Longing for a world

Where men run
Not from each for other
Not against each other
But towards one another, prisoners in each others arms, free forever.

Where I can run through a desert
Bare feet, bare soul
Towards nothing
Towards myself

Where souls aren't trapped in bodies
The body is invisible
The soul apparent
A smile, omnipresent

Where dreams are alive
And life is a distant forest
One that none venture into
Lest it pulls you inside.

Where I am one with nature
I am the elements
I am the rain that soaks me
The sunlight that burns me.

But I wake up once again, searching for a dream that lasts forever
And enter the doors that lead to the forest
I put on a smile and take solace in the night
Where I can once again burn in my own sunlight

Poop

Ever wondered why so many people like getting their photos clicked? On a recent road trip I undertook, my friends were getting their snaps clicked at the oddest of places with strangely strong enthusiasm. On bridges, at gas stations, under bare trees, sitting on sidewalks, next to trash cans, near pooping dogs. Everywhere. What really goes on in someones' mind when they go click? Is it vanity? To show the world that they've been there clicked that? To capture that brief and not so spontaneous moment of supposed happiness? Happiness that they hope they feel a couple of years down the line sitting in cramped office corner suffering the tirades of an a no good boss?
On it's own, a picture of a bridge, a bare tree, a sidewalk, a trash can or even a pooping dog is potential art gallery material. But maybe it is indeed difficult for people to imagine a picture without themselves in it. The same way it is impossible for them to not be opinionated, to not be impartial or objective.Maybe it is impossible for some people to understand the beauty of a (ahem) pooping dog in itself. They just have to be in the frame - albeit with poop.
Or maybe I'm a cynic, and someday I'll get my own pictures clicked standing over the rubble of my own strange vanity.

Trivia - The word 'poop' and its conjugations appear four times in this post. Well, five times now. Ah - six times (missed the title).

Uh Oh!

That last post was too damn senti.
Bad for my rep!

Pigeons

This thanksgiving weekend my colleagues and I drove down to visit Philadelphia and Baltimore. I in particular was looking forward to this trip with a lot of enthusiasm, not only for the thrill of going to a place where I had never gone before, but also for getting away from the vicious cycle of monotony and claustrophobia which I have found myself in for the past few years.
One of our places that we intended to and did vist was the Baltimore aquarium. In a now disturbingly regular trend of absent mindedness, I ended up purchasing one less ticket than the number of people on the trip. I realised this in the middle of a delicious panini and had second thoughts about leaving it halfway to grab another ticket. But common sense finally prevailed and I dashed out; the tickets were sold out minutes after I redeemed my reputation with the ticket that balanced both sides of the equation.

I decided not to go back to my lunch. Partly because I was sure the Panini would be in the trash can by then and majorly because I needed some alone time to grab a cigarette, explore the place around and give another half-assed shot to planning the rest of my life (yeah it's still WIP).

Sitting on a bench waiting for the show to start and for my colleagues to come out of the eatery with chicken-wing breath, I was flooded with a range of contrasting emotions. There was an old man sitting on another bench asking passers-by to drop some change in his hat - he clearly didn't like what he was doing and to be honest, I thought that he would definitely take up a job instead if he could.
A not so well-dressed couple came in to buy tickets but decided not to go ahead because they found it expensive. They smiled at each other, held their hands tighter and walked away leaning against each other ever so slightly. True romance.
A father came in with his daugter only to be welcomed by a sold-out board. While the daughter looked expectantly at her father with a hint of a teardrop in her eyes, he explained to her that they would catch the show the next day. (I hope they did).
With so many faces of helplessness around, one can't help but wonder if man is destined to a life of unfulfilled desires. A life of stifling compulsions, of hats with change and sold-out boards. Some have eyes to immerse themselves into and hands to clasp, others just have a hat to put back on.
How does one live with this baggage? Replace it with cigarettes and alcohol like many of us do? Replace it with God? I'm quite sure that processed vegetables rolled into a rizla and fermented potatoes and sugarcanes are not the way to go, as much as I am sure that God does not like playing second fiddle.
I then had a distraction that I am now most thankful for. A young girl cried out to her mother in a note of unadulterated joy that only her age is capable of- 'Look Ma! Pigeons!'. Leaving my intensly futile train of thought begind, I walked into the aquarium with my colleagues (their breath a cruel mixture of onion soup, chicken wings, pizza and spearmint. Yuggh!).
-
Halfway through the dolphin show I instinctively cried out in my mind 'Look, Dolphins!' A moment of disarming joy. At that very moment, I had the answer to my questions. I had found my pigeon. I hope to find one everyday. I hope to find one every moment.

