Life kills you anyway . . .

So probably it’s ok, you cannot deliver happy endings, nevertheless, it’s hopeful to expect one, when you’d know eventually what’s it’s all about, so whats the big deal, is it just do our time and roll on, or it is about a struggle that is perpetual, a struggle that is so apparent that it makes oneself blind and would not want to be tangible to anyone who is in the process. Frankly I dont know what to write here, the whole concept of life and its deriving futures are quite scary, It will not matter tomorrow what you have read today unless there’s a bloody examination that is just about to judge you forever and will not consider any “But” or “U know” or either “actually”, it’s just there, right plain bare stretched upon the veritable future glass ball with one’s name all over it and worse, it starts to make sense when it hurts, things make sense when they start to hurt or atleast that’s what makes the most sense out of it, substance addiction, a different oxygen or the unspeakable life itself. The addiction is what makes it all worthwhile and the addiction they say is illegal, irrational and false.

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The addictions of life may well run into infinity, but the addiction of wanting to let someone want you or oneself is something that would never run out of fashion, I’m not all that good with words, I’m just decent with twirling them with emotions that make situations complicated to get out of, the addiction, again, of dreaming is sensible, but when sterile actions take control and press charges for the obvious, what’s left is just the soul’less addicted self that one has to handle and hold within oneself or let loose onto an other for safety, security and probably for the comfort feeling of being secure. What’s succeeded is what’s important and worthy of looking and answering, but what if the very cause is deceit? What then, how would you answer to yourself the very question that has been anticipated to be the most disturbing of all thoughts and problems that one has to live with, maybe strength, strength again, through addiction, strength through resources, strength through comfort and strength through numbers. But when life kills you anyway, what would one possibly want out of it? Is it the congregation of thoughts to keep oneself happy, or is it the absolute need of not letting go and looking over the thin divide and lie to oneself.

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Such exactly is the altercation between infatuation and love, there’s no such rational divide that exists, there’s just random thoughts and again, encrypted messages not to be decrypted in public or outside self, the very action of “investing so heavily” onto something momentary is to ensure that this life before death is worth a penny or even more, well in INR it’s got to be some paisa, to understand the aimless aim’s everyone’s been chasing is more than a philosophy in itself, understanding it purely and putting the derivations to action is tuff, the madness that it leaves behind is sadly evident, the wreck, it makes oneself to, is definitely a pleasing sight, specially when all that you think that you have done has been dismissed efficiently into a platter full of gutter charm and composure, then one would ask why celebration? Why at all, that’s the basic paradox of it all, theres no certain explanation to what it could be and what it should and what exactly it is, but the complex connections and routes within the tunnels that would rather meet and pretend to dissolve themselves into the gloomy shadows one would want to leave and move ahead pretending to look for, at exactly where they left behind, but if all you left behind were a forest of shadows, where would light penetrate into the flow of thoughts and make you realize that all you had for yourself was nothing better than what the frog in the well had thought of itself, a master, the ultimate power, but all that would again need an re-inforcement and that’s exactly what life is all about.

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It’s about reinforcing the doubt into clarity, it’s not about doing it yourself, it’s about getting it done and feeling secure about what has been done and living in a fear of being discarded and disapproved of what has just been accomplished, life has nothing much more to offer, it’s all about a second chance of making one believe in what one wants to believe but would not because there’s been no hand-of-god to suggest what has been said and what has to be done is right and will be so, forever, but that’s when the lying get’s to the picture, it surpasses the need, the necessity of human emancipation to the truthful but would rather bet it’s dime on relying on the blatant lies of the second fiddle to just let know the comforts of numbers and the wonders of divided trust and belief. Simply put, the remote control has been safely given to pals and family for an efficient entertaining life through channels and records that one would want to juxtapose with life itself that maybe some day one would wonder about what happened to the tape and why are they voices interposing each other with screams and laughter at the same time, coming back, like we have never deviated, the thin line between infatuation and love falls in the category of thoughts expressed, it’s more than reinforcement, it’s the juxtaposition of life itself onto the ideal commotion of feelings and horrendous belief’s that things can be true, they can be better for better and not worse, they can make someone sense the innermost desire of fulfillment of need through some one who is not you, when life can drench oneself out of the common sense and the guts to make see for themselves that the truth, may not always be told, still beholds the power than the consensus, maybe it’s time that you have thought and thought hard about what has been said and how true it has been, I wonder some times, the weak, the meek, have an altogether life carved for themselves in their hearts and that is something that they have learn’t to live with, to live without questioning, to live without self opposition, to live without deriving the logical and to suppress the rest for no explainable reason but to believe than in something that is not them.

