Conclusion.

Do you wish to continue on this blog?
-May be...

Have you run out of things to say?
-Quite on the contrary. I have so much to say, that I don’t know where to start from.

So are you saying, you are going to write, not going to write... which one is it, I’m confused!
-Well, I guess I am just saying that I’m not going to write for sometime... But I guess I’ll come back...

-But why this hiatus?
a) Well, the hiatus, started quite some time back... so this is just a formal declaration
b) I’m busy... genuinely, really, really busy
c) Nobody visits my blog anymore, what’s the point :(

-Are you unhappy?
Why do you say that? No, I’m not. Don’t go by my puppy face. :) I’m happy. Yes, not excitedly happy, but very calmly happy.

-Any reason for this formal declaration?
Well, I didn’t want, my last post to be called ‘Confusion to Conclusion’... I wanted it to be called ‘Conclusion’. So here it is...

The conclusion. (Shuts the laptop, walks to the window, and lights a cigarette)

Confusion and Conclusion

The Kirghiz tribe believes that as the moon completes a cycle- one from full moon to darkness, from completeness to nothingness- its dying parts waft away into the sky... like sawdust... giving birth to stars...

As I stand here today, looking at the moonless blue and at the plentiful stars dotting the summer sky, I wish I could pick up each one of them, carefully and vigilantly, and put it back, sawdust by sawdust to spot the moon again... travel the other way round...

My mind is flooded with thoughts... not worries... thoughts... like the night... where the stars gleam through sinisterly, etching strange patterns on the mossy walls of ols buildings. You wish you could see things more plainly, see them how they are. But all that is visible is the shadow on the wall. Shadows from your past... shadows of the future... and you are stranded wondering about your present. You try and chase the shadow... but all that you are left with is the cold feeling on your hand from the wet mossy wall.

But somewhere deep down, you know, that it's not far away... the reversal... when the moon will start to materialise into the sky... and before you know it, it will be a full moon night... and you'll see things clearly... not in the glare of the white sun, but in the gentle silverweed of the moon... You'll feel the summer breeze caressing your face... and you'll know... just know...

By then you would have completed the cycle... the cycle from confusion to conclusion...

Fooled by Randomness...

15th Jan 2009. I was 25. She was 23. Coldplay. Lenny Kravitz was kravitzing. The statement. It’s really hot. My body.

You might be a big fish in a little pond, doesn’t mean you’ve won.

Now the words have died. It’s just the mumbled music and the guitar playing... And a finger... Random Names... Stupid Laughter... I love this song... Mine made you laugh... Make it nice.

And were stoned good... Good stoned. Stone. Why stone? Rock. Were rocked.

And so I picked it up... no, not it. Them. I picked up two stones... rubbed them together, intending to light a fire. A stone fire.

Everybody wants a happy ending

For so long you type, and this is what you come up with? A happy ending!

What do you think of yourself?

The end.

It’s not, it can’t be...

A Little High

A little high is how I like it. A little high like now. High enough to forget, but little enough to remember. High enough to live, little enough to end it. High enough to let it go, little enough to hold it back.

And so I stand at the pub, alone. A little high. The band plays my favourite song- wish you were here... The woman in red dress sits on a high stool at the bar, slender fingers tapping the rim of the tall glass... the man in stripped shirt, loosens his tie and orders for one more scotch on the rocks... the head bangers in the front row, their beer bottles held high, long hair following the rhythmic pattern of the music... I stand, and watch memories playing out in my head. Memories of happier times... when people smoked in the pub... when the heavy scent of tobacco, mingled with the fragrance of expensive perfume and wafted away, creating a heavy concoction... times when I would stand in the front row, chant out the lyrics and bang my head to the beat of the song... times when I would hold a woman close to me... Her hair touching my face... my arms around her waist... swaying slowly to some old love song... And then the memories dissolve... Only the lights remain... blue and yellow and green... and shadows... and reality... and the little ‘highness’... and the little loneliness...

They say that parallel universe exists... and therefore a man exists in parallel dimensions... Different copies of him... Like photocopies... and out of those multiple existences, only one of them is happy. The rest of them stand at the bar, taking swigs at their rum and coke... a little high...

They also say, your blog is like your diary... Well, I disagree... how I wish, it would BE like a diary... how I wish, I could write EVERYTHING I wish to write... how I wish, I knew, how to say, what I WANT to say... how I wish... But, I’m just a little high. High enough to forget, but little enough to remember. High enough to live, little enough to end it. High enough to let it go, little enough to hold it back....

Ponder...

I guess sometimes fairy tales and magical stories, say more than what your own words can express. So, I’ll just let these few lines from Harry Potter do the talking this time.

- It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.
-It is my belief... that the truth is generally preferable to lies.
-Curiosity is not a sin.... But we should exercise caution with our curiosity... yes, indeed.
-Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it.
-Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right, and what is easy
-Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?
-I say there are spots that don't come off.... Spots that never come off, d'you know what I mean?
-There was no point in worrying yet.... what would come, would come... and he would have to meet it when it did
-Time is making fools of us again.
- No, I think I'll just go down and have some pudding and wait for it all to turn up.... It always does in the end.

This post is for you...

It’s for that one rainy evening, when we sat on the second floor of McDonald’s at Andheri, trying to figure out our lives…
This post is ‘just for the time being’
This post is for: ‘What would you do for love?’
It’s to that one early morning, when we sat on a beach, half stoned, watching waves crash at our feet, speaking in silence
To the first time, you came to my place, when I skipped office, because I was down with a fever
To the times, when we fought and did not speak for days
And the times, when we made up after the fights
This post is a dedication to all the rickshaw rides in the sleepless city
To all the movies at Fame Adlabs
To all the Home deliveries from Alpha.
To all the alu-fry, daal, and egg-curry and magi, cooked in the 1503 kitchen
This post is a toast to the good times; we have had in Toto’s
And the better times we had in Shack
To our drunken feats in Rio’s
And Midnight buffets in Land’s End
This post is a dedication to the mundane, the everyday and ordinary things in life
and also about finding happiness in those everyday things
This post is about my life, in a lonely city… which was not so lonely after all…
The memories reside in the folds of the pages of old books, in the sudden scent of a known perfume, in a pair of blue suede shoes, a song in my iPod…
This post is an ode to all those memories, silent and unspoken
This post is for you….

Life in Technicolor

It is flowing through my veins and rushing to my head, filling me up, draining me out, and filling me up again. My vision is a swift swirl of blue and white. The sunlight etches intricate patterns on the road, a chaotic knit of grey and golden. I am walking down the road. Only this time, it is not a real road. Nothing that I see is really real. Only the music, that mingles with my blood and rushes to my head, and bursts out in colourful bubbles is true.

Nothing can touch me now. The brown dog at the corner of the street, the smoke coiling up from the steaming tea pot of the road side tea stall, the cars… blazes of black and silver speeding past, nothing . I cannot touch them either. I can only watch. Like one watches a movie. Observe. The rhythm. The beat. The way everything fits into the sound. Life surrounding me, orchestrated to the subtlest note of the music. Playing out like a fancy techno visualisation. As if everything else was created after the music. Planned according to it. And suddenly, everything seems so perfect. The wind after the sudden autumn shower ruffling my hair, the golden sunlight lighting up the mossy wet walls, the smell corn being roasted…

the music is becoming louder…. Reaching a crescendo…

Life in technicolor.