Teens to Toons

As I reach out for my twelveth fag tonite,I realise how much this need for smoke has become pivotal to my existence. These curls of smoke help blur my vision of walls around me,the stuff that they are made of. Chasing dreams,I unconsciously wove a surreal web around me and I seek happiness, a transient one. A year back,I landed here with a desire and umpteen ambitions to create my mark. Juvenile and vivacious, I gave my mind, heart and soul to the dream I nurtured. And was I rewarded- I climbed up the corporate ladder at an envious pace,made formidable contacts,lead a glamour tinted existence,built impressive bank balance,talked business over endless cocktail parties,but somewhere down the line,lost connection with the guy who was part of me for the previous 22 years of my life. He was an 'emotional one'-that's what someone called him fondly,with a heart as sublime as morning dew on fragile flowers. Years of manic paced timeline based struggle has lent my soul hues I detes

Yes she is the affair that never was. The one thought that remained unsaid . The only thing i'll always regret , is ignoring what her eyes said. for i should have taken a step forward , but i stepped back instead i went to make my own way , not going where she would have led. yes and now all things done and said she remains my one regret. (ever listened to this song in hindi)

I have always finished last.... I agree to being a nice guy... Most people won't. I have always been dumped, shunted and off-loaded by all kinds of skunk. But I have always been nice. i have taken it nicely. I have taken it fair. I have never hurt them back. I could have, believe me, but I did not. I am an angel at heart. (now that is too much *grin*) Angels exist and have a heart too... L.H.S = R.H.S hence proved. Thus, I am a nice guy because I finish last. All my proofs in exam read like this. Disjointed.

It has been a long long time. I have not met a single woman who could make me feel "want" her. This is the truth. After her, I have not even talked to anyone in particular. I have not even made any attempt to do anything that would qualify as socialising. I spent the b'day all alone grimacing in pain. It is not flattering. Not many people like me. It is indeed sad. Let me see what I can do about that.

I am a sinner and I know that I have sinned. I am not going to justify it. I am a sinner and this is it. Period. Even this, the acceptance of the fact that I am a sinner is a sin. It is a sin to think words no others would ever want to think and to put them down upon a paper so that others can see. I am all that is bad and evil. But this is not the only sin in me. I have committed a greater crime, and for this crime there is no name and I guess, no punishment. What punishment awaits me it is to be discovered, for no such crime has ever happened in the annals of history. It is dark here. There is not a ray of light guiding me. Nothing moves in this hole save my hand on the paper. I am alone here under the earth. It is a fearful word, alone. And now there is nothing here, save my one body, and it is strange to see only two legs stretched on the ground, and on the wall before me the shadow of one head and it is so dark that I hardly can make out my hand. I must be hallucinating. I am

'I don't very often have the courage of my convictions face to face with people. This is why I became a novelist. If I was asked to pick the school child most likely to become a writer, I'd pick the shy boy or girl, the one who never manages to stand up for his or her beliefs. Who walks away from a lost argument thinking of all the answers that would have won it ... When I am inside a text I can say what I like. Not only about politics. I can be franker about sex, for example ... ' - John Fowles This is about as good as it gets.

If You Forget Me I want you to know one thing. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me. Well, now, if little by little you stop loving me I shall stop loving you little by little. If suddenly you forget me do not look for me, for I shall already have forgotten you. If you think it long and mad, the wind of banners that passes through my life, and you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots, remember that on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my arms and my roots will set off to seek another land. But if each day, each hour, you feel that you are destined for me with implacable sweetness, if each day a flow

It is a wonderful start to this new year. It's my birthday today and although it does not matter, I look back and see some amazing people and memories. It's kind of tough to type, as the thing that I have broken is my left hand. Hehe. Last year, this time: We were going out of our minds. I think I was reading “An Equal Music”. Cannot believe a year has gone by yet. Last year, this time: I stayed up half the night to make a special gift for Abhijeet, who has eventually moved on. I have not given it to him as of yet. Last year, this time: I watched from close quarters what chaos weddings can be. … I am still recuperating. Last year, this time: We celebrated the new year with a poof. A phone call was all that happened. This time it is the beach. Last year, this time: I walked around goofing half the day and should have ideally learnt from the folly. I haven’t. Last year, this time: All my pals were still living in and around India. Today they are scatter

Faking it is a need. It is the ask of the hour. It is a realization that has come too late. I need to hide the truth. I need to hide myself and mask myself, so that what I present is palatable. Last year I went as myself and did everything the way i wanted to. But it did not result in what I wanted. They ask me how I led a group to victory (something like that). If I tell them the truth, hehe, I can see their faces and the blood draining out. When I did it the way I did it, I created a fear in the minds of those hordes. They knew as the person, not to offend. If I said run, they ran and If I said work, they worked. It has always been like this. It was unilateral. It was unanimous. I was the ringleader and I did what I thought was right. It does not work in industry like this, they tell me, still. I still laugh at them. It is always that way. It is always one who is right and the other who is wrong. I can't tell them because they won't understand. So the fact is that if you a

sab hai jab aashiq tumhaare naam ke, kyoun hain yeh jhagde rahim-o-ram ke. I have been tired for a long time now. I would love to have a debate on religion but I find no one. I would love to debate on anything, but I find no one. If any one ever understand intellectual isolation, he would sympathise with me. I am starving for a war of word. Growing wiser is not my cup of tea. I need a stronger one all the while.

