To Have And Not To Hold

Who Knows...

2010-03-15T12:47:00.000-07:00

It's been a long road that I have been traveling and now finally I feel so exhausted and tired with no strength to carry on. What must I do to make it right? I cannot understand it, each time I sit somewhere with no will to carry on, I tell myself to have faith in myself and try to make it. But now it feels like there is no end in sight. It's the darkest hour of the night. I am trapped in my own being and all I need is to just stop.

Maybe I should just give it all up and move on. Maybe it isn't for me anymore. Maybe all of this was a waste, it was just me trying to run after a foolish dream. I should give up.

Perhaps I will give up. Soon.
Very soon.

And then

2010-02-25T11:39:00.000-08:00

Why must life be so complicated? Sometimes I wonder if it is on purpose; this charade of giving you all that you desire. It's never what you really wanted, it can never be in that shape or size or manner as you demanded. Why must there be games in life. Why must it be difficult. Why can't it be easy - just for once? Okay, maybe not easy but just simple?

Why?

Safe Trip Home

2009-12-29T09:39:00.000-08:00

It's been months that I wrote something.

For the longest time I have not had the urge to write. Though in these past few months I have written, got some of the biggest achievements of my career in publishing, but they were all written for someone else, by someone else, it wasn't me writing for myself.

But tonight, sitting wide awake on this cold December night, am writing for myself. After a very longtime. The words have come and they want to pour write out of me. I don't know what am writing or if I will make sense, but then how could you make sense of something which is so close to you in extreme close-up, so close that it is out of focus-you can only see the blurred big mass of color. The edges are all soft and rounded off.

In the coming few months I am going to face the biggest challenge of my life so far. The challenge to believe and take a leap of faith. Once again. I don't know if I will be able to, if it will work, if what am thinking of doing is right, if this is it, if finally am ready or if it is time.

But after a very longtime I have an ache in my bones, I have an unsettled feeling in my gut and feel the urge to just let go. I have over the past several years, so carefully preserved myself that I have mostly been afraid of getting a chink in my armor(-if it is or was an armor to begin with) and now suddenly I want to leave it behind and feel lighter and feel the wind in my hair. Is it right?

I can't remember when was the last time I felt the same. Actually I do, it was a few years ago, I did what I had to and it turned my life around -for the better and for the worse. Though in hindsight it did work itself out, everything does they say. I saw it working out too, I changed myself-hopefully for the better.

I think am ready.

Its Happening

2009-05-17T11:52:00.000-07:00

I can feel it. The fangs taking their place on my flesh.

It took me a year and painful amounts of resolve to get them out and they're back again, edging closer by the day and running amok by the night.

I hope that dawn comes soon, before its too late.

Still Havn't Found What Am Looking For

2009-04-06T12:41:00.000-07:00

It's extremely uncanny how things change, tides turn and how time comes back like clock-work.

After three years of back breaking work, constant running, meeting, talking, interviewing, chatting, partying 24X7. While I was there living it, it was all that I had ever wanted in my life. I had asked for it and got it. I never really thought it would end, atleast not soon.

But then it ended, and now I don't know what to do with myself. What do you do when you get what you want and then it passes? Do you think about what more you want? What new can you think of?

The problem is not even making something new up, the real problem is how do you deal with the fact that you had it all and then it passed?

How?

In The Country Of Deceit

2009-01-12T08:47:00.000-08:00

'Why did I do it?
Why did I enter the country of deceit?
What took me into it?
I hesitate to use the world love,
but what other word is there?
And yet, like the word "Atonement",
the word love is too simple for the complicated
emotions and responses that made me do what I had done.
Ultimately, I did it because he was who he was,
because we met.
That's all'.

Queen

2008-12-30T11:06:00.000-08:00

"To tell you the truth...you talk in a vry queenish way...its a bit off ptting..."

I got this as a text message from some random guy in Goa, who I'd been texting for exactly 2 weeks before I decided to put a stop to the whole thing. Did it sting? Ofcourse! But it also got me thinking about me...

I have a voice which is quite unique. Its not the usual rich baritone that others of my age have. For some reason God decided to bless me with a voice which is thin like a woman's (copy of my mum's voice acutally).

Almost everytime that I speak I public I have gotten the "look". I have been made fun of, jeered, laughed at, ridiculed, irritated and sometimes admired and appreciated for my vocal capabilities.
More often than not if someone unknown was to call me, they'd think that its a woman on the other end of the line, thereby sometimes offering me the chance to get away from pesky phone calls

"Hello...am I speaking with Mr XXX?"
"Who's this?"
"Am calling from XXX Bank ma'am, I was wondering if I could talk to him about a credit card?"
"Oh..no no..he is in the shower please call after an hour"
"Oh Sure, thanks!"

...and sometimes causing great delay in me accessing important information..like from my bank account!

"...I dont think you're Mr XXX"
" I just gave you all the info about my bank account including my secret password..."
"Yes but still am not convinced"

But for everything I've never ever, even once wished I had a voice different than others. If anything I have been proud of this natural gift that I have, having defined me in many ways.

But that one sms tonight really did sting and for the first time in my life am considering trying to change my voice, begin smoking or something maybe...get in the set pattern everyone has for the world. Belong somewhere.

I think am a bit tired of fighting and ignoring all the barbs thrown at me.

Maybe its just better to be 'one of them'.

Just Me

2008-12-25T09:08:00.000-08:00

They say I should go out more often, put my profile back up again on networking websites, go to parties and meet men. I would find that someone I so desperately seek.
The truth is I am scared to do that. I am scared of doing that failing, like I have before. I am not pretty or muscled or look the way guys who get dates do. I am average and have been okay with the whole fact. What I am not okay with is the loneliness which comes along with it.

I have friends, those who call sometimes to talk about problems which affect them or things which bother them or address or phone numbers which they need. No ever calls to just ask how I am doing. To ask me if I, the me is okay. They all see my face, the calm composed and very rational and precise guy and stop right there.

He should be fine, he is not crying, he is not lamenting or is laughing. The truth is am alone. More alone than I have ever been in my life. I live two lives, one which everyone wants to see and the other I live when am not laughing or talking with others. I wonder what is the point of it, having any of thes people on my phonebook, on my messengers, on my facebook, on my outlook.

I run to escape my life everyday. And then realise that I can't so fail.
And fall.
Everday.

Sex

2008-12-14T08:46:00.000-08:00

"Are you sure?"
"...no...but it doesn't really matter, I wanna see what its like?"
"...hmm..don't worry you're going to like it"
That's how the conversation began in the front seat of the car. All that was really needed now was just a quiet corner in the parking lot for a little over ten minutes.

"what if someone came?..dont look down, you keep a watch out"
Casual encounter was the easiest way to describe the incident, only that the causalness of it was so exciting that it kept on happening for a while. A long while. There were parking lots, deserted streets, blind alleys, parks and once a deserted bunglow.

Wether he was attracted to me or I was, it is a bit hard to say. It was the convinence of the whole arrangement perhaps. We weren't the most beautiful of people have these secret rendevouzs, we were just two very medicore and very desperate people who were hungry. After knowing that, that one person who is supposed to change your life, might not actually come in life, we decided to turn to the next person we could find. Him. And Me.

I didn't even know if he was infact straight, gay, bi, curious or just horny. In anycase these labels mean very little to me, having at times not even seen the faces of those who I did the unmetionables with. And yes, I was safe.
But why am I talking about him so much tonight, because I saw him at the party.

We ignored each other. And no, there was no sex. Not anymore.

No More!

2008-12-14T08:18:00.001-08:00

Its been a while since I have been a regular at the page 3 circuit and as much I hoped not as someone who is invited as a guest though, strictly for work purposes. It was super exciting in the begining to see all these celebrities so to speak, the designers, the movie stars, stylists, socialites, businessmen, bouncers and ofcourse the toy boys.

But lately all of the same people who I was excited to be with, interview or get answers from, have been the reason for my nausea. The levels of Botox and the number of facelifts and the amount of makeup has simply just put me on a bit of a back track, making me the odd one out at these uber cool events. I dont even know the point of organising them. Hell, I doubt even the organisers dont seem to know the point most of the times!

Like the brown skinned drunk bimbette who I met tonight said(taking me to be someone who she'd brrowed a book from) "Oooh...how lovely darling, I wish there was some more real people here, you know some of those stylists from magazines...its would be nice to see some prettiness!"
So, the reality of this is that there is nothing real about these 'real' people and I am just sick of them. Period.

OUTRAGE!

2008-11-28T21:11:00.000-08:00

I don't have words right now.

I just saw footage on tv of a mother asking her dead son to wake up. Not crying. Just urging him with all her heart, asking him to move. Touching his face, caressing his features, telling him that she will be very upset if he doesn't. She just sat there like a tiny little person who has lost everything. And she did. Her son died to save someone.

I don't have words right now, just outrage against those who have brought this upon us. May they rot in hell till eternity and find no solace till another.

When Terror Came Home

2008-11-27T08:35:00.000-08:00

12:45am
"Hello?"
"Hello beta, I am Ritu's father, am sorry to disturb you this late, but she was at the Taj tonight and now we cant get in touch with her. You're in Tv, can you help?"
"Sure Uncle, is this your number? Let me see what I can do."
"Yes...this is my number, I will wait..."

12:50am
"Hello?"
"Hi Pranav, I have a friend who is trapped in Taj, I know you have the lists of casulties at the hospital, could you please look her up? She worked there, her name is Ritu"
"Sure. Lemme call you back, meanwhile watch Vasu on Tv I this is a momentous occassion for India. We've never seen anything like this before"
"Absolutely, Please look Ritu up and call me back as soon as possible."

