded with our multi-colored clothes running on stone
floors. The stone floors on the other hand had an uneven coating of
soil mixed with water; the result of the half hearted attempt during
the early hours of the day to wash the former. But again coming to the
bird, he appeared restless. The human's tendency to color every
situation with one's own perspective made me pick my brush and palette
at this juncture. This bird standing atop the golden roof was looking
for food. In absolute terms the ground he was standing on was rarer
than what he would ultimately find (if at all). And then it filled me,
not 'struck' but rather seeped into my mind: No matter what we have,
we still have our issues, on the ground floor we look atop to satiate
our needs and wants. Atop a golden roof he looked down to satiate his.
So it is. Although this is a simple metaphor/analogy (?), he rang
something deep inside me. A need to live a part of our counterpart’s
moments, say whilst a conversing or while listening. Not to judge, not
only empathize but try to share their moment. This appears very
interesting to me, as it will allow me to live a little more than
'life'.

The challenge lies in trying to align my opinion close to 'as is' or
the reality. This can be attained only by practice and it would simply
be an art to do it without the other's knowledge about the intention.
In this case I succeeded in the art section (if not, that would be
weird) but I am very doubtful if the challenge was met even within a
thousand miles.

To this day, I am sure that the golden roof exists and the botches
sift around it, shifting the dirt cakes on the floor. All I wonder is
what happened to him with an assurance that he cares two hoots about
me or the others in return. And it will be so until we have something
for him to swoop down from the roof - cast with gold and drought.

2010-02-23T10:37:00.000-08:00

There is a lot to say and to write

Much to do and more wants

Before even i attempt to start

I ought to organize or let it flow,

'what do i do?', is again a thought...

2009-10-11T14:16:00.000-07:00

It takes nothing to see your loved one succeed

It takes something to 'fix' your loved one in hardship

It takes everything to see that one fall, fumble and stand up by himself

It takes absolute ignorance to see that one fail himself again and again

Writing and Age

2009-08-19T05:56:00.000-07:00

When i was young
I wrote what was in my mind
And let it float around

As i become older
I edit, re-edit and i am still not ready to let go
I have patches of text
Punctuated with criss crossing lines

Yet not in possession
of the pleasant void
when you have your thoughts out

I hope i am not the only one

2009-05-14T16:57:00.000-07:00

The juicy meat above

withholds the fibres of memories.

of being held above the window

beneath the pink sky

above the thatched huts,

like the floating fleece.

Hard grounds, a broken nose,

And scared knees marked my growth.

Pheripherally loved,

Periodically loathed,

Befriended during junkets,

Appointed in haste

Left as an afterthought

The above i foresee.

Accustomed i am to my ways

Though these change.

i mark these fibres

with a cut for every measured time

and wander along, carrying them.

Laying them near the shore

Only to be washed away

And gather them again.

2009-01-15T13:50:00.000-08:00

I was talking about this, rather i have talked a few many times than it should have been thought or spoken about. It is about my light purple couch and me. We have a love and hate relationship. I sit on it in the evenings when i am back and i blame it for the inactivity in the last evening. It is simply an endless cycle...like everything else.

Life is a cluster of infatuations, and the couch at the moment is one, and i am simply not yet satiated.

I come here in the evenings, and perform the daily web, carbon emitting rituals, by searching google for the world smallest economy (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Niue) and pitying my account balance at the same time. I dream of myself (at times ) of being the poster boy of my family (for which one has to be a optimal hypocrite no matter what your background is ) and at times breaking every norm set (for which one has to be a optimal hypocrite no matter who you are ). It is completely incredible that one says that one is driven by his own passions and commitments when most of them are set by the times that one lives in. Every motion, stinging nose hairs, sweating eyelids are simply grains filling up the remaining time. They are controlled by precisely randomly timed infatuations of animated beings.

If everything is so pointless, then just make it more 'cheerful pointless'. Back to the couch.

2008-12-02T12:19:00.000-08:00

I have moved into my new home two months ago. It is a place for me, it can be made warm and can be kept damp and cold. The way i want it to. I have three plants. They are all green inspite of the biting cold outside. Additionally there are two racks, wooden. They have a dark brownish tinge to them. They hold my few possesions: books, keys, files and folders. All my possesions rise in signifance and gleam their importance from time to time. My bed is white with a white linen and is creased with white stripes. I have two persian carpets, i love them. All in all, i look forward every evening to meet them. They are my first possesions, modest ones or not. To remind me of home a linen on the wall hangs with elephants lightly embedded in fading colours .

The balcony at my place to its side oversees a river which has a grey bridge over it. The waters flow, lest they be frozen. Every morning a silver layer of mist awakes from the river and kisses the withered plants so as to remind them of the oncoming spring, though the same might be a bit far away in time.

2008-10-20T10:31:00.000-07:00

The last five minutes

If I had five minutes
With no one around
Nothing to worry
No work , Nothing to do…

I would clean my place
in the first minute
Smoke in the next
looking at the sky
and maybe smile...

With the third,
I shall halve it into two.
One for my friends
And the other for strangers.
For both are alike,
halved as the minute,
as the known
and yet to be known

Thirty seconds will pass by,
alike the years of youth.
And another equal measure
to mourn the passing

With the last two
I shall lay and close my eyes.
In these moments behind the lids,
eons march through …

Not a random thought

2008-06-17T13:53:00.001-07:00

One can react only if one chooses to, but when one from the time of existence is exposed to reactions of people to discrete situations; then this one adapts to those reactions.

Example could be death. Though it is known heuristically that all die, one reacts with sadness to the same, and if one does not, the next level is absolute mystery that eventually has further adapted to anger or diappointment (read reactions) over any conceived absence of reactions or the conceived less proportionality of the same.

The choice of anything is governed by its consequence. This consequence can again be made a 'choice' by selecting the reaction to the above governing consequence.

One has choices leading to consequences which are nothing but choices again. Perceived consequences are results of constraints called as rules. But rules themselves are collective choices made over a certain period of time.

And further even if we accept a choice based on consequences, then it is done only to lead further favorable choices. Here favorable is subjective.

Deutschland!

2007-07-04T12:47:00.000-07:00

Germany has killed my imagination, with its rows of cars, with its rows of stacked cars, with its rows of parallel parked cars...
Reading the sentence above, you could guess that i do not have much imagination left in me now,neverthless i write...
This is a beautiful place, the heaven of engineering that was branded as the sick man of Europe.
The bearer of European torch and bearing still the stain of Nazism in its inner collars.
I am here for the past 8 months and i have seen some places in Europe. What bothers me is that i saw these places but I only saw them. The moment i arrived , i got the picture of a sci-fi movie where everybody was eaten by zombies. There were facilities, transport, cars and trees. Only two things were missing: Garbage and people.
Later i came to know Germans ship their garbage away, but i am yet to find out what happened to the people.
There is a sense of coldness in here, in the weather and in the ground
The weather is awful though except during a few months in a year.
As i came into my university, the atmosphere simply seemed to be an extension of the above, and there were no gates, literally and figuratively.
This is how I feel and is my perspective.
Trains run to the minute, supermarkets are full, and it is 'the place' for meadows, lawns and to breathe. But there is this chaos missing, it seems to have been closed in this huge closet with engineered locks, emotions locked into beer like the fuzz in the beer(only with the opener missing,.... like forever).