It has been a long time since I have recieved a letter. A snail mail. When I returned home, yesterday I found a slip saying that since I had not been home, the registered letter has been taken back and it was advised that I should reach the post office between 10-11am or 4-5pm and get the letter. How could have I gone during those timings. Anywayz I slept late today and woke up just in time for this adventure. I reached the post office (around 7 kms away) after taking at least 20 U-turns. I asked innumerable people about the post office but to no avail. Finally I found it. I went inside and showed the slip to the postman. He went and cam back 15 minutes later and gave me a bundle of letters. which one is yours? Have you gotten your license? I went through the bundle thrice and was unable to locate the letter. He fumed. Gave me a dirty look. Ten minutes later, he was sweating. The letter was not there. I came to office after he apologized and promised to fond the letter. I know it'

It's a wonderful thing, my surname. I stand out for that single reason, ever since I was born. I was and am will always remain that. They call me by that and I understand myself by that. Let my surname be "X". X can't be afraid. X can't be hurt. X does not have emotions. X cannot do this and X will have to do it. X is not a nice person. X is not the kind of person to be friends with. X is cruel. Finally X is a wall, unlike Dravid. I was reminded of how forceful I have been in my adolescent years. I met this female and she is the one who starts talking to me, after she hears that I am from so and so institute. So she asks me my batch and I monosyllabically recite the number. She asks my dept and I carefully recite my dept. Then she asks my name. Thud. The color is draining off her face. She stammers an okay and walks away. That is precisely what X is. I love these people who go by my image's. SO why do they have a problem if I make my own image of their's

I had this great day at work.. listening to Nusrat and Mehdi Hasan and it was a wonderful experience. I had this chance to copy some amazing pieces. Finally Led Zep gets what it deserves many times over. And finally something I copied over from someone. it's good and it's repeatable. I have no idea where this is from. But I stand for one thing. I always believe in the beauty of the thing. If a thing "feels" beautiful, then it must be beautiful. One cannot learn to see beauty. Everyone sees beauty in his own way. And when people complain about abstract art being "uselsss", I tend to agree with them. Zinda rahe to fir milenge, haal-e-dil tumse fir kahenge, aur karenge umeed, ki kabhi kisi udaas shaam me, tumhaari aankhon se ek aanson humaare naam ka bhi bahega. Zinda rahe to fir milenge, haal-e-dil tumse fir kahenge, aur karenge umeed, ki kabhi kisi andheri raat me, taaron ki us barat me ek chehra tumhe humaara bhi dikhega. Zinda rahe to fir

My relationships end with the other person walking out on me. Simple. I am often percieved as a wall. One cannot love a wall, afterall. They like the decor and they like the facade but watching a wall is not that glam. So I often wonder, is it me or is it them? I mean the problem. I always thought that this "emotion" thingie is about time. When I say time, I mean it not only quantitatively but qualitiatively. Time is the most important gift one can give to another and it's is what we are less and less prepared to forego. And I in all my innocence wanted to give what I held as most precious. And it was the most useless thing for them. They wanted gifts and flowers and the pomp and show. They wanted displays of affection and confirmation of that too. The problem applies across class but the supposedly "money-rich, time-scarce" professionals are worst affected. They hardly ever think about others and then they say that they love. Ahhh.. who would not die for such

I was a wonderful kid. I had energy, wit, sense and doggedness and a taste for blood. I have always let the sayings of my mind rule the things of my heart. I have fought the battles to the end. I have almost never given up. I was relentless. Now it seems I am changing. I seek what I abhorred at one point of time in my life. “I know you much more and much longer than anybody else,” she says. “ You analyze way too much.” Yes, I know its true. I do. Everything and everybody has been weighed and found wanting. One “interest” after the other. Fine Arts? Sports? Politics? Gaming? Programming? Quizzing? Literature? Wow!! It was the maniac in me that sought things, that could be mastered and I lived on. As the sheen became dull, the maniac moved on, but I could not. It has been a load, an overwhelming one. People think I am joking when I ramble on about things that I know related to the topic. I am trying to get sober, mature... I am actually on my way to becoming a well-tuned human b