The seven year itch

It was roughly seven years ago that I started smoking. For some odd reason however, I simply hate the smell of tobacco these days. Odd, don't you think? Never thought I'd even as much as dislike smoking. Even had plans of working on a cigarette scented candle brand, tobacco based mosquito repellant and a davidoff-enriched sports drink. By the looks of it, none of that's going to happen.
What bodes not so well for cigarette companies certainly bodes well for me. I started working out big-time again. Did my first weighted-squats for the first time in more than a year without any pain in the dreaded lower back. Good. Gooood I say.
My breath smells good, lips are more lucious and the voice already sounds better.
Not that that's going to up my chances of a score, but what the hell!

On a different note, the peace and quiet at Albany isn't really that much of a help as I expected it to be. Far from helping me toward developing a concrete plan for the rest of my life, the quiet drives me to a muddle of incoherent paths emanating purely out of fickle fancies and unconvincing theories (my 10th grade English instructor would be proud). So for the umpteenth time, I've decided to lay low for a while. Yeah, again. (to be continued).

Settling In

Not much to write

Of tooth extractions, Hannibal and sunsets

I'm just in time for my pre-surgery checkup at the dentist. It's 12:30 pm, mid afternoon for some, early morning for me. Dental treatments and the run up to them are quite tiresome experiences. And when you wake up hastily at noon and rush to the dentist just in time for your appointment, you expect things to get done and dusted so that you can return home to breakfast. Not lunch, breakfast. As the stars would have it, my checkup couldn't be done as scheduled 'coz the air conditioner at the dentists was broke. 'Can you please come back in an hour sir?' Yeah sure. Strangely i'm not angry. I'm looking forward to going home to a hot cup of chai and 24 hour news , which by the way is way more entertaining than ever before.

I come home to a disgruntled member of the opposition party who's opened up a can of worms with his just published book.
(Nostalgia - 'Can of worms' was the first and only James Hadley Chase book I ever read. Passable pulp fiction.)
The book in question falls just short of glorifying the man held responsible by popular belief for the country's partition. The last time I checked we were a democracy. The author in question however, is expelled from his party and a state even goes on to ban the book. Freedom of speech anyone? I always though he was an outsider in the party, never did fit the bill.

I hastily put the lid back on the can of worms and rush back to the dentist. He's going to have to contend with my chai-breath for the forced hour long dive into national politics. But dentists are always a step ahead - he comes in wearing a surgical mask and I have to rinse before he dives in. Damn!
He tells me I need to get an X-ray done to figure out just how my wisdom teeth will be extracted. One look and you know these can't just be wanked out using the pakkad. They're either growing inside my gums or are too dilapidated for traditional extraction.

Cut to the X-ray guy.
I am told to remove my ear-ring before my face can be bombarded with potentially but seldom dangerous invisible rays. I suddenly think about that weird woman I saw on the internet with more than a hundred piercings on her face. What if she ever had to go in for a dental x-ray. I chuckle at the thought and wonder how many minutes it would take her to remove all those studs on her face before stepping up for the x-ray.
I am made to perch my face rigidly on a rectangular stand and bite on a plastic rod while the x-ray machine moves around my head, taking shots from all angles. There's a mirror for me to see how unpleasantly funny I look. At that very moment I realize that God has granted me another of my wishes- I always wanted to know what being Hannibal Lectar would feel like. Not that being a cannibal is on my wishlist, but it definitely would be quite something to know what goes on inside his head. The metal frames around my face are vaguely reminiscent of the mask Hannibal is made to wear on him, if not as ghastly. I'm urging to blurt out a 'Hello, Clarise', but neither was there a beautiful FBI agent sitting beside me to complete the setting nor was I at liberty to let go of the plastic rod in my mouth.