One thing is for sure, i am not facing a integration crisis, as i simply know people in numbers and quality that i am usually used to, and i am also happy that i am not stuck up with my old-buddies. It is not the point of stating this situation as a duality and clinically coming into an inference whether i am feeling black or white here (read not skin color). Though the post may incline you towards stating the same as a rambe (which it is ).. this what i see with my optically corrected glasses....

There is here the sense of detachment i really wanted, do i want to be here? i do not know...

Time: you lost it now, now, now...

2006-07-21T10:49:00.000-07:00

Time is absolute,it does not fish in flowing waters alike our moods. It does not love you or hate, it dies when born and incarnates the very second, it is stupid to think about time as you loose it when you think, no action can be important "at a time", as nothing is important to time than itself, it neither awes at your actions nor does it stifle your ambitions. Time is indivisible, it exists in its entirity, even as you name it, write it, say it, it dies and is reborn. Even if you conquer it, you lose what you simply gained; time!

You read the above, you lost it, you did not, you still loose it.

My Staccato

2006-07-07T09:30:00.000-07:00

I sway as i type to this rhythm
I close and sway my eyelids along
I dream with my eyes open
Lest I miss reality

I do not feel the seconds passing by
I don't feel the burning beat in my heart
I do not feel the heat in my skin
I see my past,
for i know not any other
it has been a dream
What was it about?
How did it become?
Why i see it as a dream i know not,
But it has been what it has
So be it.

I feel cocaine retreating
I feel liquor flowing
I feel the fumes enabling me to breathe
doors close and open
Windows move on, they rest not
So be it.

I want to make a void and live aplenty there.
I want to write on no one
I savour not time
I do not count moments by time
I count them with me
So i will.

YOU were not there before
YOU will not be after
This is your chance for you to be YOU
Take it or surrender
So you shall.

Why Should you be Greedy?

2006-06-09T07:26:00.000-07:00

The world will not have skyscrapers if it was founded and run on the principles of Buddha
You and i cannot post on the internet if all of us would have sat behind the forests and meditated of inner peace. We would have not advanced this far if we concentrated on the only desire to limit the same...We would have been marred in innumerable crosses if we wnet by jesus and ofcourse gandhi was shot for his shortcomings...and so was Martin Luther King!

Who proposes this morality of self-containment and satisfaction and who follows it.

The best improvement of the society can only come when the induvidual recognises the need for it and does not wait for communism, democracy to take the reigns and lead him to better life, nobody can do the best for you than yourselves, one man's faults can be the perfect action for the others, the hour has arisen to recognise the induvidual and the the induvidual has to recognise himself as the highest important being and NOT HIS DESIRES, by this i mean his sole strength must not be towards temporal gains and fleeting prestige but to make a epitome perfection of model himself and worship the same, in short your ambition must be your GOD and you must work towards it, this will negate the ill attitudes too, the upliftment or the instant destruction of the induidual will directly depend on his ideas and therefore he cannot blame anybody, he cannot say reservations, he cannot say caste, this might be utopia??? and you thought to be selfish is easy? ah!...

GREED cannot have a negative connotation if you have the ability and will to work towards the greed to make it a reality...

duh

2006-06-09T07:24:00.000-07:00

When you are true to yourselves, it will be difficult, but it will be a life and not hypocrisy.

We are in a country where the poor is pitied, we are in a country where the oppressed is asked to raise his voice, we are in a country that secures seats even before the he person for whom the seat will belong to is unborn! We are in a country that had socialistic ventures till 1976 and the hypocrisy was whitewashed by the emergencies of 1976 and where the term “Socialist” was added.

Our society is not guilty of anything as a whole, it collects and pounds filth of guilt in some pockets and chokes them. It diffuses guilt when you are rich, when your family had a decent living a few years ago, when you are intelligent and deserving in the family. We feel that society is a line of skewed socialistic drums. Granted that the intention is as noble as the word ‘noble’ can get, but the ways and means that you take to achieve are skewed beyond recognition of this nobility, benchmarked…

2006-06-06T04:41:00.000-07:00

Wake up in the mornings and i get to see the ceiling, i want to find it changed...and then i go behind the sheets and through the weaver's hole i again look through...i need to find a change in the ceiling...i want water to drip and wake me up every morning, i want the paint to peel with my months and years...alas it stays new and sometimes novel but yet it is not changing...i am becoming afraid of getting stuck...it is fun to catch a bullet when you are running...when you are not static...it might just miss you...

My Colored Glass

2006-05-17T04:31:00.000-07:00

I see what is there
Beyond the smiles
Beyond the curved corners
behind the hedgestone

I see want i want
Snow fields and wasted twigs
Pine trees withered
She sipping wine

I see what i saw
Beetles, peacocks and cranes
Agony tree and washer's stone
The one legged bitch

This is my colored glass
I wear it all day
Wear it all night behind my pillow

The Premonitions

2006-05-05T06:45:00.000-07:00

It is like a drowsiness that consumes you…enters from the air of doubt that prevents you from trying out new things and if you do the same frightens you of the consequence, I feel like using expletives here but then I think I will remain ‘civil’ as long as possible. I have plans, I have love, I have spleens and yes I have confidence, just one to take care of three things…I am failing many times now, I have never had these bullies around me, I feel like I am being pushed around by MYSELF, and I feel nobody is really responsible for what is going around me, and if it is supposed to be the omnipotent omnipresent God than I will kick him in his ass, I am sick of fate, destiny and karma, those are for people who have loads of money and they feel like they are not still happy or content that is because they never will be, you should be not content, you must direct your unsatisfaction and greed into ways that will actually benefit you, are those karmic superstitious yogis hearing???? I do not know, I might fail, I might fall so low that I am not going to get up or I will rise and belt the ass of all those apathetic bodies who cannot think or I might just have no one around me. Now, at this moment I do not give a rat’s ass to anything, anything that I loose or gain is again in my control but at this moment I do not care, I want to be with myself, I simply do not care, people can wait till I come out of this or they can just take their train, I will not lend money to home, I will spend more on my phone bills, I will feel miserable and will not shed a tear, I will smoke and I will drink and I will be the pink unicorn one day. In the end everybody wants something from you, else they want you. I am sick of this, yes maybe I am immature so what I will grow at my own pace, maybe I am idealistic. At the moment I feel like summoning the delusions of a guardian angel and belting her so severe so that the angel runs away so that I am my guide…

Go Back...

2006-05-05T03:02:00.000-07:00

Walking out of the womb,
Clutching the cord of curiousity,
He takes his first step.
Unsupported, Unwithered of yesterday's innocence,
He takes his first step.
Not knowing the causes
Not knowing the consequences

In his own microcosm, he lives...
The others do not matter.
their loss and their wins,
are theirs, not his.
Never shed a tear or smile,
Not knowing the causes
Not knowing the consequences

What can change him?
Fear, Love, Defeat, coercion?
Why should he be changed?
So that it benefits you?
Benefits your kind?
Why do you perceive else?
So that you recline?
So that you are rewarded?
So that you are dead?

Go back to your farms,
Go back to your sickles.
Go back to your factories,
Go back to your Machines.
Go back to your houses,
Go back to your wives.

Go back, as He is long gone,
He remains no more.
He went when you were busy
He was standing beside you
He wanted to meet you, talk to you
He wanted to cry and say that he is no large
As you are is He, He was no master.

Go back He is long gone
He was other's delusion.
He varied in another's dreams.
He long went, into the last hedge that burnt,
Into the last dry well that was buried.
He remains no more.