1:15am
"Dude, out of all the hospitals, Cama has 60 people, some dead and some alive and there is a Ritu Sehgal on list, media isnt allowed inside the hospital, I dont know anything about her condition."
"Thanks ya, lemme call her father"

1:18am
"Uncle, I tried to check, there is a Ritu at Cama, I dont know anything more. Maybe it isnt the same Ritu and even if she is, am sure she's okay. Please rush"
"Thanks beta..."
"Please call me as soon as you know anything...I'll be worried"
"Sure"

2:30am
Ritu Sharma, Age 20, Occupation: Front Desk Offier, Status: Shot Dead.

A Tragedy Called 'Fashion'

2008-11-03T22:01:00.000-08:00

There are bad films, then there are those which are outright crap, but Fashion is a tragedy which should be avoided at all costs!

The world of fashion is full of free sex, alcohol, glamour, bitches and queers. We all know that, but it is also full of some really hardworking people who have talent - A fact which Bhandarkar seems to have forgotten completely.

Bhandarkar has a lousy research team, I can totally imagine some old dirty paunchy bloke who has a lot of old filmfare issues from the 90's and got all his research from there. For there is no other justification for such an atrocity!

Bhandarkar seems to have learnt a few new terms - Show Stopper and Coke. For all throughout the movie there is just talk of that! For godsake models dont walk on the runway and raise their arms as if they're being crucified and call it drama...Also all designers are NOT gay and even if they are, they aren't all flaming queens just one step away from being Priscilla, Queen of the desert. Neither do models drink or smoke while getting their make up done, for the smell of smoke cant go away from garments even if u dryclean them and what designer would want a tipsy model on the runway anyway?

Also I do think it is absolutely unfair to repeat real incidents like Carol's unfortunate malfunction on screen with such similar detail. Bhandarkar has a fit formula now...small town girls comes to big city to become someone, hooks up with a biggie, gets a nice boss, becomes someone, then breaks up, hooks up with someone else, gets pregnant and an abortion and the boss brings her down. Then she realises her mistake and makes amends. Blah Blah Blah.

The saving grace you ask me? I would say Mugdha Godse(inspite of her Tranny wedding dress) and Piggy Chops.

Feather

2008-10-23T16:41:00.000-07:00

"An insult to the strong man that rests inside you,
you pea brained nincompoop." I could almost hear
myself screaming somewhere deep inside my head. The
voice came from so many places, those places where
generally Madonna songs, three years of office
insults, break-ups etc are kept. "Strong?"

I was searching for a feather given to me four years
(almost five now) ago by a soulmate. A soulmate he was
no less, Maybe more, but certainly not less. he had
caught the little feather between his index and middle
finger, held it till his smile had faded into mine. I
remember inhaling his strawberry-jam-sandwich breath.
The world had muted for one brief moment, till his
grip on the feather descended, the feather
transcended, I caught those moments and the feather. I
was searching for those lost moments in the feather.
Lost so, that I wasn't successful in weighing their
credence. It was one of those times when you know
you're missing something, and you know what it is, but
you're scared to express it to yourself. You try to
wash years of emotion with temporary condolence of
your own solitude and, sad but true, falsehood. The
falsehood of not missing what you miss everyday of
your life. And yes, golden moments, better than one's
experienced will arrive but are the one's gone, really
gone?

I remember him holding a Gillette Presto in hand in
some the-name-doesn't-matter hotel , one night. In
frames I remember him delicately whisper "Let me do
it, please, please, please, please." And he did so
much as to touch the razor to my foamed right cheek,
and withdrew in the same delicate mo(ve)ment. "What if
it hurts?"

I also remember the bus journey when he asked what
kind of love was I looking forward to in life. I…I
said…well you know…the one who understands…something…
someone like…err…you know…(he won the eye contact
which I was fighting so desperately against) you, I
said, it had finally blurted itself out. he smiled,
his answer wasn't expected as he said, someone with
dark hair, brown eyes, not taller than you, his smile
faded again.

I know not why I search for the feather for it was
forgotten after I passed out of the college with a
coveted degree and memories. I could swear on my life,
he forgot it in the laughter of a new ray in his life,
"a replacement" as other friends told me "you're
forgotten, haha". So I pretended to forget. I never
knew why I searched for my feather, until yesterday,
when we bumped into each other in a bus bumping its
way towards home. The availability of seats allowed
me to be seated after his, and I wondered if he was
the same person who had hugged me when he cried and
when he laughed. His destination was nearing; I hoped
he had done well in the years blinded to me. he got
up, smiled at me, eyes evidently wet, and offered a
handshake which only we (we both, only two of us)
knew, as if to remind me of the times that we had
shared, I accepted it, as if I never forgot.

Ek Jaan

2008-10-23T16:22:00.000-07:00

It's difficult to write
Poetry
On a winter afternoon
Grey
And dull
Darkness falling
Like a furry moth
(though it's not 4 o' clock yet)
Enveloping me
In a sort of suffocating vacuity
An aching nothingness
That comes from
The pent up frustration
Of having to accept
That you're mediocre
I've tried my best
To keep it from you
Tried my best
To piece together
Short
`Staccato
Sentences
With pregnant gaps
And jagged edges
Like a grey
Winter afternoon
Struggling to hold on
To it's weak light
Because it's not
4 o' clock yet
Because I'm only
twenty eight yet
An empty, passionless poet
At twenty eight.
Tried my best
So you wouldn't know
But perhaps,
You already know
That I can't anymore
That one can't have
Writer's Block forever.
That it was
Just a defence mechanism
That I am
Only a mediocre person
Terrified of my mediocrity.

I Want To Believe

2008-09-28T15:27:00.000-07:00

It will be 4am in just a few seconds and I awoke with a sudden anxiety attack.
Identity crisis at 4 in the morning, in sleep.
It cant possibly get worse than this.

Lying in bed and looking at the blades of the fan as the nightwatchman whistles under my window isnt easing anything. It used to once, now its just the same mundane banality of my existence. I live a life which could have been many things, some great perhaps, some better than others. Did I succeed? Will I succeed? I dont know. I might just be one of those many losers who live their life and contemplate every leaf that falls of the tree...or look for sympathy in the exquisitness of pain. But is my very existence painful? I dont know. I am just a being living a life which has been given to me, without asking for it or maybe I did. I dont know. They say each one of us has a purpose in life, things they need to accomplish. Whats mine?

I need to believe in something.
Anything.

Of Memories And More

2008-09-04T13:30:00.000-07:00

It was a cold December night and after standing outside staring at the moon for over an hour, I came inside and finally decided to sleep. The icy wind had left my lips frozen and my cheeks stinging. But it was exactly the reason why I was outside in the first place. I loved the whole sensation of being in that extreme, of feeling that kind of pain, it was as if someone had enveloped me in their bright aura. But thats not why am writing this.

Wrapped in my cozy quilt I woke up with a start and looked at my watch. 6:30am on a December morning, Christmas. I looked out of the tiny space through the window. It was still dark outside, possibly foggy. Who would come and knock on my door at this time? And then there it was. A firm knock. Again.

'Who is it?'
I didnt want to get out of my warm haven.
'....'
'Hello...who is it?'
'...'

The knock continued. Getting out of my quilt as the tips of my toes touched the bare marble floor, a chill swept my being, goosebumps had a field day, errupting everywhere they possibly could. Tip toeing to the door as I opened the door, I was enveloped in a big hug. And a kiss.
On the lips.

What followed next is a bit blurred. But the sensation of it is so fresh that after almost six years now, I can reach out and touch it all over again. Words would not be enough to describe the sensation of being touched. The hard callous of his palms rasping against my skin, his early morning beard tickling my throat and his hot breath in my ear. I had longed for this, but had never told him so. It was my dream, my wish which I had kept secret all these many months. Yes we were 'seeing' each other, but it was complicated, there were others - for him and me too.
His hands reached under my shirt and pulled it off me, a sudden shyness made me duck under the covers and touch him. I wanted him like I had never wanted any other and for the moment it seemed he wanted me too. Just as much. He was just as hungry. After what seemed like an eternity and covered in sweat, I looked at him. Panting for breath he smiled.

'You know I hadn't even brushed my teeth.'
'tasted wonderful'
'You're a sick person'

An eight hour office and several sms's later I stopped at the church on my way back to light a candle.
I had gotten my wish.

A Flame Burning Bright

2008-08-26T11:48:00.000-07:00

Been long, since I wrote something
anything.

Am I worried?Not really.
Do I care to worry?No.
So, no stories, no new ideas
no fire in the belly
no passion,
the twinkle in the eyes
unless, charged by something extra-ordinary
and how often does that happen?

That one idea that kept me going
helped me live, though without money
where is it?
I haven't been consumed
possessed by something in a long time.

Had a chat with myself,
another friend;
realized I do not write at all
unless provoked,
or am in a state of constant agitation.

Am much peaceful these days
happy, as a matter of fact.
Is this the onset of creative impotence?
I do not know.
What I know
is whenever the new story, idea, character
has to happen, will happen
naturally.
I can't force it
I can't orchestrate

Déjà Vu

2008-08-25T11:01:00.000-07:00

When I look back at my life, I am always reminded of how I ran away.
Ran away from people, from friends, from work, from myself. From life.
It was the easy thing to do at the time. The Accident was easy to blame. Exboyfriend was easy to blame. The shitty job was easy to blame. Everything was easy to blame but my own self. My need to just have some peace and no shouting or cursing or physically being hit, was so great that it just tore out a piece of me. And I ran. As fast as I probably could with a few broken bones in bag.
Two, almost three years in hiding, I changed. I left behind the me I knew ever, changed from the fun loving, party person, who knew just where he wanted to be and exactly what he wanted to do -to- someone who was lost, didnt know what he wanted and was completely unsure if trying to make it back up was all worth it.
It took me a year more to finally shake my docile self and get on with life. I want to be someone now. And in doing so it all came back.

