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.

Last Nights

We were at D’s place in Cal. The night before she left for Bombay. It was coming to an end. The lights were turned out. The music played slowly on the Sony sound system. We hadn’t started smoking yet. We started only a year later. We were high on alcohol. The door which led to the open terrace besides D’s room was open. The fragrance of jasmine flowers, planted in pots, strong and intoxicating, wafted in the humid summer breeze. The three of us, D, P and I lay under the whirring ceiling fan. Silent. Listening to the Anjan’s ‘Bondhu’. Finally P spoke.

So, this is it. This is how it ends. Our last night together. 15 years, and this is what remains.

It was difficult. Difficult, to accept that it would not be the same again. The times that we had left behind. The times spent in dingy classrooms of our school. Times, when we bunked tuitions and ate at cheap restaurants... when we roamed the streets of South Calcutta, singing newly learnt tunes from Bengali Rock Bands... the movies at the Lighthouse theatre... eating beef rolls at Nizam’s... Drinking old monk at Olypub... Our culinary misadventures at P’s place... the delightful fried rice and chicken at D’s place... The nights spend in ‘beckoning the spirits’... The musical endeavours on the brightly lit second floor of Barista at Park Street. This was life, as we knew it. This was our world. And now, D was leaving for Bombay... and the night was all we had.

Jump cut to three years later. And things hadn’t changed much. Sure, we had started smoking. Cigarette and other stuff. We were drinking Teacher’s instead of old Monk. The music, playing on the iPod was different. And yes, the city too. We were in the sleepless city. On the second floor of a bungalow called ‘West Virginia’, belonging to an irksome Christian family. But, well apart from that nothing much had changed. The three of us were still together. And it was the last night, one more time. D was leaving the sleepless city, and going back to Calcutta. The room was dark, barring the mellow yellow light streaming out of the rectangular Fab-India lamp. P sat slouching back on the cushion, fiddling with the guitar.

The last two years went exactly as we had planned... well almost. Our suburban existence, our own place, 1503, 800 square feet with a view of the Arabian Sea. It came with its ups and downs. Well ups mostly... with the stray, Bombay rains... train blasts... D getting lost... S meeting with an accident... friends walking out... financial crisis... you know the regular day to day stuff. We were out of our comfortable cocoons. We had grown up. But we didn’t outgrow each other. And so we smiled, sat back and talked about the good old times, raised a toast. But this time it was different. Because we had that this was not the end. There were more last nights to come.

Afterthought: I don’t know, how would life be without D and P. I guess I don’t want to know either. I just know that they will be there no matter what, thick and thin. And knowing this makes life a lot easier... makes me a happy person.

Sleep

This post is a result of deep agony, a state of acute ‘sleeplessness’, and a burning desire to call it a day and crash... but I’m not giving in yet... I’m going to fight it, and I’m going to write...

Let’s start out by doing some basic math. Don’t worry. I’m getting to my point.

So they say that you can go without food for a week at a stretch and still be breathing (if not more)... but one week without a wink of sleep, and chances are that you’ll be lulled into sleep forever.

Normal people, sleep for 8 hours a day.
If 8 hours of sleep= alive and kicking
And 0 hour of sleep= fatality
Then well, you know, mathematically, I’m half dead.

Some six months back, when I started this blog, I didn’t realise the tremendous power of foresight that I posses. I thought ‘Memoirs of a sleepless city’ was a harmless title, a nostalgic whiff of fragrance, a thing of the past. But take it from me, and hear me out carefully, when I say- there is nothing, and I mean NOTHING, romantic about being sleepless. If I knew the title would back fire on me, like this, I’d think twice. Alas... It’s too late...





This is how it happened...

The first seven days are exciting. Yes, this is how life in a b-school is supposed to be, isn’t it? Going down to the all night cafeteria, at 2’o clock, sneaking a smoke in the loo, and pre-reading the first chapters of Kotler.

Week three comes, and the situation is a little different. The classes from 8 in the morning to 8 in the evening have started taking a teeny-weenie toll on you. You are struggling to finish your case study assignment, and you don’t have the slightest clue about what ‘Cooper Fabrics should be doing to get their sales up’, leave apart a contingency plan. Before you could get Cooper Fabrics out of the mess, you realise it’s four o’clock.