Go back to your fields.
Go back to your factories.
Go back to your homes.
Go back!

Just Be.

2006-04-24T04:31:00.000-07:00

I walk on the water
towards the horizon.
I seek to melt and become one with you.
I seek to fly alike the flamingos.

Fly alike the flamingos,
wrapped in their pink underneath.
i look the silvery streaks
on the water beneath.

I walk on the water
to see myself with the flamingos.
I bath in the flame of horizon
wrapped under the flamingos.

I seek horizon,
where sky and earth ends to itself,
never to rise,
never to fall,
only to exist...

I fly with the flamingos,
I walk on the water ,
To find this horizon.
where, the skies cease to fall,
the earth ceases to rise,
Are in a ease to be...
Just be.

Digital Delusions

2006-04-07T03:17:00.000-07:00

He sits in the chair partly incapacitated due to his age. I can imagine him sitting at his balcony and picturing the birds and the very few people meandering through the roads below as purposeful. He is not sure of his digital camera...but then he just knew that ways of buying and selling were the same and hence he bought it..his veins know the slight pain and clot they have to adhere along to help him take it near to his eyes...He sits in a cold chair heated by the heaters...he sits along the balcony...maybe a little behind and more ahead. I cannot see him and i haven't but i would certainly like to.

After clicking the pictures he places the camera and looks into the shots taken. He has shot many times...he had shot at flying birds like he was doing now and he did not like taking pictures of people...he never shot at people as he had done that many times...
The air gains weight with its numbness and a cold more colder seeps around him. He is used to that...There is not much of a sun shining, just enough to give hope. He might be a bit numb to hope by now.

Yes he is the old man, the left overs of mighty ruins. He is a soldier of his leader alike to the footmen of Ozymandias.
He is someone who walked the long miles in frost and of Frost.
He is someone with a metal plate in his head.

The delusions of WW1 and WW2 are with him now...they had been submerged and dissolved in the ever running moments of time, experience and people. They submerged in the peace after, in the economy after, in the comforts after. But they always came up when there was silence, and silence is eternal...it is the foundation...a necessity for any sound to exist.

Silence identifies Sound.

And now when that silence resurfaces...he is in many delusions as there are noises and images in his head. Only for his head.
And just like wines get better under earth, silence becomes cancerous under head. Imaginations get skewed, many colored glasses gain priority...and when he finds a head without a metal plate, a head with out inorganic screws, a head without delusions, he pukes...
He pukes it to the very earth that gave him, to the very nation that grew him up amongst the snow, shine and beer.
His eyes become clear. He takes his camera and he shoots at the birds again and he is not unhappy.
He sees the bird once more as it still stands and hasn't been fell...the wrinkles adjust enough for a smile on his face
He looks at his camera...he does not have to load the trigger...it was automatic...
Maybe he fears of the coming years...but he is imprisoned and more safe than any birds in his own delusions...
And when he has more of them...he just pukes

He pukes in Bavaria, Germany

Some Pictures of the trip described below

2006-04-04T05:08:00.000-07:00

With no intention to arrive

2006-04-02T21:17:00.000-07:00

March 24
6:30 am

Alarm rings, and with contempt I snooze it off …only to be woken up by Gaurav, my room mate (who henceforth shall be G). We together work 24 hours a day…him during the nights and I during the day (hmm mid-mornings maybe)…An Impulsive thought: This will not be just another day…after having been an agony uncle and ‘in agony’ for sometime I decided to tear up my daily routine or any routine I had for the ensuing weekend. Yup, a trip, to run away from the honking and bonking cars, chattering keyboards and my mouse which clicks alike dripping water… With these thoughts blipping in the first few seconds after my sleep and forty winks, my day began at 10:30 am.

The Plan, The Strategy, Ya-da, Ya-da…

For the next 90 minutes G and I went around as recruiting troopers in our living quarters but to no avail…they simply were not infected by our enthusiasm. In the end we met one Mr. I-tell-you-where-you-can-go who told us about places surrounding Bangalore namely the Coorg district, Chickmagalore district and of course: Mysore, its surrounding areas.

A skim and glance look-up on the internet told us that Chickmagalore would be a more viable option and we narrowed down on the places in that district. Chickmagalur is a supposedly called a calm and serene town…the latter adjective, ahem I am skeptical about it. Chickmagalur district is a coffee plantation site in the State of Karnataka, India. It is located at 1900 meters (approx) above the sea level and the district encompasses some of the beautiful temples built at the time of the Hoysala Dynasty that ruled South India in 16th C.

The places we chalked in our ‘Desire’ map were Kudremukh (an iron ore deposit), Bhadra Wild-life sanctuary, Kemmengundi (hill town), Sringeri (pilgrimage). The only information in possession: Chickmagalur is 247 kms from Bangalore (Capital, State of Karnataka…the Silicon Valley, Pub City and Traffic Ravine of India).

3:45 pm approx

After having a terrible Chinese lunch, G and I took the auto to the noisy Majestic Bus Depot and had a phantom thought that empty places would haunt us instead of buses (to Chickmagalur).

Yes! There are buses every one hour to Chickmagalur from Bangalore!

With an optimized budget in our hands we got into our seats. My broken Kannada saw us the way through in getting the required tickets and also know from a passenger nearby that it would take us 6 hours to reach there! Well since there was not much to see in the town of Chickmagalore, we had to go some place elsewhere. And now that it would be night by the time we reach we decided to stay put at Chickmagalur.

On the way the ‘Desire’ map was under continuous editions. We cut its corners and flapped its ears and it pretty much had a circular shape when we were done discussing.

We arrived at Chickmagalur at 10:50 pm and settled in a lodging facility which was already occupied by a mosquito army and we became its Fish ‘N’ Chip…L

March 25
6:30 am

Chickmagalur is a small town…with filth and petty shops selling all the things one might not need. At the time we ventured out none of the shops had opened apart from a few tea and biscuit vendors…on enquiring we came to know that shops opened by 9 am.

After my sleepless night and a contradicting one for G (looks like he is insensitive to mosquitoes) we hurried to the bus stand and decided to go to Kemmengundi a hill station situated 55 kms from Chickmagalur town…

The lazy town had its effect on us as we slowly sauntered to find a bus…here again the seats, ceilings and windows were reserved by the mosquitoes. On enquiring the locals, taxiwallas and the-guy-sitting-drinking-tea-smoking-beedi one comes to know that one has to catch two buses to reach kemmengundi. The route: Chickmagalur-Lingadahalli-Kemmengundi.

KemmenGundi

We boarded the bus at 8:15 am and after 15 minutes the place around us started changing and I started having a deja-vu but nevertheless refreshing…the petty shops started retreating back, driven by the shrubs that were growing bigger as we moved on…the wheels trembled as they grained on the remaining asphalt. After the mini-infantry of the shrubs, giant banyans and eucalyptus tree advanced alike the cavalry to remove traces of any commercial leftovers strewn on the ground…

Humans do live but they have to co-exist here.

Smoke from a boiling pot of hot water seemed the only trace of inhabitance around and Lingadahalli was no where in sight and we cared less.

At 9 pm after 45 minutes of a shot-in-the-arm bliss we arrived in Lingadahalli and so did the cows, shops, a small bus stand and its people trying to conquer the whole place by their mere presence.