The life I had left behind just came back rushing in. With full force and as much as I tried to maintain my nonchalance and pretend I wasnt affected, I was rattled inside. To see the same faces in front of me, those who at some point knew me very well, I didnt really know what to say or do. And then there was The Girlfriend. The one person I hated the most in my life, but could never hurt, so I hurt myself. Thinking maybe that will make Him realise how it was for me. But the day was just plain painful.

I didnt like to be standing infront of the happy family, pretending to be busy with work and making cute puppy faces at the little boy. For some odd reason it made me realise all that I lost.

Today, there are a few who like me for me, tell me that there will be more. That there is always more. But I know I could never do it again. Even if I really wanted to and some part of me wants to.

I gave all of me once and I lost. And now there is precious little left.

A Moment

2008-08-04T05:21:00.000-07:00

Once there was a moment.

A moment in which a lot could have been said or done. It was the perfect time, perfect location and perfect embrace. Warm breath could be felt at the back of the neck and there was a tingling sensation which gave goosebumps all over the arms. His mind was a bit clouded and suddenly wondered is this how its supposed to feel.

He looked up at the dark face and closed eyes, still wearing spectacles. And saw him sleeping contently with their face pressed in the crook of his neck. It was just perfect, his head fitted exactly into the curve of his neck. A little morning stubble grazed the side of his cheek, and he realised that it was the stubble which was giving him goosebumps. His fingers played on the back of this other being, feeling the warm, slightly sweaty skin and muscles underneath. He must work out.

Suddenly he felt embarassed of his own flabbiness and softness and made a mental note to check out the gym at work the next day. And then just as suddenly the thought had occured to him, he felt the arms move and hug him tighter, reassuring almost that it was okay.
The sex had been good, bordering on almost being brilliant - perhaps it even was - and then he had uttered those words, as if a long after due. And he wondered if they were a result of the pent up energy which just exploded on his stomach or if he really meant it.

"listen.."
"hmmm"
"are you asleep"
"mmmhmmmm"
"..."
The answer was there. Somewhere between the sheets, looking back at him expectantly. But he didnt want to read it. Not yet.

Once there was a moment. And then it just passed.

Blues For Someone

2008-07-16T13:48:00.000-07:00

There are days that make the sacrifices seem worthwhile. And there are the days where everything feels like a sacrifice. And then there are the sacrifices that you can’t figure out why you’re making.

A wise man once said you can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it. What he meant was nothing comes without a price. So before you go into battle you better decide how much you’re willing to lose.Too often going after what feels good means letting go of what you know is right. And letting someone in means abandoning the walls you’ve spent a life time building. Of course the toughest sacrifices are the ones we don’t see coming.

When we don’t have time to come up with a strategy to pick a side or to measure the potential loss.
When that happens and the battle chooses us and not the other way round, that’s when the sacrifice can turn to out to be more than we can bear.

Desire

2008-07-11T09:56:00.000-07:00

As reporters we know what we want...to become senior correspondents. And will do anything to get there... Suffer through killer interviews, endure 100-hour weeks, stand for hours on end press conferences. You name it we'll do it. The tough part though is reconciling this huge thing we want, to be Senior Correspondents, with everything else we want.
To often, the thing you want most is the one thing you can't have. Desire leaves us heartbroken; it wears us out. Desire can wreck your life.

But as tough as wanting something can be...the people who suffer the most are those who don't know what they want.

The Quest

2008-06-21T14:43:00.000-07:00

’m leaving tonight
Going somewhere deep inside
my mind I close my eyes
slowly Flowin’ away
slowly But I know
I’ll be alright
It’s coming stronger to me
And I know someone is out there
Show me the answers
I need to know

What I’m gonna live for
What I’m gonna die for
Who you gonna fight for
I can’t answer that

All my life/love it is
It is all my love
All my life/love it is
I know it is a life to live lately
From above I hear
I hear the sound of them sinkin’
I feel numb, I’m alive
I know I’m getting closer

My life has had it’s share of troubles
And now I found a place to go
I’ve said goodbye to all my troubles
’cause now I’ve found my place to go

What I’m gonna live for
What I’m gonna die for
Who you gonna fight for
I can’t answer that

Kung Fu Fighting

2008-06-21T14:23:00.000-07:00

There's this thing about being a writer of some sort... maybe it's pride or maybe it's just about being tough...but a true writer never admits they need help unless absolutely necessary. Writers don't need to ask for help 'cause they're tougher than that. Writers are cowboys rough around the edges, hard-core.

Least, that's what they want you to think.

Deep down, everyone wants to believe they can be hard-core. But being hard-core isn't just about being tough. It's about acceptance.

Sometimes you have to give yourself permission to not be hard-core for once. You don't have to be tough every minute of every day. It's okay to let down your guard. In fact, there are moments when it's perhaps the best thing you could possibly do.

All the lives...

2008-05-31T12:29:00.000-07:00

All the lives, that he had lived until now, flashed before his eyes, moment by moment, unrelated but related by the scent of the intense emotions that they once generated in him. Isolated moments, without the future of what followed them or the past of that preceded them; isolated, in his introduction to the different rhythms his heart could beat in.

Juggling faces…the intense gestures, spoken words, joyous unions… now just faces… he had always known the arrival of this moment but it had been out of fear… fear of loosing all that he cherished, all that he knew… he was unaware, then, of this feeling of peace that could fill him, like now… The passage of time, slowing down to force its awareness in all things…

In the stillness of a crumpled shirt, now frozen but containing in its state, the action, the energy, the warmth that preceded… The erectness and pride of the metal guard decorating the entrance, one who never tires, never respites… The blades of the moving fan, which on giving a little attention fill us with the fear of their falling down while they continue with the same emotion, of no emotion and we push them back to their unnoticed existence… Books out of their shelves, clothes scattered…out of place…but still belonging to that moment, completely, just as they are, where they are…

The passage of time which in it normal pace, in its maddening rush could strip us from the sense of existence of ourselves, of life in us…this sense of existence which she was knowing now…aware of all the desires, all the aspirations, all the fears that he had lived… he could see them entangled amongst themselves, living on each other's breath and he had tried to separate them, differentiate between them, when they had no existence on their own. And now they all lay before him, gasping for life… This existence, this life which was not his, as he had known until now…it was not, all those moments of laughter followed by tears…chasing each other, one wining over the other… It was devoid of everything that had filled him until now, yet there was no sense of emptiness or a loss.

He got up to respond to the ring of doorbell. It was the familiar face of the dhobi. he took off the drying clothes from the balcony and handed them over to him. The wall clock chimed to remind him of the time and he switched on the geyser, one of the tasks that started his routine of getting ready for work.

You

2008-04-26T12:17:00.000-07:00

It's hot and you're making my palms sweat.
I hate you and I never want to see you again.
Because you can't just stand here and give me an
identity crisis like this, you hear me?
I don't care what's true and what's not. Leave me
alone and turn off the light.

In the dark it is easy to pretend that the truth is
what it ought to be.

I can feel the sweat dripping down my skin.
Only, it's not my skin anymore.
Now I'm confused.
That's why I warned you not to bring changes and empty
out the past.

Because you created the past and now you've emptied
out yourself, and spilled doubt everywhere.
That's why you have to get out.
I'm jumping out of my skin here, and now you're
telling me it's not my skin?
I don't understand any past other than the one you
gave me.

I'm simple. I don't understand choices and options and
what could have been.
I only know what was. And now you've destroyed it.

Take care.

I Belong

2008-04-26T12:04:00.000-07:00

Amidst the hustle of life around,
An unknown sense of loneliness
Comes over me.
One never experienced before
And yet so familiar.

The city noises are a distant murmur;
That drown in the sounds of rustling trees
Which spread out infornt of me.

I Calm my turbulent thoughts.

The lone sun, setting in the distant horizon
Lights up the evening sky
In hues that calm the soul
And relieve it of the day's heavy burden.

And enveloped in such beauty
I sit,
Listening to the world go by.
Not a soul around me.
And realize that I belong.

Feather

2008-04-21T13:48:00.000-07:00

"An insult to the strong man that rests inside you,you pea brained nincompoop." I could almost hearmyself screaming somewhere deep inside my head. Thevoice came from so many places, those places wheregenerally Metallica songs, three years of officeinsults, break-ups etc are kept. "Strong?"

I was searching for a feather given to me four years(almost five now) ago by a soulmate. A soulmate he wasno less, Maybe more, but certainly not less. he hadcaught the little feather between his index and middlefinger, held it till his smile had faded into mine. Iremember inhaling his strawberry-jam-sandwich breath.The world had muted for one brief moment, till hisgrip on the feather descended, the feathertranscended, I caught those moments and the feather. Iwas searching for those lost moments in the feather.Lost so, that I wasn't successful in weighing theircredence. It was one of those times when you knowyou're missing something, and you know what it is, butyou're scared to express it to yourself. You try towash years of emotion with temporary condolence ofyour own solitude and, sad but true, falsehood. Thefalsehood of not missing what you miss everyday ofyour life. And yes, golden moments, better than one'sexperienced will arrive but are the one's gone, reallygone?

I remember him holding a Gillette Presto in hand insome the-name-doesn't-matter hotel , one night. Inframes I remember him delicately whisper "Let me doit, please, please, please, please." And he did somuch as to touch the razor to my foamed right cheek,and withdrew in the same delicate mo(ve)ment. "What ifit hurts?"

I also remember the bus journey when he asked what kind of love was I looking forward to in life. I said well you know the one who understands something someone like err you know (he won the eye contact which I was fighting so desperately against) you, I said, it had finally blurted itself out. he smiled,his answer wasn't expected as he said, someone withdark hair, brown eyes, not taller than you, his smile faded again.