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Come to think of it, life kills you anyway, so why bother . . .

A Day (A Page from my Short Story)

He smiled all the time, he thought he liked people, vice versa was true, he made them smile too, he wore nothing extraordinary, his pant pockets always had a Zippo, keys, wallet and some random bill that he choose to pay, he ate chips that had “zero cholesterol” in green clouds on the packaging as one of its usp’s. He looked at all possible things, handmade colour posters, sleeping street dogs, momentary women on roads, drunken brawls for torn rupee notes, dosa’s being cut with forks and spoons, dirt boundaries of flowing waters on the road, confused smelling garbage dumps, people sleeping on push carts, kids going to school in pressed clothes, bus stands with no stand, techno feeling regional language song cassettes on display, worshipped movie stars adorning auto glasses from the inside to avoid any disrespect from the wipers or the rain, butt scratching made look like wallet accessing exercise to the other, places of worship with and without gates, hollow ditches on roads, altered silencer bikes with pillion riders leaning hard enough to push the driver off, hoardings with advertising agency’s marvellous ideas, dust laden corners of shops selling broom sticks, little boards for classical dance classes, the blue background with the yellow font of tutorials for school going kids, skirts low below the waist and high above the knee, empty place for kabbadi practise later for cricket with wickets diagonally across the rectangular plot, kitchen ware jam packed with each other to shout out the variety, walls high enough to give necessary complex to cats, wide roads with speed breakers, by lanes leading to dead end’s, police men in white and khaki, street lights with papers all over, news paper vendors refusing a sale due to change issues, hot chip shops for all, well cooked attractive chicken rolling in tandem for the hungry, office buses with black windows and huge logo’s on each sides, shoppers returning back with content, parking lots with people in helmets contemplating, defunct traffic lights, women in groups, men looking more harder at them, wonders of disposable income, mannered assistants in coffee shops bending to suggest their personal favourites, parrot befriended modern dressed sadu reciting future for the present, brown painted iron housing onions, lanes that bifurcated to further lanes, people with hands in pockets walking looking down and no further, small boxes open on three sides for cigarette access, camphor sachets piled beside the temple, pairs of footwear left with trust getting the occasional glance from the owner and thanking god for still letting them be there, discussions that led nowhere but to desperation, imported glass for rupees fifty placards hanging from beach umbrellas, illegal published books with faded covers on sale with attractive offers, straight-walking-to-you men selling sun shades on sunny days, kids with running noses running after others in their grease coated smaller than them clothes, dropped food packets with cooked rice flowing from the loose ends of packing onto the road, camouflaged lizards resting in corners of cement steps on walls, kids with guitars and crazy looking hair passing by on vespa’s painted in light yellow, city buses with enough space for a hundred more, social messages on auto behind’s for the common man, an occasional camel striding across with pride on well laid tar, marriage cars giving a glimpse of how would the bride be if that was her ride, photo shops with thirty pass port size photos of some random guy stuck from the inside to show the quality and competitiveness of the store, chattering girls giggling, pointing at each other and giggling again, match watching public grouped into a geometrical structure to catch the occasional cheer leader in a twenty20 match and curse whenever a wicket fell, rear glasses of cars with artwork on the dust that rest due to inactivity or illness, news paper reading men waiting for that perfect news to cheer them up or at least help the bus be on time, auto drivers chewing pan and spitting it far from the auto content with the shine that shone from the auto thanks to the morning round of cleaning, he saw them all, never did he see her. He promised himself not to smile, not to smile that special smile; he let it be all for her, for her he told himself all the time and smiled to himself thinking.

Errrrr . . . . .