We received a merry welcome feasted on fresh fruits, stocked our water bottles…adhering to the Indian Stretchable Time (IST)…the bus to kemmengundi scheduled at 9:15 am arrived at around 10:30 am…It was the only bus for the mornings.

G’s Spirits soared higher with the bus, and he was photographing every other cow and tree on the way. I dozed due to drowsiness of last night. We crossed villages like krishnarajapura, Ballavara on the way…

Not to mention, the nature can turn you green with envy, and we were kind of intoxicated and all we could do is hear to moans of the bus and nature belittling us with its silence, the weather was cold and everybody was silent and people called in and called out of the bus at various intervals and we never knew/bothered to ask when we would alight.

And when the time did come we were caught unawares. The bus stopped near a gate…this gate was the entrance to kemmengundi…now whoever could expect a gate for a town! Paying the entry fee of Rs.5 each…we walked through the entrance…

The roads and quality of the same improved and there was a horticulture nursery and trees attired us for the skies…

After we were done with taking-room-settle-down syndrome…we went to the near by map board and realised that kemmengundi is surrounded by hills…further one can go to forests in Muthodi for which one has to hire private transport from here. The hill station had only one phone to talk within the country…our mobile phones failed to pick-up and retain any continuous networks…we bothered about it and then turned numb as we started our hike towards the gardens in a terrace cultivation style.

We further hiked and found ourselves at around 5000 feet, our enthusiasm made it up for the thinning of air out there.

Two main places to look forward at kemmengundi would be

The Shanthi falls
The ‘Z’ Point

A hiking of around 12 kms will lead you to Shanthi falls followed by another 3 kms to ‘Z’ point. We reached atop of the hill and were happy, exhausted.

This place is smaller than a town or even a village when compared to inhabitance rate…there are no ‘people’ living here. There are horticulture nurseries, officials, caretakers, one telephone exchange, around 6 lodges (2 rooms each), one mini bus parking place, one small hospital, a broken watch tower and around 70 (caretakers, officials inclusive) living on a continuous basis. A preserved piece of land…

Sunday, Bloody Sunday…

After a deep sleep under the cold breeze and blankets we woke up like on any Sunday and rushed with the morning chores to catch the bus back to Lingadahalli. We were to go to Billibajangara Hills, Belur, and halebid before returning back to Bangalore. Huge distances were to be covered and a lot to see and do. But the day had something else in store for us.

There is only one bus from KemmenGundi to Lingadahalli in the mornings and people depend on it heavily. Owing to our strict budget we included ourselves under the mercy of public transport. A ledge gave away, or so the bearing in the wheel and the only bus, the hope to wheel away to the nearest place Lingadahalli was 25 kms away, had broken down on the way.

We looked at each other and muttered under our breath, ‘It happens’ and went for a stroll outside the gate of kemmengundi…and then realised that Lingadahalli was 25 kms…the disguised chance showed up as the sun struck mist and the clocks struck noon. We decided to take a walk along the jungle.

A few errors here: we did not get enough water as we thought it would be just 30 minutes of a journey in the bus and in all the excitement of a mini trek we forgot to go back and buy new ones. Sun started to beat upon us and we started sweating in our backs. G was more excited to sight any wild animal by chance but I washed his dreams by reminding him that they come out only in the wee hours of mornings…but nevertheless we walked with feet on ground and our heads brimmed with wonderland images…and of course with an Empty bottle + A black bag.

I was a bit tired and numb with no more plans popping. The ‘mind and desire map’ shriveled with time and so did our strength…8 kms non-stop walk on treacherous slanting roads…and 17 more to go with no water/shop in sight…

In a way it is said reality digresses itself to suck upon myths, legends and stories and make them loose their identity. Here it’s true…As we hiked, on the way we chanced upon a petty stream from a narrow water fall behind a bridge stone. We took our bags and sat there… filled the bottle in the stream…yeah this was mineral water too…

Trekking on further we come to know there is yet another waterfall, a tourist place…yep that meant food and more water…but we weren’t sure of how many more kilometers…The name I guess was Kallatigiri.

Farishta….

Screech…dreeuuulllllll….a car stops by…whisks us by saying they are giving us a lift till the road that would lead to the waterfall and speeds. G’s thoughts play all the Hindi movies and kidnapping sequences, and I plot ways to escape…Scrreeech again, they say 2 kms to the right and you have the water fall. “Good Humans”, muttered G with myself nodding my head. 4 kms done!

We walk up another 2 kilometers to reach the fall, and it’s a fall with a temple of VeeraBadhreshwara below…the water that falls on the steps of the temple has many ingredients namely: water, fishes, plastic covers, pan and gutkha packets, rice, soap, detergents, shampoo, left over pieces of cloth and of course people still adding to the mélange…yeah it’s holy…so G baths in them, I wet my feet along the streams contributing our bit.

Time: 3:00 clock

13 kms to go…

Oh there were a lot of trees, only if I knew their real names and listen to the stories they bear.

A guy in a blue shirt starts to follow us and asks if we are trekking around, I nod my head…he speaks on in Kannnada…G looks to me for translation…

We find out that he had a squabble with his friends only to end up being left in the way… time passes by and we walk…

We reach the village Ballavara by 4:30 pm and still we have 8 kms to go…Blue Boy goes home… exit!

We reach leveled roads and hike on to rest after a non-stop 7 km stretch …Land and places turn arid around and sun starts to set…wasted lands and ravines emerge out of the greenery we left by…we cannot say where the mud wins over its conquerors.

We are tired…we talk about real estate and prices only to fall in silence again…we see yet another 5 miles to go…we sit down and are intoxicated by weariness. Every step gets counted…we walk on…

Farishta arrives again in the form of a tractor…and we get on to it…and we hand them some cigarettes and they are more than happy to drop us at Lingadahalli…all’s well…we arrive and yet life and moments have their twists…we are even to witness an ‘end’ here…

Temperate

Happiness, exhaustion and ruins of our enthusiasm is what we have now…we snack at a desi tea shop nearby and G wants the bus to come…its 6:30 pm and the bus to Chickmagalur is slated to be here (at Lingadahalli) at 7:30 pm…an hour amongst mosquitoes, commotion of the village market and silence beyond that…

I sit and wait and G walks around trying to contact people through the few phone booths around…We walk again to have another tea…asking every person around if there is a bus at all to Chickmagalur…they give affirmative noises and nods.

Sudden commotion brews up in the mini bus stand and all the people gather around…striking match lights at the place where we previously sat 10 minutes ago…G walks up to see if the excitation is caused by some thing or the other that fell out of our bags…(we are tired, disillusioned!!)…

We come to know a patient who had arrived from a nearby village to see the doctor had died in waiting…there is silence…and whole market is filled with hush and the dusk dawns meanwhile…I shift my legs uncomfortable and bus arrives…we sit inside and the seats are filled with few murky strains…the very trees that enlivened me lurk as shadows along the sides...

The run back to Chickmagalur ensues and we are there by 9:30 pm for dinner…we buy our tickets to Bangalore…smiles vanish and exhaustion overcame us…the ride turns rugged…foots swell…and we grin and wince at the same time…but I know there is a peace beneath us…what is it? It’s a smile…a smile beneath the wrinkles of exhaustion…a smile blend with the above experiences however small they might be.