I know not why I search for the feather for it was forgotten after I passed out of the college with a coveted degree and memories. I could swear on my life, he forgot it in the laughter of a new ray in his life,"a replacement" as other friends told me "you're forgotten, haha". So I pretended to forget. I never knew why I searched for my feather, until yesterday,when we bumped into each other in a bus bumping its way towards Bandra. The availability of seats allowedme to be seated after his, and I wondered if he was the same person who had hugged me when he cried andwhen he laughed. His destination was nearing; I hoped he had done well in the years blinded to me. he got up, smiled at me, eyes evidently wet, and offered a handshake which only we (we both, only two of us) knew, as if to remind me of the times that we had shared, I accepted it, as if I never forgot.

Letter To A Mirror

2008-04-15T12:35:00.000-07:00

'Listen,

I am obsessed with shadows. When I was little I thought - here is
god putting up a play. On the pavement. How do we imagine, god
idle in the evening? Arm slinging out of a truckle bed - pivoted
on the sun? I would walk shifting shadows with that tiny form,
shifting glance from pavement to sky to where ever I imagined god
was, behind what curtains; digging feet into the concrete trying
to scoop each shadow out, expecting it to come tumbling upward,
flitter, fade. See, this is my childhood, shadows feet pavement,
god.

But this is how it is: I still walk to explore shadows. Walk
without suffix and stretch each alphabet beyond the limit of day
and read the poetry under streetlights and tree shades and orange
signs of gas stations. This is the language of darkness, you
understand - the way our bodies nudge in some sepia reality,
negotiable and silent. The way hands seem to touch even when they
are not; the way light is caught in these dark throats, like joy.
The way our bones project on this screen while it quivers with
morning, burns with the day, becomes soft with evening, blurred
with night. Have you noticed how shadows have depth? When we walk
the city at night as though gathering rent, arranging the streets
next to one another and ticking them off with our bodies, angular
- have you noticed how we sink into some shadows and into some
others, don't. How the night coalesces in some corners, conspires
in others.

Have you noticed how the darkness is snatched into form, and some
shadows heave as though trying to escape, and still others are
weary with love for their murky blood, sweat glistening in
translucence. I have wanted to slip through these pores with you,
because we become astatic on the street, you know. We become
ethereal and we glisten. And the shadows catch on to our bodies
as we move, tiny semicolons that prick us, make us exhausted with
our flesh. It is as though the earth is riddled with two
realities - it pushes the shadows onto our bodies; here is the
burden of your love. But we are not confounded. We are blurred,
but not burned.

And this is how you may find your city, your home, your lover.
When the realities approve. When your bones form a dialect with
the shadows and build and crash together, resolve a distance.
When I came here, I thought, this is the city in which I can
enunciate my body; this is the city in which the shadows are
comfortable. In which I can move my body under yours. Because,
see, it is either poetry or it isn't. Either we know the same
language or we don't. And if the darkness is incomprehensible,
then we are in some conflict in our bones, we are tangled and
rigid and soundless, as though caught in the throat of some
shadow.

Like pain. Without language.

Compromise

2008-03-27T06:38:00.000-07:00

Mulayam garm samjhaute ki chadar ,
Yeh chadar mein ne barson mein buni hai ,
Kahin bhi sach ke gul boote nahi hai ,
Kissi bhi jhooth ka taanka nahin hai ,
Issi se main bhi tan dhak loongi apna,
Issi se tum bhi aasooda rahoge ,
Na khush hoge, na pashmarda hoge.
-- Zehra Nigah
(Warm and soft, this blanket
Of compromise has taken me years to weave
Not a single flower of truth embellishes it
Not a single false stitch betrays it
It will do to cover my body though
And it will bring comfort too,
If not joy or sadness to you)

Shake Your Groove Thing

2008-02-23T21:16:00.000-08:00

Remember when you were a kid and your biggest worry was, like, if you'd get a bike for your birthday, or if you get to eat cookies for breakfast?

Being an adult? Totally overrated. I mean, seriously, don't be fooled by all the hot shoes and the great sex and the no parents anywhere telling you to do. Adulthood is responsibility. Responsibility, it really does suck. Really, really sucks. Adults have to be places and do things and earn a living and pay the rent. And if you're training to be a writer, holding a manuscript in your hands... Hello! Talk about responsibility. Kinda makes bikes and cookies look really really good, doesn't it? The scariest part about responsibility: when you screw up and let it slip right through your fingers. Responsibility. It really does suck.

Unfortunately, once you get past the age of braces and naughty boy shoes, responsibility doesn't go away. It can't be avoided. Either someone makes us face it, or we suffer the consequences.

And still, adulthood has its perks. I mean the shoes, the sex, the no parents anywhere telling you what to do. That's pretty damn good.

Bombay In Pictures 4

2008-02-19T06:24:00.000-08:00

Bombay In Pictures 3

2008-02-19T06:21:00.000-08:00

Bombay In Pictures Part 2

2008-02-19T06:18:00.000-08:00

Bombay In Pictures

2008-02-18T04:29:00.000-08:00

Bombay Part II

2008-02-17T20:53:00.000-08:00

It happened. Again. The city of blinding lights.

But this time it was a trip of mixed experiences. At one end I saw these Mercedes and Lexus hungry multi-million dollar industralists eating with their fingers and loving the very ordinary daal-roti bought from the street and on the other end I saw attitude from people who claimed of an intense desire to meet up with me.
What I can say though, is that both left with a slight sour taste in my mouth. But it does seem to me that Bombay is somehow attracting me to its shores. The things I had put off, are back to chase me and this time I didn't give it up...the chance to perhaps be someone. I have gone and grabbed it. But now is the scary part, which I realised only as the plane took off.
As I looked out of the plane window and in the darkness of the night I saw my face reflected into the billions of sparkles of yellow blubs which light up this city. What I saw was a fractured and dismembered me gazing back at me. Was that a prediction of things to come? Or just a little bit of multiple lights at play?
This time it was different for me in Bombay, I roamed around on my own, taking pictures (uploading soon) of ordinary life and wondering if I could see myself as one with the crowd. I tried very hard to look like that person again. You the guy who blends in really well with the crowd and goes completely unnoticed? The one with a brown skin that merges with the scenery and you forget that he exists. I failed. Even the sea failed me. It did give me some pretty sunsets, but that is not nearly enough.
Life goes on they say and one just has to take chances. And this time I am taking mine.

22nd Surajkund Crafts Mela

2008-02-14T07:32:00.000-08:00

In a completely random order ofcourse!

All You Need Is Love!

2008-02-13T22:32:00.000-08:00

Aria

2008-01-20T01:12:00.000-08:00

"It was during that sorrow that
love came to me!
A voice filled with harmony
That said...
Lie still, I am Life!"

"I am the god that descends
From the heavens to the earth
To make of the earth
A heaven!"

"I am Oblivion!
I am Glory!
I am Love, Love, Love!"

untitled

2008-01-17T22:56:00.000-08:00

No, nothing at all, I regret nothing at all
Not the good, nor the bad. It is all the same.
No, nothing at all, I have no regrets about anything.
It is paid, wiped away, forgotten.
I am not concerned with the past, with my memories.
I set fire to my pains and pleasures,
I don’t need them anymore.
I have wiped away my loves, and my troubles.
Swept them all away.
I am starting again from zero.

No, nothing at all, I have no regrets
Because from today, my life, my happiness, everything,
Starts with you!

You.

2008-01-11T09:43:00.000-08:00

I make the stupidest remarks in your presence

me. who is like a ribboned rock.

carefully planned so as not to be late.

me. who is out of synchronisation

like forgotten people of the jungles.

I write in grand fury those complete letters

so you would read and smile to yourself

all your tears I wish I were.
so beside you I shall flow, down your cheek, and

know your woes,

I would roll, watchfully, make no eye contact lest you see me there

watching

and caress you as I go

even inadvertently

helplessly enchanted by wit by folly by elements put

to make that love I have for you.

untitled.

2008-01-08T09:47:00.000-08:00

at night
i sat by and watched you sleep
dreaming of dreams making you smile
and when you got up and told
me you were dreaming of
me kissing you
you were beautiful.

2007-12-30T21:03:00.000-08:00

Keep Breathing

2007-12-23T11:19:00.000-08:00

The storm is coming but i don't mind.
People are dying, i close my blinds.
All that i know is i'm breathing now.
I want to change the world...instead i sleep.
I want to believe in more than you and me.
But all that i know is i'm breathing.
All i can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing now.
All that i know is i'm breathing.
All i can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing now.
All we can do is keep breathing

A. For you.

2007-12-23T03:30:00.000-08:00

I don't know anyone who isn't haunted by something...or someone. And whether we try to slice the pain away with a scalpel or shove it in the back of a closet, our efforts usually fail.

So the only way we can clear out the cobwebs is to turn a new page...
Or put an old story to rest...
Finally. Finally to rest.

Ashes to Ashes. Dust to dust.

Bombay

2007-12-22T23:38:00.000-08:00

A week in the city that never sleeps. Long late night walks by the sea. I still have sand in my shoes. Squashed between cars on the road from suburbs to town. Glamour and celebrities who are no longer just celebrities but almost friends. A book. And a book deal. Cafe Mondegar. Leopold. Ferry on the muddy brown sea. Heritage buildings and decaying facades. Kalaghoda. Jazzy taxis. Poison. Juhu. Mocha. Alcohol. Sex. Cosmopolitan. Sweet breeze. Siddhivinayak. Filmcity. Groovy music. Freaky people. Matted long tresses. Anorexic women. Haute couture. Jimmy Choo. Versace. Big office. White walls. Black hearts. Jealousy. Cold vibes. Ego's colder than ice.

Am tired.