Note to self - God has curious ways of granting your wishes. Very curious indeed.

A couple of days later, armed with an x-ray of imperfectly set teeth I set off to get the surgery done once and for all. There are three extractions to be performed, one of them surgical - Fuck! The surgeon injects me with enough anesthesia to kill a two year old. My gums, lips and tongues get heavier by the second as the numbness sets it. I decide to shut out the pain by reflecting, retrospecting and planning the rest of my life while the surgeon goes on plundering and tearing at my gums to shunt out the guilty teeth.
All I can do is guess what he is doing inside my mouth - the anesthesia has taken effect completely and unlike hair salons, dentists do not provide for strategically placed mirrors for the patient to know what's going on.
Here's what I think happened -
1 - I was made to bite onto gauze filled with the most bitter potion I've swallowed in my life.
2 - I'm injected with insane amounts of anesthesia.
3 - The surgeon cuts at my gums, loosens my tooth and plucks them out.
4 - My gums are stitched up.
There, nice and easy. Oh did I forget there were two more teeth to go?

Somewhere during this plundering I realize that life's not about hitting back at or avoiding the pain and suffering you get. It's more about taking it in your stride knowing that you're going to come out a new person. Much like a tooth extraction. Not a very attractive bargain though, considering that I would continue to bleed for a couple of hours afterward, my face would be swollen for three days and the pain would be so incredible that I would have to skip a day of work.

Note to self - The 'Flash' theory propounded in a previous post theory still stands. Anesthesia begets flashes of genius. Er, flashes of... whatever.

Contrary to popular belief I also realize that you don't always walk into the sunset with a curvy brunette by your side after confronting your pain. I walked home in the sweltering afternoon sun, content with marveling at intoxicatingly beautiful women every step of the road.....

The Briefing and HR execs

Software companies have a particularly disgusting habit. They build up a visa interview as if it were the be all and end all of your life. 'Comb your hair, have a clean shave, wear a tie, wear a white shirt, brush your teeth well, polish your shoes and while you're at it, get a nose job done'. The way I look at it, a visa interview is Gods way of giving it back to the Indian male, for the countless hours of preparation that a prospective bride has to go through to prove herself worthy of being his wife. But thats not the point of this post.

Lets cut back to the interview build up. One day prior to the interview I had to appear for a briefing session at our corporate office at Akruti. I had to be there at 10 am, which was always going to be difficult considering I had worked till 3 am. Simple math said i had barely 5 hours of sleep to spare. Since I'm finally getting my visa done, i assumed that every star in the universe is shooting to get my job done; I wake up at 9:00 am, quite confident that i'm going to make it on time. But baseless confidence has always been my nemesis. To cut a long story short, it took 50 minutes for my rickshaw to reach Akruti from Andheri station. A distance I remember covering within 20 not so many years ago.

Note to Self - Bombay is getting too crowded. Need to migrate to another city, or maybe another country.

I am the last person to reach the session. Accusing eyes stare a hole through me. (Gimme a break guys, I'm working nights these days!)
The lady in charge of the briefing session instantly reminds me of the queens guards you see outside the Buckingham palace. She betrays no emotion and has a sense of purpose about her. For the next hour she would dazzle us with all the possible questions we could be asked at the interview. She's learnt the questions and the least offensive answers to them so well that I'm convinced she should be given an honorary visa herself. She isn't the normal HR types that we encounter in the IT industry - she's polite. Relatively.
I suddenly have a flash! Yes, when I should be listening intently to what I should or should not answer at the interview, I'm getting flashes. Could the timing BE any better? But a flash is a flash and must be flashed -
Why are HR employees so dragon-like? Always willing to spew venom on your face for something as innocent as not attending a fun at work session? It's not that tough to figure out. HR associates are more often than not Arts grads. As students, most of these Art-walahs feel a sense of self-accomplishment, a sense of triumph of having resisted the temptation to join the band-wagon of science grads. They think they can change the world with their ideas (a few do). Those who don't, end up as HR execs filling visa applications for the very science students they so despised. Disillusionment.
Not a very bright flash. But a flash nonetheless.