Uncertainities

2006-02-08T02:58:00.000-08:00

Thanks to orkut.
I had to scrap a friend and i was about to write the same lines, "yes life's on...guess things are fine...take care". But then, hey! I stopped and for a difference i wrote something that i have been feeling much of the times, i wrote him...
"Dude, hmm quite unnerved by the uncertainities of life :(...guess it will be fine but lets see:)"
Now this friend of mine thought something is seriuously wrong as i seldom put forth such a statement in public scrap books...and he wanted to know more (typical humane attitude) and he asked me what it was and i never replied....

Guess we all have this questions like a noose above our heads....should i do A or B...what they will lead too...why not do something different? But then what if i fail when i do that?...so the questions go on...
I would not want to crib here in this article as it leads to no where....

What i am calling for is...everyone has a want to achieve something...to prove themselves to their selves and we wait for opportunities...Most of the times we regret for things that we have not done than of things that we did. Why not give it chance...put in all your effort and the physics of energy will take care of it. I did that once...and i got it...but it required all my focus and in the go i lost contacts with a few very fine friends of mine. Yes that only emphasizes that u lose some to gain anything...but then how much do u want ur needs...is the question here...

Trust me or rather trust Paul Cohelo for this line which i summarize..."when u aspire to be something/ want something, proportional to the intensity of the want the whole universe conspires around you to get you that thing".

And well if u feel like "am i being selfish"...trust me everyone is, in some way or the other...

We are, We are ALL INNOCENT :(

2006-02-02T07:41:00.000-08:00

Venue : 189,000 kms of the coast of google shore webland.

Time: 0.000034 secs after midnight

Event
The single agent of the deterministic thread finds out the goal and the search thread lands up on the below....

The humans had perished, there was none in the planet, none of the humans...not the jesus or the caricatures from the denmark or the non-believers...the museums had been marooned and the space was pointless...the pagans became the stones they worshipped and the rest floated like the mighty air around they believed in...well when this would have happened...did the much talked about flying sphagetti monster ate them all...or did the hitchiker's deep thought was all done and through with the experiment...? Proof was found and u know what some how...damn somehow people became happy and everybody smiled...they found their faith and they also found their caves...they found the oil and they found the green papers...they had everything...some one found purpose...it was in the cleavage of his ass that he did not try to look there all these years!...the purpose was in the ass!...and yes he found it!...and someone smiled reading this...and he had not smiled for a few days now...everybody smiled...omigosh! even the ones who did not want others to be happy...damn he smiled too...because he knew when he did not want people smiling...he just had to close his eyes...damn it was right there and he did not know that...anyways he found that too...he smiled!...even the guy was happy when he knew that the vibrations in his vehicle can form skin collagen fungus as when u touch the vibration...dry skin withers and then they float in the air and in a possiblity when the earth's atmosphere comes in contact with the meteroids and then splits a part of it into the space which then strikes at mars and the same in turn happens and the fungus in the water of mars is returned back to the earth and another guy in west of africa gets the fungus and dies in the same instant when that guy's engine revs up and he is all set to go to the disneyland...the guy who found this was happy as...its not everyday u find something like this!

and the thread was too happy that it found this document and ceased to exist too...hence
Moral: please fight, go to wars...be jealous...blame and unleash the hell and heaven on urselves..worry...because if u try to be happy always and harmless...u just might become extinct...

HAPPY QED: Man...can 'not be extinct' from the above.

But if the above QED proves to be true then man is happy so...the opposite might be true also...
--I hang the scale in the balance...wink and sigh and then run away---

Where are THEY?

2006-01-20T01:39:00.000-08:00

Oh where are those valets and mughalai servants...where are the mausis who shroud us victims from our fathers and mothers...where are the next door boys who enable us to run from the woman whose pots we spilled and where are those farm boys who would teach us that clean dirt exist....i miss them as i have not much common with them...their habit is my anxiety and their curiousity is my fear...i see them big and brawnish and me as a puddle of wet sand ever to be displaced by new ideas...they are walls who defend and i am the water looking for the cracks and shimmer and sparkle in the suns glory, as i reappear on the other side...Oh where are they i wail..and i smile...they are just around the corner dear boy, they are just around the corner...do not go there as the sparkling sun in here burns you there and u will vaporise while walls stand... because they are made me to stand and burn... while i am made to crawl and shine...

2006-01-17T04:49:00.000-08:00

Whilst i sat smoking in the chair with last drops of tea alike dew i watch him and think about the others...he is tall lanky and yes he is handsome in that folded dhoti of his and the worn out shirt...all his poverty to veil his beauty...the skin of his legs outshine white with its darkness...there are no veins showing because of the old age and no energy characterisation with those pimples on the contrary...he walks and strides along and i wonder what would be to be him...and nothing more...and yes i see my shoes...and his chappals...and he has the world beneath those rubbers and i have the world over me...its so heavy...i cannot hold it in my head...the world is stuck to his slippers for me i hold it on my head...i try to move and i rotate and i try to run, i revolve...oooof my own mysterious ways....

2006-01-12T00:07:00.000-08:00

Why do we seek satisfaction? Can anybody tell us how does it feel to be satisfied...has it been used only for the journey and never as a destination...A junction point?
Would be to devalue the life when we say satisfaction. We seek it everywhere...from dust to love...and we find it empty when it comes to satisfaction and when we try to seek in ourselves we find only the want for it and not the thirst quenched...why does one get frustrated travelling in the circles of desire and want for more...have u ever thought of the word 'more'...its so infinte and leads from the present reality to an abstraction that can limited only by something in reality again...like a forest fire that can be put off by the limited sea and the sea limited to the place where it cannot put the fire to a doze. In a world that we are trying to rationalize everything we are not able to logically think about our wants...a logical reasoning could be "i want this and for this i have done this"...and most of the times it isn't as simple as that...Satisfaction, Wish, Desire are the three spokes that keeps the human wheel running and they have to balanced to such a degree between them so that they do not break the rim of life...and we live in the rim and we want to go to the centre of the wheel...but what keeps us from doing that are these three spokes...remove them the wheel crumbles and keep them the centre cannot be reached and with every effort of traversing through these spokes from time to time as wheel runs we travel in circles and so does our wants but then the journey of the wheel/ life is not something with infinite corners to from a circle...the wheel moves in the straight medium of time and the rim wears out and yet the spokes remain damaged/rejuvenated and when the rim comes and so do the spokes there is no center...the center or the concept of satisfaction that is meant to be created by you and not attained...just to keep the wheel rolling...

logic reason logic reason logic reason logic reason logic reason logic reason logic reason logic reason logic reason logic reason logic reason...

2006-01-10T01:41:00.000-08:00

1: any reason u write this.....
2: reason!reason! why on the name of the incredulous tamaran do u need reason?...
1:who is tamaran?
2:like ur reason
2: u think reason is the end don't u ...the end point of the begining road just like the flowing river water that starts and ends at the same place...why do u need that...for what u go back to reason...by reason u go back by beliefs u move ahead by putting the past behind you!
1: the present has been built by the reasons involved in the past and the future by the present's reason what makes u think all are mutually exclusive
2:I think not i believe...

Who is watching?

2006-01-08T02:19:00.000-08:00

Usually thoughts come to me rushing when i sit in my couch trying to see beyond the TV through the smoke from my lips...the reason: an aversion towards the unseen seeing idiot box...a million times i felt the box watching me more and penetrating into the thoughts of the viewers. trying to read what is going on in their minds and whoop! when the viewer forgets what he had thought about, the box flashes it across thus keeping the viewers anxiety atuned for itys future penetration. Thus the boxes are watching us more intently than ever.