As I stepped off the plane with my bag in my hand, the first gust of cold wind on my face made me realise that I didn't like the city of dreams. I was just so happy to be home. To be in my own bed. To just be here. Yes I know if I go back, I could be 'someone', but for now I think I can wait a little. I think I can just be myself and wait for it to come to me in its own due time.

What will be. Will be. Afterall.

...

2007-12-09T21:28:00.001-08:00

"The truth is, I probably don't want to be too happy or content, 'cause then what? I actually like the quest, the search. That's the fun. The more lost you are, the more you have to look forward to. What do you know? I'm having a great time and I don't even know it."

Mistakes

2007-12-09T02:06:00.000-08:00

In life, only one thing is certain...apart from death and taxes...no matter how hard you try, no matter how good your intentions, you are going to make mistakes. You're going to hurt people. You're going to get hurt.

Truth and nothing but the truth.

2007-11-24T19:00:00.000-08:00

Writers give back so many things. We give fantasy, we give advice. And most of the time, we give our undivided attention. But by far the hardest thing we can possibly give someone is the hard truth. The truth is hard. The truth is .... akward. And very often truth...hurts. I mean people sat that they want the truth. But do they really?

The truth is painful... Deep down nobody wants to hear it, especially when it hits home. But sometimes we give the truth, because the truth is all we have to give. And sometimes we tell the truth, because we need to hear it out loud just for ourselves. And then are times when we need to tell the truth because we just cant help ourselves.

And then there are times when we must tell the truth, because we owe everyone atleast that much.

Untitled

2007-10-30T23:07:00.000-07:00

"Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at them because we are human?"

I hope you know what you are doing

2007-10-25T22:27:00.001-07:00

"I love it!" he said. "I just love it!"
And then we kissed our first kiss soon after that. He tasted of salted sunflower seeds (his secret weakness, as we would learn later). His tongue was thin and pointy and intelligent. I didn't remember leading him to the bedroom, only that we were there already, lying on the crumpled blue bedcover, his fingers, my fingers, the small hollow inside his elbow and the vein pulsing in it. I thought I could see a faint radiation of heat where our skins touched. Did his hair smell of lemons? In my hurry I tore a loose button off his shirt. (Later we would laugh about that.) The back of his ear-stud rasped my hand, raising a weal. He brought it to his mouth and licked it. The small mirrors embroidered into the bedcover pressed their cool disks against his bare back, then against mine. His nipples were brown and hard as apple seeds in my mouth.

Then his hands were on mine, tight, stopping me as I tugged on his zipper.

"Don't. It isn't safe. I didn't expect this. I don't have anything with me. And I take it you don't either…."

The blood rocked so hard in the hollows of my body, I feared I'd break open. He had to repeat himself before I could understand the words. I shook my head vaguely, not caring. I wouldn't let go. My body, thwarted so long, had seized on wildness like a birthright. A part of me cried, You're insane. I pushed my face against him, his chest hairs wiry against my tongue, until finally his hands were gone. I could feel fingers, their drowning grip on my hair. I heard him say something. The words were too close, out of focus.

Later I would think we had started with God. As in God I hope you know what you're doing.

Dreams

2007-10-14T10:34:00.000-07:00

I understood.

Will it hurt? I whispered.

Will it hurt a great deal?

He lashed his tail. The air was the color of old telegraph wire.

Will it at least be quick? His scales winked yes. From somewhere smoke rolled in to cover him. Or was the smoke part of what is to come? Will it happen soon?

A small irritation in the glint from his eyes. In the world he inhabited, soon had little meaning. Once again I'd asked the wrong question. He began to undulate away.

His tongue was a thin pink whip. I had the absurd desire to touch it. Wait! How can I prepare? He swiveled the flat oval of his head toward me. I put out my hand. His tongue--why, it wasn't whiplike at all but soft and sorrowful, as though made from old silk.

I think he said, There is no preparation other than understanding. What must I understand?

Death ends things, but it can be a beginning, too.

A chance to gain back what you'd botched.
Can you even remember what that was? I tried to think backward.
It was like peering through a frosted window.

He was fading. A thought flowed over my skin like a breath.

But only if you seize the moment.

Only if-- Then he was gone.

Last night the snake came in my dreams again.

2007-10-11T02:14:00.000-07:00

All my life I could do anything. I could do anything, really. Except the one thing I wanted.

Untitled

2007-10-11T02:09:00.000-07:00

Did it matter, then, she asked herself, walking toward Bond Street. Did it matter that she must inevitably cease, completely. All this must go on without her. Did she resent it? Or did it not become consoling to believe that death ended absolutely? It is possible to die. It is possible to die.

White Nights

2007-10-09T21:55:00.000-07:00

"But that I should feel any resentment against you, that I should cast a dark shadow over your bright, serene happiness!...That I should crush a single one of those delicate blooms which you will wear in your dark hair when you walk with him! Oh no- never, never! May your sky be always clear, may your dear smile be always bright and happy, and may you be for ever blessed for that moment of bliss and happiness which you gave to another lonely and grateful heart...Good Lord, only a moment of bliss? Isn't such a moment sufficient for the whole of a man's life?"

Untitled

2007-10-09T21:54:00.000-07:00

'I love you so, because you haven't fallen in love with me.'

Change

2007-10-09T12:20:00.000-07:00

Change. we don't like it, we fear it. But we can't stop it from coming. We either adapt to change, or we get left behind. It hurts to grow. Anybody who tells you it doesn't is lying. But here's the truth. sometimes the more things change, the more they stay the same. And sometimes...oh sometimes change is good.

Sometimes...change is everything.

Message from a Zen master.

2007-10-06T21:54:00.000-07:00

You are missing the rea life. Use more energy. Then fresh energies will flow. Just don't be a miser. Use them today; let today be complete unto itself, tomorrow will take care of itself, don't be worried about tomorrow. The worry, the anxiety, the problem, all simply show one thing: that you are not living right, that your life is not yet a celebration, a dance, a festivity. Hence, all the problems in your life.

Untitled

2007-10-03T21:58:00.000-07:00

I say I love you, but you say you want to have freedom.

Why is freedom more important than love? Without love freedom is naked. Why can’t love live with freedom? Why is love the prison for freedom? How many people live in this prison then?

White Oleander

2007-09-04T13:12:00.000-07:00

I could do so many things right now. I could just leave this city and write a book. Spend a year with a business tycoon and go to places he goes, meet the people he does, chronicle his life for him and the world, I could be famous in movies, I could just turn out to be a certain someone in direct marketing, I could be someone in advertising as well. There are so many things I can be right now. The possibilities have expanded. I have a choice.

A choice for the good or for the worse? I dont know. But yes a choice. SO much like a white oleander, white, pure, virginal, pretty, full of possibilities. And poisionous.

Am not quite sure which way I wanna go or what it is that I want to become eventually. Everyday opens up so many more possibilities and so many more ways of growing, being someone and doing something.

Some would say its the time of bloom after the long winter, a change of landsacpe. But to them I would only say that yes it is. I am living this too just as I have braved the dry winter. But am not sure which way to choose, the one which will make me instantly famous or the one which will make me toil some and then get me fame.

Do I want fame? The only thing I have really wanted in my life. Yes. I want to be famous. Known for my work. Known for what I do and how I do it. I have always wanted to prove my worth and this is perhaps the time when I have the opputunity to do so as well.

I can choose any one of the choices and excel in anyone. Just need to choose.

Which one, remains to be seen.

It's Time

2007-08-09T16:14:00.000-07:00

"i suppose you are right. there isnt a reason to keep on living and feeling sorry for yourself. I have been jilted in love too and not just once. there were always more people in his life. more women and more fun it seemed, i was just a tiny speck of something which was once valuable. professionally am not going brilliantly either, am just doing a job because it is a job and thats what i am supposed to do. am I good at it? was. once upon a time. now am just a relic. i am so many things today. so many things which were, i have done my time and paid my dues, done my sadness and done my pain. at the moment am empty, devoid of everything, emotions and any hope or anything else. day is all about jsut breathing in and then exhaling in the evening, if i was to vanish tomorrow i dont think many would care or want to know. i hardly have friends, those who are, are only till a certain limit. I just want to rest. in peace. dying is the easy way out. i just dont want to do any of this anymore. and that is my reason. what does one do when one is just empty of everything else? "

May You Rest In Peace

2007-08-05T09:16:00.000-07:00

"May you rest in peace, for a mistake such as this shall never be repeated"

Reads the peace memorial at Hiroshima Nagasaki. The world celebrates Friendship Day today, as some 60 years ago this was the day when one of the most barbaric acts in living history of mankind were being plotted. August 5th was the day when perhaps the final touches were being given to the plan, the final details being planned and the flying routes discussed. This was the day when Mr. Truman perhaps deliberated with this followers and gave the final go ahead.

Over a 1,25,000 people died in the immediated aftermath of the henious event. Every year more names are added in the list of people who have died ever since, for the effects of those nuclear explosions still echo in the nervous systems of people who survived. Maimed, disfigured, cancerous, tethering on to life somehow, these individuals have only known pain and suffering in the short life that they have.

Really, May Thier Souls Rest In Peace. For I hope a mistake such as this is not commited again.

Hotel Rwanda

2007-07-27T03:00:00.000-07:00

"There will be no rescue, no intervention for us. We can only save ourselves. Many of you know influential people abroad, you must call these people. You must tell them what will happen to us... say goodbye. But when you say goodbye, say it as if you are reaching through the phone and holding their hand. Let them know that if they let go of that hand, you will die. We must shame them into sending help."

I am amazed at how the world just sat and watched 1,00,000 human beings being salughtered in the violence and genocide in Rwanda. How all the tales of atrocities reached homes and white houses and no one, no one even sat up and gave it even as much as an afterthought. Where did we loose our sense of resonspibility and decide that it wasn't our problem anymore. Tales of people dying becomes the headlines of newspapers we pay to read, suffering ofothers seems to be value for money for us.