Enter second month, and you are well into the methodical madness. Now, you have a new problem on hand. This thing called an FCQ (Don’t bother about the full form). So, it’s this weekly test. But like every other thing in a b-school, this one too, comes with a twist. You don’t know out of the 17 odd subjects (Yes, 17 it is... it’s not a typo), which test you are going to take tomorrow morning. So, you try and do some methodical guessing, some furious elimination and finally a few coin tosses, and boil it down to 5 subjects, for the night. By the time, you finish with all this, it’s already 10’o clock and your eyes are screaming for some rest. But mind over matter. So, you smoke profusely, stay awake, juggle with 3 subjects, fail to understand all three of them and turn to the fourth for refuge, only to realise its 6’0 clock. An hour later you sit in the exam hall and watch the 10th subject on your well-educated guess list, sitting pretty in form of a question paper. You curse yourself, not for not studying, but because you stayed up all night... But Alas! It’s too late.

And so I say, and I beg, and plead, and scream out in my head for some sleep. I can do with some. Okay, perhaps, a lot. A whole day... or a whole week... Yes... I’ll settle for a week.
But then, when you’re in a place like, where I’m right now, you know that your plead/ prayer/ demand is falling on deaf ears. You know, that after finishing this post, you have to get back to doing your FinAcc assignment.

And so I resign, give up, surrender. And a couple of lines from one of my favourite song play out in my head.

This one’s dedicated to her... The ever elusive enchantress, the one who can take away all your worries, the one who comes to bed every night, the one I miss so badly that it hurts...

Sleight of hand and twist of fate
On a bed of nail, she makes me wait
And I’ll wait without you....
With or Without You...

Rain

Imagine yourself high up in the sky, gliding around lazily. A bird’s eye view of the city. Come down in concentric circles. The tiny dots acquire shape- regular and geometric… irregular and chaotic. Rooftops of high rises, serpentine roads, patches of greenery, shimmering water bodies. Further descending, you notice newer colourful specs appearing… cars, billboards, trains like millipedes crisscrossing the city. The August sky is pregnant with dark rolling monsoon clouds. The city looks a dangerous shade of grey. The wind picks up. Open your wings and let the coil take control of you. You are being tossed around like a weightless plastic bag. Dust from the street kicks up and blurs your vision. And then the water breaks.

Inside, the windows are open. The orange Fab-India curtains flap witlessly, in the gusty wet wind. The raindrops arranged like sheets of sleet change direction with the squall. Ravishankar plays the Malhar raga on the iPod. Let’s say it’s a Wednesday afternoon. The guilty pleasure of skipping office spreads through the body, like a shot of cocaine. There’s no milk at home. So, they cut a thick piece of lemon and squish it into the freshly prepared tea. In another half an hour, they’d go back to bed… hold each other… watch the raindrops trickling down the window pane, as they make love. Waking up, they would take a walk to the nearby beach… the wet sand touching their feet, the wispy drizzle caressing their bodies.

And so the August afternoon, turns into an inky monsoon evening. Orange street lights reflect off the wet street… black umbrellas everywhere, as the crowd returns home… the Bhuttawala roasting sweet corn on the earthen kiln… street kids play in the grimy water of the roadside pothole.

Start ascending… follow the same helical pattern. First the umbrellas will become mere black dots, then the orange neons will turn into an illuminated pearl necklace… the cars with their headlights like urban fireflies… rise further, until the whole city looks like a glittering electronic circuit board… then further up… and further… until darkness engulfs you…

Coming back to Life

I don’t know how to start this post.

It’s like that awkward feeling that resides in your gut when you go to your workplace after a long break. Nervous smile... piled up work, out-of –touch friends greeting you on a lazy Monday morning. Yes, I’ve been absent from the blog scene for quite some time... and so much has happened in between, that I’m a little lost.

It has taken me

· almost three months,
· a trip back to the sleepless city,
· my favourite cane sofa and
· a couple of pegs of Bacardi,
to pen down my comeback post.

Quite a tall order for 500 words, eh? But, truth is I’ve tried and I couldn’t come up with the first line. It’s always the hardest part. I knew, once I was able to get past that illusive opening line, the rest would follow, but I could not make it happen. Everything that I was living, was too sharp and too clear, so I could never tell where to start- like a map that shows too much sometimes can be useless.