I've come back to Hyderabad and no complaints, It's home and does feel like home to me, new phone number, an other phone, decent mode of transport, raging heat (The new Testament album is out, called The Formation of Damnation and Currently playing : Liar Of The Minotaur - Juggernaut Of Metal), financial data and worse logical confusion, everything prevails, I cannot believe 2 months in here, will make a lot of things different. Firstly, I wonder what exactly will i do during my summer's, I did submit a memo of things that I would want to do at the organisation and I hope they would oblige, got to go at 1:30 to their office today and check the status of my request, Oh by the way, I would be working here - www.sharemicrofin.com

Today is third day away from Bangalore and it seems like I've never been to Bangalore and have always had pals there, calling up everyone felt like a stranger, the hostel flats were footsteps away where shadows crossed the borders easily, here, its different and there is nothing that would remind you of feeling that existed back then, the weather's always been pleasant there and was widely appreciated by one and all, the hailstorm, just before Marketing examination of the IIIrd Trimester had, had everyone in a different world alltogether, the things at college gave no relief, everyone had to bow down to the almighty Placement and Training Cell, the one's who didn't usually had themselves stuck in situations at times, anyways, thats too early to talk about.

Just hope the internship thing goes well and I learn something new here, everytime a senior tells that its just his summer's that was stressed in the interview room, it skips coupla beats in my heart, I mean summer's meant to be done, I know in a fairly good way but making it the centre point of the interview is foolishness rather meaningless, Interviews are probably the worst things that have happened to human kind, I wouldnt say the same to Telephonic interviews, thank God, there they would not worry what I am wearing of the gestures that I would be doing while answering the telephone call, I mean getting into the interview room itself is a big deal in life, I assure you its not difficult, but it's not that easy too and the transition from one stage of it to the other can happen in a second, yup that's what happens when one wears the shirt of his choice or forget's to shine one's shoes.

Life's very fair, it gives you good number of chances to learn or to be unfair with people, leave alone things, they neither react or teach you things, its the people that are around you, who one fine day, will come to your rescue or make you want some one else to come to your rescue, people are such double edged assets to oneself, you would not want to lose them and at the same time you would not want to have them by your side all the time and when you dont, they would want to be with you or by your side, sometimes I think the intellectual quotient that the country should technically have has been deteriorating, I understand the funda about India's population is now oddly distributed with the youngsters being around 40% or something i.e till the age range of 30, If i can say that, so one fine day our politician will on an average be 45, a great achievement and some day, there would be an act to protect the interests of the old or maybe central supported old age home's. I have no idea why I'm saying it, but I see it coming and I dont like it.

! ! ! ! ! I honestly dont know what else to write . . . .

The Trip

No ordinary morning, no ordinary evening and for sure no ordinary night. It didnt seem everything revolving would stop to notice, neither did it feel like the urge to look at the dark side, it all happened by default, within the blink of an eye, it felt like nothing before, I heard voices, randomly; songs, structuredly; movie with no sound and sound track. It didnt began to die out, it felt it will last forever, sometimes putting me into confusion if the sleep within would ever realise that the physical sleep and itself were distant cousins set out to confuse people. It felt like nothing before.

The night of life and lights didnt blur like I thought, My head didnt explode, the slow induced life into the artifical one's we're living was neither welcome nor unwelcome. Initially, the senses and the controllers felt distinct, they felt disconnected, they felt random, as i let myself to sleep to wake in it to the reality, I saw things, i felt them, I wondered if the lines drawn and the mercury filled into the emptiness would make sense end of the day. It could i thought. The "force" swirled around built momentum and in strength through numbers and derivatives kept pulling me, It pulled me right, far right, I wanted to hold onto something, something strong so that i would not be pulled off the chair, individual organs, parts bore the brunt, the pull, toppled my senses to distant dimensions, I told myself, i would remember questions that i asked myself during this pleasure, there were 6 in all, but what they were, I will never remember, all i wanted to do was to listen to Jimi Hendix's Purple Haze and i was listening to Deep Purple's Hush (Now i totally love this song, watch the video's of both the songs, Click 'em) which was not too bad, it being the acoustic version. The force kept pulling me to the right, it came to the point where i was scared i would explode, for the first time in my life i felt relieved that someone too wanted my life apart from me, frankly there's not much to look ahead to.