Mad World

2007-07-20T14:00:00.000-07:00

All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It's a very, very
Mad World

And then...

2007-07-10T01:43:00.000-07:00

"You said you loved me."
" I meant it at the time. "
" Well what was it, a viral love? Kind of a 24 hour thing?"

I

2007-07-10T01:13:00.000-07:00

"I dont want to need you, 'cause I can't have you."

Fatso!

2007-07-06T12:11:00.000-07:00

Thanks for the Memories

2007-06-27T08:40:00.000-07:00

Gratitude, appreciation, giving thanks. No matter what words you use, it all means the same thing. Happy. We're supposed to be happy. Grateful for friends, family, happy just to be alive...

Whether we like it or not.

Maybe we're not supposed to be happy. Maybe gratitude has nothing to do with joy. Maybe being grateful is recognizing what you have for what it is. Appreciate small victories. Admiring the struggle it takes simply to be human. Maybe we're thankful for the familiar things we know. And maybe we're thankful for things we'll never know.

At the end of the day, the fact that we have the courage to still be standing ...

... is reason enough to celebrate.

Desire

2007-06-12T02:37:00.000-07:00

Too often, the thing you want most is the one thing you can’t have. Desire leaves us heartbroken … it wears us out. Desire can wreck your life. But as tough as wanting something can be …the people who suffer the most … are those who don’t know what they want.

Drowning On Dry Land

2007-06-05T03:52:00.000-07:00

Disappearances happen in life, people can suddenly fade away. Lovers go missing. We open an album to discover the pictures are gone. It's unexplained, it's rare, bit it happens. We call it memory lapse, say we never saw it, any explanation but the truth.

That life is full of vanishing acts. If something that we didn't know we had disappears, do we miss it?

Disappearances happen. Pains go phantom, blood stops running, and people fade away.

There's more I have to say. So much more. But I've disappeared.

A Thousand Splendid Suns

2007-06-05T00:35:00.000-07:00

Its very interesting, how you go on with life and the small pleasures that you used to get previously no longer appeal. What is even more interesting is the simple fact that how after going through with something’s in life and in love, the same things no longer give you any pleasure as they did before. That’s what’s been happening to me at the moment. There are those who seem to be romantically interested in me, trying hard to get my attention and I am not even remotely interested in them. Its very strange, my reactions which are so subdued, my expressions which are next to nothing.

I have been having these out of body experiences, for a while now. Life seems distant and the past even more so. I see myself somewhere from a distance, hovering above my physical self, gazing down to see me function, sometimes perfect but mostly it’s the imperfection, which catches my eye.

I don’t even know why or what or of if any of this makes any sense. Its my lunch break and I need to write something, so here this is, my post, trying to make some sense out of the current me.

Untitled.

2007-05-28T04:14:00.000-07:00

me

2007-05-19T04:36:00.001-07:00

The past few days have been weird. I am doing quite alright at work, they seem to like me and my ideas so far. At home it has been peaceful too. Nothing specifically disturbing so far. Somehow the other night while I was trying to sleep, I looked at the ceiling and felt like crying, for no reason. I had a sea of tears welling in my eyes, ready to pour out. I have no clue why did I have tears in my eyes, but I just wanted so badly to cry and take it out of me. And then, just as they had come, they disappeared.

Mother's Pride

2007-05-14T00:38:00.000-07:00

It's 1:16pm and am sitting and typing this on the day after Mother's Day. I hadn't spoken with my mum for a while till she called me yesterday. It was a usual phone call, full of the nagging - why havn't you called, did you eat properly, are behaving at work and all that. That just made me think of so many things together. Someday I will not have her to nag me or call me to say any of these things. She will too cease to exist as so many other people. I will miss her, terribly. She's been the cloest to me all this time. But the thing is I haven't been close or honest to her. She hardly knows me at all. She doesn't know any of my secrets or my trials and tribulations or why I left cities or why I left jobs or why I spent weeks in a monastry once. These are questions which neither she asked or I told her about. She has an image of me which is nice, sometimes very irritating but overall a very nice guy, it's just that I am far off from that. I have a secret which could possibly shatter her world, without which I may not be who I am. I know I can tell her anything, but this one thing is something she may not have full understanding of. What do I do?
She is my most favorite person on this planet & I can't tell her the truth. how sad is that?

New Office

2007-05-09T23:18:00.000-07:00

I dont want to write anything about the new place am working at, it seems that each time I end up jinxing it. Superstitious? You bet.

At the moment am enjoying my honeymoon here, everyone is nice and sweet and things are okay, am waiting for the big moment, when I get jolted out of it and wonder when life isnt so neat and quiet anymore. It will happen I know, they always do without fail. I used to make my people perceptions very soon, decide who I am going to like and who am not, in the blink of my eye. Here, am trying a new approach of chances. Of giving everyone enough time before deciding if it is love or war.

It is an interesting place, most people have their own perceptions about me already. I am the outsider into their cozy little world, so it is going to be a slight uphill task of breaking their mould. I normally make easy friends with women, here am still to find a someone who I can think of being friends with at the moment. I sit isolated in a corner room with the airconditioner constantly working to make sure I am an icicle at the end of the day.

I don't know what to make of this unccany manner of things. Everything is so reminiscent of my past. The way I got this job or the position am supposedly hired for, the way am travelling to work everyday, the distance from work to my present home, the attitude of my workmates..just about everything I can think of. Even the ex boyfriend factor. He was there then too, calling me at weird hours of the night to ask for directions of some place or just to know the meaning of something, or to just ask if he was sounding drunk. I took those calls, gave answers and disconnected. I am still doing the same things all over again. I ran away from all of this a few years ago, for reasons best left unsaid. I wanted to escape it all and not have to fight. And now its here, with me and I am living it.

Reading Mr. Coleho, I understand that life gives you a second chance to things the right way, to make some sense out of everything. Perhaps this is it, this is the unfinished business I was told I need to finish. The battle that began back in time needs to end, I need to do my part and not look back at this. I know I want to do bigger and better things, maybe this needs to finish first.

I just need the strenght and the brain to do it right this time.

Beauty in the Breakdown

2007-04-28T08:03:00.000-07:00

"Love was enough."

I can't imagine her pain or her ecstasy as she said those words to me. Sitting in a B grade bar, on a rusty stool with no piano in sight, this acclaimed singer/musician was batting her now almost gone eyelids at me.

Having seen the small shrine she built to her immortal love, just a little while ago, I didn't know what to say to her, a few paintings he had made for her, an autographed book, a few now yellowed pictures and her wedding ring.

Their was a story which was worth talking about, a 50 something man in love with a not yet 20 something girl. If age wasn't what worked against them, there was also the media pressure and the public images they both carried. One who was a famous writer and the other who was just about beginning to know what being famous felt like. It was all very new to her, to him she was his third wife. The fact that he had children from previous marriages didn't bother her, it was love.

Today after 10 years of loving him and some 15 after losing him to life, she sits and looks at me, as if it was all still happening, she was still with him, there in that rundown bar.

She doesn't have the money, anything from the inheritance of the books, the estates, its all with the children or the other wives.

" I didn't want to loose everything I have, the memories of him over some cheap squabble about who will have the money. Love was enough."

I wonder, about her, the love and the beauty of her breakdown, taking a sip of the cheap beer in front of me, I call for another round.

For me. For her.

Dream of someone else

2007-04-22T09:49:00.000-07:00

"What about you, is there someone else? "
..
....

"No."

" No, but, but there's the dream of someone else."

RoadBlock

2007-04-22T06:18:00.000-07:00

There is something to be said about roadblocks and my life. The minute I hope and think that I will manage a way to careen off the pothole and just in nick of time, I find myself deep in muck. You climb out of a ditch hoping that it will be okay the next time, that maybe this will be the last and the next pothole will come a lot further down the road. But no sir that is now how it is supposed to happen I guess, its like a series of potholes, sewn together at seams. Like those on a perforated strip.

Most of my posts seem to be in a similar vein, I wish I could write lighter, happier posts. At the moment tho, I cant seem to bring myself to do that, or do anything for that matter. It doesn't do well to dwell on the past and forget everything else I know, but when your past seems to haunt your present? When recurrent memories seem to repeat themselves in present for some reason, aren't you supposed to talk about it? Think about it?

Right now I imagine myself in a small little drive in restaurant, serving people the day's best - apple pie in some long forgotten town. One of those small places you see in many of these hollywood movies. I would be very content with that kind of a lifestyle, going back home with a porch and a forest at the back, sitting with a mug of coffee and hearing the crickets, as the moon glides across the sky. A small isolated almost content life. Would it really be too much to ask for?

Sideways.

2007-04-22T03:35:00.000-07:00

The sky looks pretty
Normal and so do the trees
I woke up pretty
Early and I could see
That I've been walking
I've been thinking
I've been looking at you
Sideways.
I've been moving
I've been dreaming
I've been looking at you
Sideways.
I have no problems
Dipping in my feet
But the trouble comes when
I have to jump.
And all the reasons not to
Seem pretty good
At the time
Cause I've been walking
I've been thinking
I've been looking at you
Sideways.
Yeah I've been moving
I've been dreaming
I've been looking at you
Sideways.

The Swan

2007-04-19T06:57:00.000-07:00

By my side,
You'll never be.
By my side,
You'll never be.
Cos I'm fake at the seams,
I'm lost in my dreams.
I want you to know,
That I can't let you go.
And you're never coming home again,
By my side,
You'll never be.
By my side,
You'll never be.
I wanted to tell you I'd changed.
I wanted to tell you that things would be different this time.
But I see you, you see me,
Differently.
I see you, you see me,
Differently.
You tell me that you love me but you never want to see me again

Scars

2007-04-17T10:57:00.000-07:00

People have scars in all sorts of unexpected places. Like secret road-maps of their personal histories, diagrams of all their old wounds. Most of our old wounds heal leaving nothing behind but a scar, but some of them don't. Some wounds we carry with us everywhere and though the cuts long gone the pain still lingers.