To put it in a nutshell ‘I’m living a different life’.
· From a plush Bombay apartment, to sharing a room with two other guys.
· From making a decent living for myself to thinking every time I buy a pack of cigarettes.
· From comfortable ‘wake up at 11o’ clock and go to office’ to ‘run half asleep to attend lectures at 8 in the morning’
· From a horizontal learning curve to a vertical one
· From scrumptious cuisine at fancy restaurants to the bland mess food (which is vegetarian, and this has got NOTHING to do with my previous post [except for it being a cruel joke played out by fate])
· From late night shows to late night ‘group-study’ sessions
· From ‘cut-throat’ to ‘I wanna take your spleen out’ competition
· From living in the ‘sleepless city’ to living in the memories of the place.
Life has surely changed for me.

I’m back to school, a b-school to be more precise. For people, who have gone through this hell hole, I don’t need to explain, what it is like. And for people who haven’t, no amount of explanation will suffice. But I refuse to go through this alone, and therefore will be torturing you regularly with the accounts of insanity from my life.

For the times, that I’ve lost, I will make up for it. Yes, I promise. I cannot deny you the sadistic pleasure that you will experience once you read about my life in the last two months. But, now is not the time.

Now, it’s time for me to enjoy my well deserved holiday and pour myself another drink...

Veg Food is like Gay Porn!

Ok, ok... calm down, calm down…

I know there are a lot of vegetarian people who come to my blog, and often :-)
So, let me just clarify, this is not a dig at you people…

I don’t know, if any gay man/ woman visits my blog, but in case you do, this is not a dig at you either…

This is just a simple statement, coming from a non-vegetarian straight guy!

Ok, now let me explain:

Premise: Men watch porn.

So, when men (straight men, I mean) watch porn, they are basically looking at the girls in action, doing whatever they do. The men in the video are really redundant for us. I mean, they being there/ not being there, doesn’t really make a difference to our lives or to our porn watching.

Similarly, think of a situation, where you go to a party, and there are a variety of scrumptious dishes, waiting for you to be savored. Now, a true blue non-vegetarian (like me) would never really, care for what’s there in the vegetarian category (yes, that’s how, I think of it: category) and would straight away jump for the meat! So, all the vegetarian dishes, that are there, is really unnecessary for a non-vegetarian.

Okay, now think of a situation, where you go to a party, where there is NO non-veg food… Say, it’s all vegetarian!! What do you do then… yes, do you see it now??? It’s like, a straight man stuck with gay porn, with all the useless men in it!! It’s sex, and it’s porn, but it’s that one time when you wonder, how to get rid of it!!

Guess, I have made my point… As, I said, this is a non-vegetarian straight guy’s POV. Would like to hear, what you have to say.. So, pour in those comments!

(Thanks VB, for that line, Veg food is like gay porn… WHOA!!)

Rambling on a summer night

A lot has changed since my last post… For starters the city… I am back in Kolkata.

I sit in my room… 1’o clock in the morning… the AC droning softly… the summer night outside; very quiet; the Kadam tree still standing upright and silent, the occasional rickshaws lazily going by, their wheels whirring loudly, breaking the silence of the night... this neighborhood is quiet, barring a distant din of late night TV shows.

I think of this time of the night in the other city… Coming back late from work… ordering late night Pizza delivery (which continues to be the only hope for us bachelors in alien cities)… sitting down in the hall, on the cane chair… switching on my favorite corner light… pouring myself a drink… lighting a smoke… playing David Gilmour on the I-pod… every action so known, so repetitive, so lonely, and so personal… In another half an hour after finishing my first drink, I would switch to a livelier Billy Joel, go stand near the window… feel the sea breeze on my face… watch cars zoom past on Juhu road, their headlights shining like little golden fireflies… the sleepless city…

I guess, I have always found a certain kind of a pleasure in living in the past (which doesn’t mean, I hate the present)… I have always longed for things which have left me or which I have left behind… I have always let little strings from yesterdays tug away at my heart. So, now that I sit in my room, filled with memories from my childhood and books from my adolescence, I can’t help but think about going back to my room in Bombay! Going back to the writing desk, where I hardly ever sat down… to the shabby sleeping mattresses (though I confess, I’m happy sleeping on a bed after three years!)… To the large orange cushions… the white electric kettle… the cane pin-up board (with photographs of the ‘Mumbai-family’ on it)… to 1201…

Also very strangely (and yes, I must say this), I never thought, I’d miss my office so much… I miss my cubicle at the corner (1D21)… my little white board (where every afternoon, I’d scribble a few lines or draw a strange face)… the coffee machine in the corridor… the cigarette shop right outside our office. But most of all, I miss the people. I miss M (one who used to sit diagonally opposite to my cubi) and M (who used to sit in the next cubi), and P (the crazy one!)… and P (the Boss!). I miss my band, and practicing with them after office… and I miss our magazine ‘W’, which I had a ball of a time, editing and being involved with… Our hastily planned pizza parties… the aimless loitering in the canteen… I miss Gateway Park.