This a story about her, thrall and him.

2005-12-04T21:03:00.000-08:00

The land extended and always seems that it was in a quest to meet the horizon. they seemed like two lovers condemned like Sisyphus in their pursuit to be together...the land rose and fell, cut through itself and let its passion flow through the abstract beneath it, to rise and fold into peaks and alas the journey appeared as a trifling junket anyways its hope never failed. The land I say can exist anywhere but not everywhere. It had the barren earth like a female unfolded and brought into the earth with innocence, it had been tilled like a women aged with thoughts, memories, fears and ambitions in her youth. It lay beside the banks of rivers giving the impression she was under the mercy of the rivers, little did they know if she rose above the rivers she would swallow them like the desert and but she knew too well to do that lest she swallows and be damned. She persisted through floods and flowered through the spring. This is not the anecdote on her but on her passing master who loved her. Wanted to make her the queen and wanted in an absurd way to ravish her; take away her attire and outfit throw them in to the surrounding banks only to get new ones and rejoice on the occasion...the master who was her slave and mastered her only till she wanted to be enslaved...in her own free will. Thrall is a farmer. He grew things that could be reaped. Alike his human and alike the mongers between them he wanted money. But it was not all that he wanted. He never knew...wearing the greased outfit with a grey tinge to it he never could blend with the surroundings that he sweated on. But then he went on with an unsaid commitment like Jeeves...sans the humour for the onlookers. He was not ignored. He had moments of attention in which he loved to bask and moments he wanted to be outlawed and isolated. These were the moments of victory when he wanted to be alone...he did not want to share it. He wanted to share it with nobody. Thrall is bored. Why? He is bored of her...she always grew what she was seeded with. Nobody knew and everybody knew why. Yet he was not happy about himself. He was very happy about her. He was not sure whether she was happy about herself; he admits that he cares less about that.
She has been a woman for long...she never aged and Thrall could be some where near handsome and ugly but not the average...he neither received many compliments about his looks nor was ignored.

Their quest and objectives where different. She wanted to meet him. He was blue and handsome and he always looked at her and sometimes people called him blind, sometimes people hoped there was something above him where they could reach. He was challenging as he tried and twisted people's predictions and premonitions cast on him. They always talked and the banks heard them. They smiled.

Thrall will never know the above though...sad, so sad else he would have helped them. He always wanted to help her but when he did he ended helping himself.

He was growing spinach this season and she lay hid beneath his crops.

The dawn awoke Thrall and today was different. He wanted to see her. It’s been long since he had seen her naked and yes it had been long since he had seen her naked too.
He undressed her in a hurry as a lot had to be done. He held the spinach with her head and then wrenched it out. And when he did the spores of the spinach fell around. Sweating and panting he undertook the repetitive process and the veins of her were filled with pain a pain so relieving. She was being stretched, explored and fluids emerged from the crevices of spinach. She screamed wit a riff-raff sound as Thrall continued doing the same...it went on for a timeless period through the day.

In the end it was done. There she lay in all her brown glory. He stood solemn without a word...when they would meet? The two waited and only knew they could not until they would measure their wait with time. The time had to end and then they would rush and hug each other, wipe their tears and laugh aloud. The time had to end. Wish Thrall knew about it.
Thrall could not have done anything about it...but sometimes they are things that are good to know about. Just know them even when you cannot do anything about it. It’s nice to know...it’s pleasing.

He remained solemn looking at her from above....he never said anything more, he never rained he saw her, her curves, her mounts he saw her. He loved her ugly rustic postures the way she shifted from one place to another, the way she recoiled and moved on herself. He loved her and he stood solemn. She stared at him.

Thrall since he knew nothing, understood nothing. He was not happy about himself most of the times but then he was totally mad at her. It has been since he had weeded her of the spinach but after the occasion, she never allowed anything to be grown on her...nothing...she was like the child who outgrew her father's control...Thrall had no influence on her anymore...she had understood any influence was bad...influence in itself was bad...she is not Thrall and Thrall isn’t her. her trivialities might be colossal for him and vice-versa...she never thought about Thrall and Thrall always thought about her, wept for her and slept on her day and night and looked at him above but he was not given a glance. he was looking at her from above and she was returning his stare... Thrall could do nothing, Thrall lay on her with his eyes staring at him above...Thrall lay now on his side and could see both in his vision. The banks were swallowed by her and the tree at the edge withered. The water vaporised into him above and the tree withered and mixed with her and Thrall lay on her. He still thought he was the one who was to be taken care of and given a part in the act. Alas he never knew that he wasn't in the play...the banks looked beneath at the trees and they stared at each other.

Thrall was not alone though...he was looked by time and nobody else cared as they knew Thrall and time would both pass...pass away...
Thrall! Oh Thrall! Wish you knew something though you cannot have done anything about them because it’s nice to know things...jus to know them...

2005-12-02T03:42:00.000-08:00

Roof coloured sand, the floating dust, the warming sun. Used rails blocking the rays and their shadows cast on the cement pavements. As to deny its vanity, stains of spit on the rail's legs formed intricate vulgar designs and its off springs stood few meters away, repeating themselves as if a staccato verse was being completed by them.

The silence, that the pavements and the walls arising from their heads bore was the best work till now by any con. And as Smarag neared it he could hear the hot air rising and mixing with steam. Dragging his suitcase filled with several things of no use to anybody but himself, he dragged on...
At the entrance he placed his luggage down and wiped his brow and to soften his creased palms he slid them over his brown coat. He saw above and involuntary tears filled his eyes, the sun had beckoned them.
After searching in his pockets he produced his tickets and looked at them. Yes, they were for his train and yes of course the journey was meant to be made in a few hours from now. He picked his luggage; he knew not what the destination was and cared less for not many know where they are destined to. He brushed his coat, he wanted them to be clean as he would not take them after this journey, and so he thought. He was never sure of many things anymore.
He stepped on the station and his cells in the head began to ooze out some irritants and the reheard voices of the chai-walla and vendors stroke his senses and the smell of the urine diluted by the stench of sweat pervaded. It never changed and he wondered how all the vendors could go on and on for all the bygone decades with the same cacophony. Long before he had thought people bought from these vendors to stop them from going on, just stop them for a moment so that they could listen to silence, yes not many have heard silence for long, people have forgotten to listen to silence, and they simply cannot fathom its beauty. it was beautiful than the euphonies of their times and records of their forefathers, something that was lost, silence lost in evolution...he stopped as he could no more remember what he was saying, and then he remembered only a bit of it, yes he was not saying he was thinking?? He sighed.

It was sultry and the sun was no more to be seen, the standing posts made of rails veiled them. He placed his head against the post and the closed his eyes and imagined a million arrows flying past the fortress and plunging into the enemy's hearts...he always did that to get sleep, it was the best sedative he had come across- defying his logic.

The wires livened themselves and the diaphragm above them quivered and the wires asserted to themselves and to the diaphragm around, “yes something is coming in us just be prepared.” to which the latter replied, "yeah am always..." and then the sound cracked announcing the arrival of the train and Smarag woke up, wiped his brow again to find no sweat but only the stickiness left behind them, he felt better. Smarag boarded the train, the compartments were not crowded.

He sat in the corner where he neither could see anybody nor can someone look at him. He reclined but felt restless and saw the coat shimmering in the sun, he always liked it when the coat shimmered.

The train chugged as the steam rose high in the air. The coals made their journey down below while the steam rose above and i moved on straight not knowing that i go in circles.