What's worse, new wounds which are so horribly painful, or old wounds that should have healed years ago and never did?

Maybe our old wounds teach us something, they remind us of where we've been and what we've overcome. They teach us lessons about what to avoid in the future. That's what we like to think. But that's not the way it is, is it? Something's we just have to learn over and over and over again.

Grace

2007-04-14T10:45:00.001-07:00

I dont think I would have left my old life that easily, I could have still gone on with all that pain and misery for maybe a couple of more years, had it not been for the accident which finally didnt let me have that choice.

I was living my life on scraps, thin strips of scraps is more like it. Hanging on to them with all my might and making myself believe that this was it, this was the last time it will happen, there could be happiness and maybe things will be back to the way they were. In my profession at that time, it was a gift > Imagination. You were lucky if you had that, had a real shot at being a successful copywriter or maybe a good graphic designer. Only, that I didnt realise how to channel it in the right way, today when I look back at the people who were with me at that time, all of them, they're all so far away from me. Leading lives some of which are now famous, successful, accomplished. These were the people who actually made it somewhere, can think of a lot of things for themselves now, a family perhaps, their own house maybe. And there is me, still standing in the queue to take a bus. Trying to begin my life over again, did I go horribly wrong somewhere? I suppose I did. I didnt stick on long enough, I didnt do so many things the right way, the way they were supposed to be done.

I actually thought I could make a difference, tried my luck at being someone and I wanted to keep trying that. Forever maybe.

Just that forever was too long.

Now its the same me, hanging on to a scrap again, in a different time, but in the same place.
All over again.

My Visual DNA

2007-04-13T23:12:00.001-07:00

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

AncientPromises

2007-04-12T12:11:00.000-07:00

I could go hiding. Far away from people, world and everyone. To a place of my own creation. I have been blessed with that little thing called imagination or survival instincts if you may, and that will let me create this make believe world around me, a small little haven where I could stay locked up in a tower for a while and not think about anything else. Its easy to do that, so just sit back and think that you cannot do anything now, now it has all been done. It has been said and it as been foretold.

I have decided.

I am going back to my old life. The life I ran away from. The life which remains unfinished, untold and unsaid. Maybe this is the sign that I need to finish that, what I had begun so many years ago. That escapism isnt the answer. That running away is temporary and that you need to do your karma till it finishes its cycle.

While I sit back and think over the years gone by and what was and what is now, I am scared, I dont know if I am up for it all over again, if I will be able to survive, if I have it in me, to muster the courage to fight and then to remain. I dont know any of that. I may not last long in this. I dont even know if this is what I wanted from my life, hell I never knew what I wanted anyway. But this is it then.

Life try me.
Its not like I have a choice.

The Prophet

2007-04-12T11:55:00.000-07:00

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.

And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.

And how else can it be?

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being,

the more joy you can contain.

Is not the cup that hold your wine

the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?

And is not the lute that soothes your spirit,

the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find

it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart,

and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Together they come,

and when one sits alone with you at your board,

remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

- Khalil Gibran

Careful! Speed Breaker Ahead!

2007-04-10T10:19:00.000-07:00

5 days in the aftermath of my birthday and I didn't even realize that it was my birthday. My new life was supposed to have begun. I was supposed to have relocated and re started my being into a new me. The new job was supposed to be interesting and the new city exciting. I was at my destination and at the doorstep of this life. And then what happened? Destiny. Mix-ups and mis-understanding and then some humiliation and some sadness. Oh and lets not forget the 1500 Kms of bus travel in about 24 hours. A screwed back and a sore ass, that is what you get for wanting more, for thinking that you could maybe, possibly maybe turn your life around. I know, I know what everyone will say, its all in a learning experience, maybe its for the better, there must be something good in all this. I have heard all that. Ever since 2004.

It isn't and so I carry on, drag my feet along the sand and get some more blisters on my feet. Gather some more dust and have my shoulders a little more stooped. I'm a survivor am told, but what else can you do when there is no other choice? Once upon a time I had dreams. I wanted to be someone, today my best ally is pretense. I can pretend. Maybe that's all that remains when there is nothing else, the ability of make believe. Like Satine said in Moulin Rouge "I make men believe what they want to believe.." me too. I make everyone believe what they want to believe. Someone may call me just a big drama, maybe I am, there is nothing else to me anymore.

Maybe its hope. That's the thing. I hope. Things will be better, they'll solve themselves out. But they don't. Not for me.

I'm tired.
I wish dying was an option.

Birthday

2007-04-04T23:00:00.000-07:00

It's 12.00am. As I sit here waiting for phone calls, or just a phone call, I wonder about the year gone by. One more added onto my age and one more gone by. The new year ahead at the moment promises to be interesting and full to the brim of hope. But wait that sounds familiar.. isn't that what happens every year? The year ahead looks pretty. Anyhow, This year I intend to make a few changes and alter the kind of person I am. Mellow a little maybe, if that's the word. Try and see if I change around then would my life change ?
12.04am am am still waiting for the phone call. I have never made big deals out of birthdays, but I think like everyone I too count the number of people who wish me, doesn't everyone?! Birthday presents.. I get one every year, the one I actually wait for.
The night is breezy and pleasant and there is a full moon against a inky blue sky. I can inhale the cool air and feel it filling my lungs, someone has Queen of the Night blooming in their garden, there is a sweet, musky fragrance in the air, its delicate perfume caressing the insides, almost as if I touch the isolated strand it would shatter into million little pieces.
12.10am.. phones ringing.
someone remembers.

Lonely

2007-03-29T12:27:00.000-07:00

Forty years ago, The Beatles asked the world a simple question. They wanted to know where all the lonely people came from. My latest theory is that a great many of the lonely people come from a stationary shop. More precisely from the ink these stores sell, which glides on paper as a writer writes a story. As writers we ignore our own needs so we can meet our characters' needs. We ignore our friends and families so we can create other people's friends and families. Which means that at the end of the day all we really have is ourselves. And nothing in this world can make you feel more alone than that. 400 years ago another well known English guy had an opinion about being alone. John Donne. He thought we were never alone. Of course it was fancier when he said it. No man is an island entire unto himself. Boil down that island talk and he just meant that all anyone needs is someone to step in. And let us know we're not alone.

Inadequacy

2007-03-26T05:26:00.000-07:00

It's 2:36 am.
I miss you.
I remember you.
I remember I loved you.
I wish you were near.

Do you know what we'd do if you were here right now?
We'd bundle up really warm and go outside and sit beside the lake and
watch the blood red moon sink into the inky lake. I'd hold you close
like I never have before and always wanted to. I know the terrain of
your mind and find it rejuvenating. You know the contours of mine and
find them comfortable. We'd be old lovers looking at an old moon, drop
against the backdrop of this beautiful Dalhousie. And I'd hold you
close, and we'd talk softly as if we didn't want to shatter the
crystal perfection, ice-cold around us. We would talk about nothing
and everything and it would be the most important conversation in the
world because it was ours.

Then, when you began to feel cold through your coverings I'd get up
and dust off and give you a hand up and then we'd go into the house to
the kitchen and make coffee. There'd be no one around us.We'd go right
into the center of life and warmth, and I'd make a Double Espresso and
you'd have a Hot Chocolate, and I'd tell you how good mine was and
you'd say how good yours was, and we'd taste each other's and maybe
even prefer it to our own, but not say anything, because we'd settle
for less for ourselves, but not for the other. And then you'd start to
tell me about the little things in your life, the gossip and the petty
defeats and victories. You'd tell it to me in that way you tell me
things that makes me want to preserve you, right there and then in
that moment for all time, so you'd never lose your innocence and your
kindness and your glow. You'd be talking and sipping and waving your
hands around, and then I'd slide my hand onto yours when it paused for
a second, and you'd pretend not to notice and you'd keep talking and
then take your hand back to emphasize a point. I'd smile to myself
because I know you so well, and because you've got spirit and you
don't come easy. But I'd be persistent and grab hold of your hand and
pin it down, and we'd smile at each other as we recognized our ancient
game.

Then, when the coffee and the hot chocolate were finished, we'd go out
on a walk. We'd walk in silence; the world would be such a comfortable
place at that moment that we'd both let our thoughts drift to
unimportant things. We'd get back to the house and it would feel like
home even to you, and we'd go up to my room and gently open the door
so as not to wake anyone. As we entered through the darkness you'd
trip over my bag left on the floor and you'd grab hold of my arm for
support and instinctively, I'd flex my muscle. Your giggle would burst
through the darkness, and you'd start me chuckling and that would go
on until we'd have to run into the lounge next to my room and collapse
on the couch laughing hysterically.

Then we'd be spent and we'd remember that there would be few days like
that, because now we are adults and our first allegiance is to the
pursuit of money and success, and not to unconditional love. So I'd
tell you some things - beautifully worded and eloquently spoken. And
you'd tell me some things - clumsily and awkwardly. But you'd believe
me less than I believed you, because you know me well.
Before I would go to sleep, I'd look at you for sometime, as if you
were a picture. And I'd remember all the times I'd looked at your
photograph and wished you were in front of me. I'd pull you to me, and
bring my mouth close to plant a soft, innocent kiss on yours, to
express to you, in a fleeting brush of lips, what I loved you for. And
maybe you'd let your lips touch mine, just for a second, but for a
second longer than ever before. And then we'd sleep - me, with my head
on my pillow and in your lap; you, with a smile on your lips and in my
heart.

I wish you were here.
I wish you were near.