During the briefing, I get the distinctly uncomfortable sense that I am a part of a filthy rat race that's never going to end. I toggle with the idea of professional suicide by giving the visa interview a miss. But better sense prevails and I decide that I need to be a rat for some more time. Some more years perhaps.

At the end of the briefing we are wished the customary 'Best of Lucks' with the fine print reading - don't blame us if you flunk the interview.
'Best of Luck'? You can't go through so much preparation and at the end of it all leave things to luck. 'You bloody well clear the interview', I tell myself.

On the way back I can't help but reflect on the past month. Things are happening at a breakneck pace and I'm tiring. I take refuge once again in a stick of Milds, that for so many years has been my uncomplaining shrink...

Change, Root canal and Flashes

At long last, change is here (almost). No, i'm not watching the presidential elections' coverage reruns on youtube; like all outwardly pretentious but insecure and vulnerable 25 year olds, the only change that i find remotely interesting to write about is that which has a direct relation to me.
One day from now I am going to be interviewed by a highly suspicious gentleman slash lady who may or may not deem me fit set step on the soil of the You Es of Aye. Lemme see, they'll probably ask me why i deserve to go to the US in the first place, there would be vague questions asking me to trace my lineage back up to 4 generations. And if there's any shadow of an evidence of my forefathers having swatted a fly - BOOM! bye bye. neeext!. (Blame the rantings on lack of sleep and the root canal I'm going through).

Let's cut to the root canal, shall we? Ok, so on the 18th I had my root canal done. Unlike urban legends, it's not really that painful a process. It gives you an ideal setting to reflect back on the bitch that life is while getting your bad whites fixed. Not a bad bargain.

Here's how it went. I was made to sit on a freakishly comfortable chair, with a fluffy pink-yellow-green sunflower attached to it's robotic arm which, by the way would eventually be used to violate my mouth.
Notes to self -
1 - My office chairs really suck. They need to take a cue on ergonomics from my dentist.
2 - Pink sunflowers are funky. I'm not a fan of pink, but pink sunflowers are another thing. God, how soon can this evolution take place?

The doctor comes in with a mask over his mouth and double disinfected gloves on his hands. With an aire of professionalism he commands me with courtesy to open my mouth and sprays in an intoxicating clove spray.
Note to self
3 - 'Command with courtesy' - need to learn this. It's an art.
4 - The spray tasted good.

Now starts the fun. The robotic arm has an attached tray that has an array of apparatus that would later be used to dig and drill into my tooth and gums. There are about 20 needles, an equal amount of drill tops and generous doses of anesthesia. The doctor goes about his job with discomforting ease (discomforting for me that is).
For every needle he sticks into my tooth, theres a drill which follows that almost rattles my brains out of my ears.
Note to reader
1 - I'm lying of course. It wasn't painful. On the contrary i quite enjoyed drilling. What doesn't kill me makes me stronger.

About halfway through the drilling, a FLASH. Not the one on the robotic arm. The one that lights up inside your head leading you to a sudden realization of great and absolute truth - 'The tooth is the most secular part of the human body'. Really, think about it. You can recognize a Rabbi (not the singer) by his locks, a Brahmin by the absence of his locks, a Jain by absence of footwear, a Muslim by his beard (really, we have distinctive ones :) ), a Sardar by his hair, a Parsi...well we can all recognize a Bawa when we see one. My point is, there's no way you can distinguish a persons faith by his teeth. It's the most secular part of the human body. And by virtue of its secularism, the easiest way to make friends is to flash your 32 whites.
Note to self -
5 - A political party that does not have dental hygiene in its manifesto is not secular.

Convinced that this flash could only have resulted from the abundant quantity of anesthesia in my system i resolve to have another dental procedure soon. Or at least keep some of that spray handy.

Satisfied that I am still capable of ideas that would some day rock the world, my mind wanders to a vacation on a beach. Not Juhu beach; a more famous one, like Hawaii. Blame it on lack of creativity or the comfort of the dentists chair, i start conjuring up images of being seated in that very chair, having a dental procedure (a second root canal perhaps) in Hawaii. Medical tourism anyone?
Note to self
5 - Need a vacation. Maybe thanksgiving.