As the train moved on the wind made him sit erect and his hands were laid on his knees with grace as he used to do it. The train breathed life in to him and making him to live it a step above his existence. He felt him self sitting with ease and the brow enlivened and light peered into his eyes a bit more; atleast at the sides, he could not see anybody, he nodded, he wanted it that way...

He looked outside the window with his palm under his chin and head laid on the window, the sun streaming through his face exploring the passages of his countenance. The train sped through. It was gaining speed as it rode on and he felt stronger as it moved, it was a circle of energy being given to him and then intensified and a little more being given and then intensified again...the more he felt strong the train moved faster, there were no curves and there way no caves of darkness, it was a warm day and the coat added to the sudden felt comfort.

His hair lay now thrown back from the forehead and the claws beyond his eyes became retractable, he wanted to see and look and he decide to move on and sit amongst people, he was feeling bored and the long time that had elapsed in the train accentuated his curiosity and then he drew back himself...

He saw his hands; he never liked them in particular. For no reason, he looked at his hands. The wrinkles were vanishing and the red spots diluted to pink and then to cream yellow as they settled to their natural colour, the bones fell into their places and the creaking of his knees stopped. His knees heard silence, he stood up and he realised he could do that faster. He sat again and then shot upwards and stood erect and his spectacles hindered his vision, he removed them, the train was moving faster like never before, no he remembered they had moved this fast a long time ago, the rails stopped screeching and accelerated the wheels above them and greeted the next set of wagons as they ran over them, they shined along with rays as the wheels polished and scratched them. It had been long since they had loved each other so much...the train sped with an unearthly speed, a revolution.

He strode to the mirrors and wiped them, yes they were never clean and amongst the dew spots he could see himself, his angular cheek bones and his eyes set like pearls of human value...they shined and glimmered not with the sun but with something he had lost a while ago, they glimmered with hope...

he went and he could not see any people, they were jumping off from the train as it turned around the edges as curves in the rails had seemed to cease existing, the train ran over the shadows of the mounting landscapes around, threatening to tear them apart and shred the trees by cutting their shadows.

He was young he said to himself. he shouted and tore his silence and shrieked in happiness and bounced on the seats...spat in freedom and smoked, standing on the edges of the wagons and shrieked at women at whom the train allowed a glance. He ignored the sun, had his hands in his pockets and brought his coat taut on his shoulders and then he relaxed them and sang his song, that ran through the air...he never thought, he did...

The sound crackled far away and this time the lines and the diaphragm just sat there and then they voiced the opinions of their master, he began sweating and they was a pain in his knee...he could not see the diaphragm nor the lines as he closed his eyes, he sat in his seat and and then ran his fingers through his hair and felt them falling. The train made a shrill noise with joy as it pumped energy into itself and the rails lost their shine as he lost it in his eyes...he saw his hands where the vein spots started reappearing, he shrieked but could not hear himself and felt his tongue wobbling....the diaphragm shrieked again....he could not keep his eyes closed again anymore, he opened them and looked above and saw the train pumping the last of energy into it and come to a standstill, he stood up carefully and boarded his wagon, he sat and his hunchback hurt him but nevertheless he brushed his coat and they shimmered…

He liked it when his coat shimmered.

2005-11-30T01:33:00.000-08:00

This really happened:

Walking from the institute back to my shacks with the fog clouding , hiding from nobody in the gaps of my hair the only sound I could hear was my jeans rick-racking each other as I strode over to my room…smoking the mist I looked at the trees and the branches and the huge ground that extend to several meters at the side of me …and then I said to myself “there can be no ghosts and I believe in none…no spirits we are just biological organisms and jus like the ant crushed we end…nothing more than that it’s over and out jus like pressing the end call button in my mobile jus like the second that finished before the present one…hmm it can’t be” there were no refusals and still I went “no! it cannot be there can be NO GHOSTS there cannot be simply not, it cannot be because we have a mind, not because we can picturise them, not because we attempt to find them…and not because my forefathers told me!” Ok, I moved on and climbed those couple of stairs and then went over to my room…and then as I shifted to warmer clothes I smiled “why the hell did I have to think about ghosts all of a sudden of all things in the world! Poof”…maybe even that’s a part of growing up…yeah I always attribute too may things saying that “it’s a part of growing up”…
In my bed I slid into the cold blanket to start the clean circle of warmth…i guess people know how it works…its like the blanket takes in heat from your body and then the wool intensifies it I guess…too lame a explanation…leave it there and I move on…
I woke up in the middle of my sleep and then saw that the door was open and I could still hear the gothic music playing on as I had kept it on when I was about to sleep…and the fog diluted as mist in front of the door, creeping in all the while. I hummed a lazy tone and then searched for the slippers, opened the door and there was no one at the corridor but the fog. Hmm the fog got denser and my hairs behind the neck stared at the ceiling…
A friend of mine came up to me from the corridor door and said “50 bucks”….I looked at him with a question in my face…and then he grew from being anxious to angry and started shouting in a voice that could only impinge my eardrums…”50 bucks!, 50 bucks!”… And he helped me in a fiend’s way to remove my pants all the while searching my pockets.
I am forgetting….
And then I remember getting up for the second time opening the door and then running on the road taken few hours before all the while crying, apologizing “oh I believe in you, u might be there, exist there and then swoop down…jus go back to your warm nests…go back…oh please do…” and then I entered the long distance call booth and called home and heard warm voices and hurried back into my blanket…

2005-10-19T02:20:00.000-07:00

Freudian Inventory Results

Oral (53%) you appear to have a good balance of independence and interdependence knowing when to accept help and when to do things on your own.
Anal (50%) you appear to have a good balance of self control and spontaneity, order and chaos, variety and selectivity.
Phallic (40%) you appear to have a good balance of sexual awareness and sexual composure.
Latency (33%) you appear to be overly practical; don't undervalue abstract learning, abstract learning increases your ability to make good decisions (and predictions) in the real world so it would be 'impractical' to shun it.
Genital (73%) you appear to have a progressive and openminded outlook on life unbeholden to regressive forces like traditional authority and convention.

Take Free Freudian Inventory Test
personality tests by similarminds.com

2005-10-17T18:45:00.000-07:00

End of DAY

Yes, my day is done and another coffee, i have to sit/stand and get to home ...looks like there will be a lunar eclipse today so apparently i have to bath and pray ...lets see :)

Bye.

2005-10-17T11:21:00.000-07:00

Some of our days for some of us begin with the dreams. Irony is that when we feel the reality around us we forget those beginings and in an attempt to end the day right we do not ruminate on how it began in the subconscious mind...most probably it can be the fears, excitements or the needs and the relevant ablities of the previous day that lingers in our reflective part of the mind...can the end of the day be a junction point where we sort out our done and undone chores during the day,the dreams: can they be like a feedback?

I remember one statement :

this happened in my dream:

i roll out my tongue and say that i have too many of the white substance on and that means i might have some deficiency?

and a voice mutters , "No! it means there is a good blood flow in your tongue"...can it get more of a jabber than this?

and then the consciousness starts to deal with things in hand...and am at work now...well if i am typing this , it means I am not having much to do at the moment!

2005-10-17T02:10:00.000-07:00

Friday evening...for a change my grey cells were becoming volatile with fluid inside, it was a reaction...a nice one with a severe pain and somewhere when it was guiding my footsteps along the corridors one of the cells plopped and said 'sex'...and the rest joined in chorus and everybody together in the cacophonous battalion of the grey army marched, muttering with contempt 'sex, sex ,sex'.