Human

2007-03-26T05:24:00.000-07:00

I don't see right, I don't see wrong
In anything I've done, In where I've gone.
And I'm only human and yes I've made mistakes
I wish that I could foresee what I'm doing wrong, get some breaks.

Through a doorway I'm calling, down a long road I'm walking
Like an eagle I'm soaring up so high.

You can see it in my hands
You can see it in my face
I'm chasing passion down a one way street.
But I'm in command of lost control
And I'll tell you one thing's certain, that I'll never fake it for anyone.

Run to a place you'll never hide, to a place you hold so tight and
you'll try....

And I'm only human and yes I've made mistakes

Sleeping With The Enemy

2007-03-23T01:06:00.000-07:00

You don't get to call me a whore. When I met you, I thought I had found the person that I was going to spend the rest of my life with! I was done. So all the boys and all the bars and all the obvious daddy issues, who cared? Because I was done. You left me. You chose someonelse. I'm all glued back together now. I make no apologies for how I chose to repair what you broke. You don't get to call me a whore.

Mindcircus

2007-03-22T02:13:00.001-07:00

Falling in,
Six hours from morning,
And falling in,
Sink me off to sleep

So come along within,
I think it's time to let me in,
I'm tipping my foot very close to the edge,
And just a few more of your seconds,
And I need for me to repair
To neatly stand and spin it around in my head,

Oh can i please have some silence,
How about some space?
Can i have some space?

Almost, ready to drift now,
And I feel myself slipping inside you,
Oh just a little bit further,
before something drags me back,
You're so close,
I thought I nearly had you there

I'm so tired, I gotta sleep,
I wanna wake up from a dream,
I've had enough, I need to sleep,
I wanna wake up without you, yeah

2007-03-21T11:54:00.000-07:00

"Turn around. Walk away."

"From what?"

"From my friend."

"But I wasn’t …"

"Uh yeah, yes you were. Come on, look. You can’t do this. You don’t have the right. Not anymore."

"I just wanna find out if he’s okay."

"No he’s not! He’s a human traffic accident and everybody is slowing down to look at the wreckage. He’s doing the best he can with what he has left. Look I know you can’t see this because you’re in it but you can’t help him now. It’ll only make it worse. Walk away. Leave him to mend."

Pain

2007-03-21T11:15:00.000-07:00

Pain comes in all forms. The small tinge. A bit of soreness. The random pain. The normal pains we live with everyday. Then there’s the kind of pain you can’t ignore. A level of pain so great that it blocks out anything else. Makes the rest of the world fade away. Until all we can think about is how much we hurt. How we manage our pain is up to us. Pain. We anaesthetize, ride it out, embrace it, ignore it. And for some of us the best way to manage pain is to just push through it.

Deny, Deny, Deny

2007-03-20T10:56:00.000-07:00

What do you say to an exboyfriend who calls you up at 3:00am after some 3 years of silence.

"hello?"
"its me..."
"okay. can i sleep now?"
"its me. wake up. talk to me."
"why wud you call me at 3am and want to talk?dont you have some controlfreakconventiontogoto?"
"laughter."
"amdrunk"

I had guessed as much. In the past on several occasions while we were together, I got phone calls at weird hours of the night to talk. Speak till he fell asleep. I obliged ofcourse, in turn losing valuable hours of sleep and then facing an angry always-on-pms-dyke at work. While it was endearing and sweet and nice, I realised very soon that it couldn't go on for very long. Those nights was when I already knew this wasn't going to last very long. I was already changing and accommodating too much. The guy was obviously a drunkard and that's not counting any of the dope. But I still denied it. Deny, Deny, deny. He did look like rather good though. And who wouldn't want an affair with an almost Adonis to last for all the while that it has a chance. They are always nice and sweet to you, these vertible Gods. They kiss you, they lick you and then they kick you. The thing is you expect it a lot of times. But even then I don't think it is ever us. It’s not us. It’s them. Them and their stupid boy … penises. Penises. Penisesisies.

They didn’t tell me they had a wife. They gave absolutely no warning that they were going to break up with you.

Into You Like A Train

2007-03-13T03:30:00.000-07:00

In general people can be categorized in one of two ways. Those who love surprises. And those who don’t. I don’t. I’ve never met a writer that enjoys a surprise. Because as writers we like to be in the know. We have to be in the know because we aren’t the kind of people that die and law suits happen. Am I rambling? I think I’m rambling. Okay. So my point actually … and I do have one. Has nothing to do with surprises or death or lawsuits or writers. My point is this whoever said what you don’t know can’t hurt you was a complete and total moron. Because for most people I know not knowing is the worst feeling in the world. Okay fine. Maybe it’s the second worst. As writers there are so many things we have to know. We have to know what it takes. We have to know how to take care of our characters. And how to take care of each one of them. Eventually we even have to figure out how to take care of ourselves. As writers we have to be in the know. But as human beings, sometimes its better to stay in the dark. Because in the dark there maybe fear… … but there’s also hope.

Touch Me

2007-03-11T00:43:00.000-08:00

As people, as friends, as human beings we all try to do the best we can. But the world is full of unexpected twists and turns. And just when you’ve gotten the lay of the land, the ground underneath you, shifts. You lie there waiting, sitting by the window with sun light pouring in, watching the blue sky turn orange and pink and then a deep shade of inky blue. But hope doesn't arrive. The stars shine and the moon rises, the wind wraps itself around you and cries in familiar wounded voices. You can't do much but sit there and wait for the feeling to pass and wish that it would be better. Soon. It is not as much as its about the change of events in your life you are so unhappy about. It actually is about why does someone who does not deserve it, has it so good? Why? It was yours, happily ever after, it was your lifetime achievement award, it was you who was to be congratulated for having found it all, for having done it all. But no, it isn't so and from the looks of it, perhaps it never will be.

Life is so strange, when you want to live it won't let you breathe, it will take everything away and corner you in a dark alley and tell you that you cannot. And when you don't want to live anymore, when you know you cannot go on, it tells you walk. Walk even if you don't have the will or courage or the limbs to make it through the night.

We all go through this at some point in our lives, they say. The intense orgasm of pain and darkness. It is very unlike anything you would ever encounter. But then what is? We hope it gets better from here, that we will only get wiser and kinder and more forgiving. But are we really? We get bitter, we get suspicious, we get sarcastic and anything good that comes there after is questioned, is made to step up and prove it self. But prove what? That it is permanent? There is nothing permanent, we know that too. Then why bother? Really?

Nowhere Warm

2007-03-07T10:57:00.000-08:00

Okay so sometimes even the best of us make rash decisions. Bad decisions. Decisions we pretty much know we're gonna regret the moment, the minute, especially the morning after. I mean maybe not regret, regret because at least you know we put ourselves out there. But still, something inside us decides to do a crazy thing. A thing we know that'll probably turn around and bite us in the ass. Yet, we do it anyway. What I'm saying is we reap what we sow. What comes around goes around. It's karma and any way you slice it, karma sucks. Payback's a bitch. One way or another, our karma, will lead us to face ourselves. We can look our karma in the eye or we can wait for it to sneak up on us from behind. One way or another, our karma will always find us. And the truth is as writers we have more chances than most to set the balance in our favor. No matter how hard we try, we can't escape our karma. It follows us home. I guess we can't really complain about karma. It's not unfair. It's not unexpected. It just evens the score. And even when we're about to do something we know will tempt karma to bite us in the ass � well it goes without saying - we do it anyway.

Slipping Away

2007-03-02T10:52:00.000-08:00

All that we needed was right
The threshold is breaking tonight

Open to everything happy and sad
Seeing the good when it's all going bad
Seeing the sun when I can't really see
Hoping the sun will at least look at me

Focus on everything better today
All that I needed I never could say
Hold on to people, they're slipping away
Hold on to this while it's slipping away

All that we needed tonight
Are people who love us and like
I know how it feels to need
Oh when we leave here, you'll see

Open to everything happy and sad
Seeing the good when it's all going bad
Seeing the sun when I can't really see
Hoping the sun will at least look at me

Focus on everything better today
All that I needed I never could say
Hold on to people, they're slipping away
Hold on to this while it's slipping away

So long
So long

Open to everything happy and sad
Seeing the good when it's all going bad
Seeing the sun when I can't really see
Hoping the sun will at least look at me

Focus on everything better today
All that I needed I never could say
Hold on to people that slipping away

Wait

2007-02-28T06:44:00.000-08:00

A lot of things happened together, I could not breathe for exactly 1 minute and 12 seconds, life blurred and then I had that familiar feeling of pain. Heart Break to be precise. Is it possible to have the same feeling again ever? I didn’t know till today. I had thought that the part where you say that this is over and done with actually means that much. Apparently it does not. These moments come back to haunt you, to remind you that you too are capable of feeling the same pain. Okay, let me rephrase that you are “Still” capable of feeling the same kind of pain. That it is not over yet. That it will remain for a while still. That while everything else may melt away and you may not remember it, pain will stay with you. Just as real and sharp as the day when you got it the first time.

Somewhere along the line I lost it. The idea that you could be whole ever again, but then I had also lost the realization that it is important to be a certain whole being. I thought it was okay that you could be this half being; this half walking talking and crying person or thing and that was enough and okay. That you could perhaps make do with it. But apparently not. It isn’t enough to be the wronged one. It isn’t even enough to be the wronged one and seek revenge. I sought revenge, went after it with all that I had in me. Love pushes you over they say, it begins that change in you which lets you blossom and bloom. They don’t know that love can turn you vicious. That it can kill and mutilate and that it hurts you more than you can hurt the other person. It was much too late by the time I knew how it was going to be. To late to make amends. To late to undo. To late to realize that love couldn’t conquer all. That it will haunt you for the rest of your life. Whatever life I have lived till date.

“does love exist?”

“…. Perhaps for you it does”