Well, and then comes the hardest part… my friends. And the times spent together… The crazy nights… The brilliant-est conversations… The madness… But that surely calls for a separate post.

For now I must leave you with these lines, which has been playing in my head for quite sometime now:

What shall we use

To fill the empty spaces

Where we used to talk?

How shall I fill The final places?

How should I complete the wall?

In Bed

This one is a game, I found going on in an Orkut Community. Basically, all you have to do is read what your fortune says. Then add ‘IN BED’ at the end of it. The result is hilarious. So, check what your fortune says and add it in the comments section


Your talents will be recognized and suitably rewarded… IN BED (Ahem…)

Behind an able man, there are always other able men IN BED!!! (Ouch!)

You will pass a difficult test that will make you happier IN BED!! (Phew…)

A thrilling time is in your immediate future IN BED (Yippee!!)

In God we trust; all others must pay cash IN BED!!! (Amen!)

You have an important new business development shaping up IN BED. (Ermm…)

You have a potential urge and the ability for accomplishment IN BED (Let’s GO!!)

You are soon going to change your present line of work IN BED (ummm…)

Versatility is one of your outstanding traits IN BED (Thank You!)


The only good is knowledge and the only evil is ignorance....IN BED!!! (Be informed)

The philosophy of one century is the common sense of the next IN BED! (Move on!)

Society prepares the crime: The criminal commits it IN BED. (Joint Venture??)

You will never need to worry about a steady income IN BED. (I call it ‘Hard Work’)

Stop searching forever, happiness is just next to you IN BED. (You mean, the pillow )

Your mind is creative, original and alert... IN BED (Alert…yes… but mind??)

Avoid Hasty decisions...IN BED... (Difficult… but, if you say so…)

You will be recognized and honored as a community leader IN BED (Finally!!)

Promise only what you can deliver...IN BED (but… I mean… you know…)

You are talented in many ways... IN THE BED (Thank you, once again!!)

The great pleasure in life is doing what people say you cannot do in BED. (Forbidden fruit!)

Orange Mumbai...

That’s what K said about the city… Bombay is orange

The three of us were sitting on a rock at Bandstand, D, K and I. The salty sea water touched our feet… The dirty Arabian Sea swirled away merrily around the rocks. The sun had set. The sky was a dull shade of orange, turning to purple.

After the first 7 days at K’s place, I had finally managed to find a place of my own at Crimson Tower, Flat No: 2003. It was on the twentieth floor. Everything from up there looked small and insignificant and orange-ish. I had moved in with P, A and A, my friends from workplace. Soon K moved in with us.

Hardly two weeks had passed, and already the city was changing me … I was starting to find a sense of freedom, unlike anything I had ever known before. Living all by myself, working to earn a living, staying with people I hardly knew, being accountable and responsible for the things I do…

During this time, we started hanging out at Bandstand. D used to come all the way from TISS, and join us at Bandra station. We used to head to Mocha, where every time we religiously ordered a portion of Lava Lava (and at times, two of them!!).

The sound of the waves lapping up on the rock and then retreating , the setting sun, couples sitting and making out shamelessly on adjacent rocks, the ever-enigmatic ‘Jeevesh terrace’ looming large behind us, and the three of us, singing our hearts out… that’s how our weekends went by.

On one such weekend, K pointed out that the city was orange. Everything about it… the light streaming out of the street lamps… the orange tiles on the Barista floor… the colour of the flag flying at every party office … the Fab-India curtains at the window… the cushion covers… This city was orange…

We also thought, we will write a book some day, and it will be called ‘Orange Mumbai’. Well, we are yet to start on that, but at least it’s got a preface now…

This was of course the calm before the storm… soon the pirates would arrive on the shores of Bombay, and change life as we knew it… but then that’s one whole different story..

(To D and K: This one is for you guys… To the January evenings… Lava Lava and Bandstand! )

I want to break free...