My hands rose to my head, whats that?, my eyes turned inwards, my conscious checked out for fantasies...Oh no not now my body screamed, and my lips bent into a culvert and choked its cells into a smile and my fingers twitched and my tongue felt the wet water, and i moved on, clutching my hair in 3 fingers and a tamed flame in the other hand...

i woke up in the mornings and i could hear the distant slogans from me...the urge passed and my foot touched the cold floor as i gropped for a towel. It was over, it was over....and surmising my intentions the cacophonous battalion went on a march....'it was over, it was over, it...was...over...'

2005-10-17T01:52:00.000-07:00

ABYSS...

Something is amiss out here, am I trying to emulate my contemporaries or am I stinking in self doubt?.. Conjure up an image of you alone with all the resources intact...the material world loses its value...you are the rich, poor and genius! Whom would you try to impress now...yourself? c'mon it would boil down to the fact of who you actually are.....now you will try searching for someone of your own kind and if u meet him or her you will for another and then with three a society would be called up for and then with four you would separate into teams of two and have a friendly banter and then confidants will be born. To make things worse two more would arrive and at the end of some day you will be right here where I am, lurking in this same self doubt...and at the end of it realize all of this was from the very audience to whom u cater the above lines! Vicious circle indeed ...or is it one’s ignorance/indifference or rather mine to trivialize the whole thought process of a society?!When looked with profound interest, the inanimate has more individuality than anyone.....Is it better to be the shallow moon than to be among the millions of bright stars? And you being the human ......will posses the "mind"...rather........the sixth sense... which has the ability to think and do quite the contrary. Of the six people the three of you try to globalize while two might crave for isolation calling it privacy and then one in remorse for the past, laments. We were made complex in our systems to think simple which we are not....we ponder, scratch the scalp, read, write, discuss, argue and at the end of the day accept and move along! Or such is the life.... born ...live it through all the adequacy present and bear through all the inefficiencies. Enjoy the efficacy of work and bear the brunt of bliss and one day, not earmarked in a diary you invite an audience without an announcement and your silence invokes a shrill outcry that penetrates even the indifferent souls...and that day is branded as an anniversary! Who are these six people, after you they are now five in number.....and when one looks upon with deep concern all these six people are you....your six senses.....and when you are dead you loose the sixth sense and the other five are relinquished of their places thereafter...Does their individuality not stand for a chance?Can a human only be a reflection of his fellow men? So huge is this scenario that it prevails as an afterthought striking you only after each word was written and yet it puts forth an impedance to keep it unchanged!

2005-10-17T01:42:00.000-07:00

I walk into the cafeteria...and hear a voice "hey man how ya doing....how was the test...oooh see that girl....." the mind starts functioning the blood starts clogging up in a section of my head...it has started ....I am shaky not knowing an answer which anybody of my age would know...”hey madhu”, a girl takes a peek at my table, “ got the assignment done?” and I give a blank stare all the while telling her to get the hell out of there. I am suffering in here ...contradictions...fighting against an unknown enemy and not knowing whether it is the enemy ....where did all this start ...I was living like everybody else ...playing a game of cricket in the weekend, pestering for a movie....looking at the new comics and then get a corner in the daily bus and get all wound up over it...as far as I remember it all started when I saw a heap of leaves gathered at a spot...they weren't there all those days...those leaves were under my legs, an assurance that I would not fall and that they would sail me to my destination peacefully… until then after which, a fear developed what if those leaves were plucked and shoved away from my life will I lose my way even before I
know I about it.this tinge of anxiety exponentiates every second ...why is that one should perform when one does not want to be the player...who has organized this big crime against themselves that billions have fell into...a brilliant trap that many fall from the womb into it and are swallowed, ingested, digested and all their energy is taken up for a purpose unknown. I guess I realised this when I was half way through and decided to climb out of it and only to find that here is where my destiny might lie and I am now stranded with no where to go. the moon looks good but better behind a tree... the sun is bright but- for me to see it should be behind the clouds, the peacocks make u feel elated but only when the sky is overcast and it is about to rain...the rainbow is beautiful but it is all the more great when we do not have the sun shining on its path after the rain ...so many ifs and buts....too many wants and everything is a permutation of what is available....all the needs are fed and again ingested by generations and one's waste is another’s source of energy ...after some time....eons have passed man names these as deceptive visions, material pleasure and Maya but still loves it cherishes it and it is an irony that he earns the same by his discourses against it! and suddenly I go void and I surge below so deep and all my anger dries out...just like that...in a moment where was all that vigor that I had a second ago and am I being conquered periodically by this fate...it says," ah boy come on...I had been on a holiday, decided to take a day off of u and you start defying me ...lets go for a ride get in.. else be left out". Left out? left out of what? left out of these trains that go back and forth under the control of tiny tots ...we are similar to them why don't we raise against this little heads why do we traverse thru the same tracks again and again thru the same roads. on the way we yearn and earn for some to tag along to abuse and adore them whenever we feel like and all these feelings being controlled by this train driver...who is he? he changes color so often...he was my mom first and then when she smiled and understood there were limits he disappeared from her and then from then on he began to haunt me… wanted me to get on his bogey and ride with him ...his face brings the wrath in me and then is overwhelmed into fear when he again looks at me and then I nod to take the seat but only for a short time But then I am my own enemy now....and its all the more frustrating that even though it is within me I am not able to figure out its strategies ...plop and he is not vanishing he persists and he dominates me to get out of that running train just jump and fall onto the sands beyond ....I am not able to get up as my fellow victim gives me a smile...what if he is a clairvoyant and is the driver. he should be enjoying. A villain he is ...seeing his puppet fear, shake and with all anger it taunts itself with.And then your head cannot take it anymore it flows through your eyes emanating that fear that rather becomes your defense...people ask me what happened to u are u feeling okay? no dammit I have been like this sedated as a saturnine bloke for years that I cannot remember nor can I recall when this all started....and I can't share it because it is something that is spewing out of me out....every atom in me ....spewing as gusts of sighs and morning toothpastes and then I gurgle with vigor .....prevent choking and then the grand finale happens he reaches your stomach and I recoil as a blow is given and I am like a smothered cookie....I walk into the cafeteria and the glass of water stands still like the few moments before my brain had started actually function ...and then as if it were like me, first the drop sways and slides on the surface on the glass and it will also have its share of the pit feeling in the stomach when it hits the table...my face becomes a weak wrinkle and I want to say it and get it out of my system, get some of the drops out of me as the glass could do and I muster up the courage and with all the strength that chokes up all the way to my throat and comes out adding a few ounces to the already persisting tonne in my head and I whisper, " I am tired and tired of it all!"I caution myself not to say it aloud. That would wake up the ones seated around me and they would be on my back pestering with all those heard and reheard questions. That will make me feel all the more worse and last but not the least I say it within myself with a very meek voice lest the driver should know where I am and take me for a ride.A child nearby cries to his father and asks him to take him for a ride. Believe me there is a lot of difference between me and him because sometime in the past I used to love rides...a past that I am not able to recall… its all vague...its not dark or sullen now, everything is bright and some may say that I am out of my mind...no dear its all in the mind.. that’s the whole problem...as for the others… all these are floating in the air for them to take it in and become one of them and they aid the driver in hunting me. will I be found?