Seven needles, seven drillings, even more anesthesia and 30 minutes later the doctor still shows no sign of relenting. That doesn't really bother me; these are the only really quite moments I've had for myself in a long time. A very long time. The doctor could dissect my gums for the rest of my life and I wouldn't complain.
No. Not really. Too much quietness can be suicidal as well. With my quota of path breaking ideas over for the day, my mind drifts to more worldly (and mundane) things. Whats life going to be like 5 years hence? Where do I see myself heading? When will I score? More importantly, where will I score?
Note to anyone who cares a fuck. And errr... also to myself
6 - Need to figure out another profession. Now.

That's when I begin to feel the first semblance of discomfort in my mouth. FLASH# 2.
'As long as you're doing something you like while you're simultaneously a part of something you dislike, you're cool'. Otherwise, you're a sitting duck for pain.
(Yeah I didn't get it the first time too). Let's finally put the high school math to some use and form the equation right-
Equation 1 -
Root canal (Dislike) + Theory on dental secularism (Like) = Cool

Equation 2 -
Root canal (Dislike) + Mundane thoughts (Dislike) = Not Cool

Lets put the equation to some asli duniya ka scenario (like the robotics or COA questions in engineering)

Real life example 1 - Year 2005-2006
Work(Dislike) + Gym(Like) = Cool

Real life example 2 - Year 2007-2008
Work(Really Dislike) + Spanish(Like) - Gym(Like) = Cool

Real life example 3 - Year 2009
Work(Get me the FUCK out of here) + Spanish(Like) + Dancing(Like) = Cool

Real life example 4 - Year 2009-2010/2011
(Assuming that homeland security lets me in the US)
Work(Like -- hangs in the balance) + Gym(Like) + Spanish(Like) = Cool

Scenario 5 is where it gets interesting. Year 2011 onward.
Work (Better do something you like) + Basically do stuff that makes you go bonkers = Utopia

Basically what I'm saying is - do something you like. Fuck the rest. Easier said than done.

Perhaps on cue, the doctor tells me we're done for the day. Happy that I had two flashes of self-satisfying self realization, I head to work looking forward to my next two appointments with the comfortable dentist-recliner and the pink sunflower.

Unaffected

Is He the provider, the master of the worlds
Or do we christen Him so
That our fortunes turn
That our fantasies precipitate

Is He the manifestation of hope
Or the Catalyst that breeds it
The Excuse for our excesses
An Illusion why we choose to suffer

Is evolution really Him peaking
Outdoing Himself at every step
And like all good Things
What peaks must descend

Is He an Idea whose time has come
Now that we merrily self destruct
An Idea that will surface
As a Miracle or perhaps a plague

Is He a creation of egotism
His Traits as varied as our imagination
Or a reflex of our defeats
A justification for satanic triumphs

Is He not in our subconscience
A woman we seat beside us
Adorn Her with pearls and emeralds;
Assume the right to Her violation

Or is He beyond comprehension
His Justice unaffected by love nor detest
That both saint and sinner are born
That both saint and sinner must die

:(

Just when you're about to start writing, the idea escapes from your head like a puff of dust!

Dilemna

There was a sense of mechanical purpose about him; the kind of energy a volkswagon running at a 100mph exudes, complete with flashing headlights trying to make up for an empty soul. He looked the 'subject' in the eyes. Not that he was new to this. He had done this many times before - his precision and nerves were the stuff of folklore.

But today was different. He was struck by a sudden feeling of awe at what he saw. A miracle of nature perhaps? This was the first time he was thinking of it this way. Today he didn't see a 'subject'. He saw a living figure, the curvacious body, the smooth fingers, the heaving of the torso as every breath grew stronger. And yes, the eyes.

What was it about those eyes? The fact that they weren't blinking or asking for mercy. Had they accepted their fate? Mocking him that if he went ahead with it, he would have a guilt ridden existence for the rest of his years? Or was it the last bravado of a flame about to go off, almost saying 'There's more where I came from brother'.

Or was it him? Was the blood on his hands getting harder and harder to wipe off? Was it a tussle between conscience and occupation? Or worse still, was a it a lone battle that conscience was waging to kep itself alive? To resurrect itself within a body that had forgotten its very existence?