Yes, that’s the song you’ll hear when you call me…

It’s a song by the British band- The Queens. Apparently, this was Freddy Mercury’s way of ‘coming-out’ to his mom. This song also became an anthem for the ANC in South Africa in the late-'80s when Nelson Mandela was still in jail and the white government's apartheid policies were still in place. But that’s just a little trivia, about the song… that’s not the point of the post…

I guess every piece of art becomes popular, when people start associating it with their personal experiences. And this one is no different… We all want to break free. We want to break free from sadness, melancholy, hatred, boredom, more work, less work, no work, hard work, smart work, appraisals, deadlines, assignments, plans and basically everything in life that binds and gags and makes you suffer.

But even that’s not the point of the post…

So, Dude, what are you getting to??

Pregnant silence

Pregnant silence

Pregnant silence

Pregnant silence

Drum rolls …drrrrrrrrrrrr……

I have resigned from my job!!!!! Yes dear folks… I have resigned

I HAVE BROKEN FREE!! (Umm…well, at least for the time being)

Memoirs of a sleepless city- 1

It was a winter night in Bombay. I lay in the bed, drifting in and out of a reverie. It was my third night in the city. The first two days had been really frenzied…running around with all my stuff, from one end of the city to the other. Finally I had ‘settled in’ at Kaustav’s place…for a week.

The orange neon light, from the street outside, streamed in through the blemished glass casement. The midnight radio hummed away softly, somewhere in the next room. Other sounds included the soft drone of Sandip’s snoozing, the street dog’s incessant howl, and the occasional cars whooshing past…..They say the city never sleeps…..Well at least I wasn’t….

The development of events, in the past two weeks had been really rapid. One leading to another, without giving much time to contemplate. I have been mulling up the idea to come to Bombay for a very long time…so, when I was asked to give my choice for the place of posting, I never thought twice while selecting Bombay. In another week, my training in Calcutta ended. Soon, I was, standing in the long queue, at the Sealdah station, to buy my ticket for Gwaneshwari Express to Bombay. And, in three days, I was standing in front of my house; my suitcase chock-a-block with my clothes, books, and shoes. My handbag crammed to limit, with packets of biscuits and wafers, and my wallet…..well, the status of that was quite unlike the other two. As I waited for the cab to arrive, I watched the Kadam tree, tall and upright, with its bare branches, drooping into our balcony, the long-standing rickety wooden trolley, right under the tree, where the Istiriwala used to press clothes day n night, I watched Ma’s cotton saree, fluttering in the wind, left for drying up in our balcony, and everything else, that had become so familiar, that I had never cared to take a second look at them. But at that moment, as the cab pulled up, my eyes drank up every sight and sound that was around me.

Yes, I was stepping out of home, stepping out for good. Going to a city that attracted me like a forbidden craving… to the city that never sleeps.

I'd rather..

1. Be at home, reading Doris Lessing, drinking Tia Maria, smoking a cigarette and enjoying the guilty pleasure of skipping office on a Monday afternoon

2. Be in Shantiniketan, getting lost while taking a wrong turn in some unknown village, and spend the night under the starry sky…

3. Make time stop, so that the weekend would never end, and the three of us would be together, at least for a little while longer…

4. Be with my friends, on a trip to a nearby hill station… may be Matheran

5. Be eating home cooked dal, rice and aloo fry rather than ordering Joey’s pizza, every other day

6. Stop working, quit smoking, and start exercising…

7. Become a Buddhist monk, and sell my revolution!

8. Be friends with you….

First

The first times are always special. Your first day in school, the first time you went for a movie all alone, the first time you flunked in a subject, your first drink, the first kiss, your first job, the first time… you know… I guess you have got the point.

Likewise, this post is special, because this is my first post. It was due for a very long time… but somehow my wise words didn’t get a chance to sail in the network of cyber channels. But now here they are, to enlighten you and more importantly to unburden me. I don’t promise to post on a regular interval (if you are reading this... then probably you are thinking … who the f*ck cares anyway!!). But I’ll try my level best… this is not a promise to the reader (because I don’t have any!) but a pledge that I’m saying to myself.

Well, there are many things that I want to say… but I’m going to take it slow…

Will sign off with these words by Lifehouse

I'm feeling alive all over again
As deep as the sky that's under my skin
Like being in love, she says, for the first time
Maybe I'm wrong, I'm feeling right
Where I belong with you tonight
Like being in love to feel for the first time