And then, there was what my friend Jimmy Weed would refer to as a moment of clarity. To another person, his motives may be frivolous and without merit. But he knew what he was worth and believed that redemption would finally be his. And besides, if he didn't dissect that frog, he would fail the term.

Happy!

That last post...made me real happy!

One of those times

It's one of those times when I want to write
Just want to rant
To smoke
To bike

It's one of times when I want to ponder
When I want to take stock
Of death; of life
Of wrong; of right

It's one of those times when I want to breathe
To hold your hand
And hold it tight

It's one of those times that I realize
That 90 mins is a waste of time
That the final score's what's on my mind

It's one of those times that I realize
Thats we're runnin' like crazy, at light's speed
When what needs attention, is our need for weed.

Circle

I asked God for solace and peace
That He patch the tear in my fabric.

That He give me love
And the sense to appreciate it.

That He give me sorrow
And the strength to overcome it.

That He give me wealth
And the ability to live without it.

God gave me a sign today
Sorry son, I have nothing for you.

A beggar pleaded with me yesterday
Sorry, I have nothing for you.

Drop out

Maybe you want others to suffer
Perhaps you like it
Taking solace in that you're not the only one

You like being a victim, don't you
An excuse for your malevolence

You're closest to the reflection in the wine
Coz it takes you away from yourself

What are you?
The distance between what you are and what you want to be

Get in the race, and you're a prisoner
Drop out, a bird

Howdy

It's been a real long time since I wrote anything but Technical Specs and Standard Operating Procedures, interspersed with stinkers to my bosses - which by the way are decreasing in length and growing in menace and purpose.

Had a wave of sudden realization some time ago. That work isn't everything; on the contrary it's nothing. Just a meaningless exercise we all go through because we want to be able to bite of more than we can chew - Chewtyas. All of us.

So what did I do about it? To be honest, nothing much. But I'm getting there.
And just when intent was precipitating into action, the organization goes on and makes it a 45 hour work week. Not that we've ever had a work week less than 45, but it's shitty all the same. So where does that leave me? Still coming home at 1 am, watching TV and munching on junk till 3, having a fag and hitting the sack just when the roosters begin their cockahoot. Well, all that's about to change (yea right) ; the freaking irony being that im typing these words at 2:24 AM on a Saturday night. A saturday which, by the way, I spent working.

Aah. (Nothing, just felt like sighing).

Anyone reading this post let me know if the OG is enough for the GMAT? How much time would it take someone who's not touched a text book in aeons to have the OG all done and dusted?

Little pleasures - Bunked office mid-evening for a couple and odd hours last week. Had a great time sipping cutting chai, smoking Classic Regs and playing cricket on the street with boys from the neighbouring chawl.

Want to watch good cinema? Catch Dev D
Want to catch better cinema? Catch Gulaal
Want to watch even better cinema? Go make it first.

Continuance

The human race. thankless. covetous.
Its desire for more
Fueling Godlessness
Abetting avarice.

An unholy struggle, waged against the self
A race against time
For strength. wealth. power.
An inevitable end; six feet under.

Did the elements ever desire more?
Did the earth ever want to flow?
The oceans fly?
The air rest?

Is nature doomed to permanence?
With morbid reflections of cruel existence?

Earth,
Cause of battle
And the ground for it
That for the many journeys undertaken on it
It's stillness stands preordained

Air,
Fated to invisibility.
An unseen orphan, longing to be held

Water,
Doomed to rain upon us
To be trapped within earth, to lose existence

Or is this continuance reward for natures self-denial?
And death, a result of desire?

3 am

Treasure hunt with kids less than half my age - Freedom
Panwala outside Fr. Agnels still recognising me after all these years - Happiness
A water-soaked evening with friends - Fun
Emosanal atyachaar from Dev.D - Awesome

Stretches at 3 am in the morning - Relief
Chat with an out-of-bounds friend - Sweet
Palestine-Israel conflict - Sad
Lust for wealth - Fruitless

Structures at Hiranandani - Heartless
Ambition - Fantasy; Reality - Death
Hansie Cronje - Fall Guy
Next poem - When?

Reality TV - Unreal
Life mein aaraam ho toh ideas aatey hain - Lux