Suddenly this force which pestered me for a while, took the form of a movie reel, this movie reel was pretty weird, it was like a 4 by4 matrix where the bottom of the matrix was stretched to infinity, i tried to locate the end, the 4 never extending boxes initially had the numbers 1,4,0 and 8. Why them ? I have no reason, just like kids play selecting boxes in a maze by putting a stone on them and then skip it while jumping from one box to an other, there was some stone, more like a small black ball, that kept jumping in an ordered fashion through the boxes to and fro which scared me for reasons unknown, the reel kept unwinding and its source was out of vicinity of my view, the reel kept going into the darkness, there was some shaded black that could be differentiated from its neighbourhood of black through some shaded difference, i noticed it, i wondered when Black and White movies were made was this difference noticed and brought out onto the screen for a better colour experience during the monochrome days. Suddenly the reel stopped moving, it took me a lot of time to realise this as the environment was all same and i had to decipher this move by the movement of the reel through it all, as soon as i noticed it, there were four huge columns drawn with well defined walls and emtiness left for filling within, it was like a thermos flask with one dimension visibility the one's you usually have for exhibition or for customer awareness programs, the first three were already filled and the fourth column, further split into two columns one was Yes and the other was No, the red fluid which now i think is alcohol filled up the Yes column to a lot of distance, after some time i lost track of the length it went to and came back to focus my attention on the No column which instantly on starting to get filled got stopped.

Suddenly the musicians sitting across started playing Silk Route's Dooba Dooba this was probably the most relishing time of my trip, I knew i was leaning onto the table but i felt by shoulder and collar bones co-ordinated and suddenly i felt like a drop of water in the ocean, if you've ever noticed, after a while into the sea when things seem calm, the water from a closer look seems like small plate's floating across others and making way for themselves, this was exactly where i was i was one small surface among thousand others, for once i was not hydrophobic and i loved it, as i opened my eyes to sense the waves, i could see the nearest pair of halogen lamps shake just like the water in the ocean, they perfectly coordinated with the music as my head did and it felt awesome, the song ended to end my hydraulic trip to the nearest ocean, as Vani kept trying to wake me up and I made a constant effort to get out of it all, i succeded, It took me a good 40 minutes to come back to life and place an order to make myself feel better. I wanted to go home in the middle of it all, all Vani kept saying was, dont get scared, its new, so it feels different, the other high is what u always get since u know how it feels, you feel secured about it happenning again and again.

The next time ? I dont know :)

Observation.Skill.Time.Death

Observation


* The things that haunt you, haunt you not cos they haunt you but cos u haunt yourself with all those haunting moments.


* Punctuation spells DOOM if not punctuated properly.


* The wind always changes directions when u exhale smoke.


* Friends, phone calls, fate, forever. Four words that should never be uttered together.


* The problem with being punctual is not that there's no one to appreciate, its just that U HAVE TO FUCKING WAIT.


* Photoshop lets you age gracefully.



Skill


* Mouth is the best bottle opener.


* Driving the car, smoking, talking on the phone, changing a song in the iPod.


* To be able to make people understand that you're not leaving them forever, either you should have a time machine or just convince them you'r not.


* Identifying the Bass Guitar parts in any given song.


* Telling a girl  that she looks damn hot in a "BANIYAN"




Time



* Time and tide wait for the correct sized battery to be put it.


* Spending time for each other does not always make up for lost things.


* Knowing that ur the first person who's just walked out of the exam hall, should actually mean something.


* Time and Independent thinking are co-related.


* Time can be measured by number of coffee's/ number of torn tissue papers/ number of missed calls/ number of times you want to say Sorry



Death



* A week's time could either etch you in a memory or let some tongues loose.


* The lucky die on time, the unlucky leave a paperscroll of bills to be paid.


* Concepts relating to death, doesnt always make you end up dead, they're just borrowed concepts.


* Death is a state of mind, where all you have to do is ponder, what clothes you gotta wear next and if the sugar in coffee is sufficient.

Spontaneity, Aerosmith, Vodka, Laptop and Random Quizzes

Firstly, Aerosmith, dudes, are performing in Bangalore ( which's just about to become my HOME for a long long time ) and apparently Jayashree is going, dosent piss me off, cos i choose not to go, Errr, yeah, to think of the girls who'd come to see Joe Perry, would probably be worth, but then again, at this moment, i cannot stand so much of rock, love and hate and memories of Alicia Silverstone, Ooooooooooooooh :D

I respect people who appreciate metal and more than that who know their music, Jayashree's
one of them, atleast this conversation on Orkut will tell u why.

J = Jayashree
V = Vamsi

V : Dream On, Dream On, Dreeeeeeam On, Dream on till ur dreams come true

J : dude looks like a lady to you!

V : Vamsi's got a Gunnnn

J : you just want to Walk This Wayy

V : And U dont wana miss a thing

J : cos i'm the one who jaded you

V : Ur plain Crazy . . . . .

J : well, you're not Amazing either.

V : So now u dont "Walk My Way

J : no, i prefer Living On The Edge

V : Or probably The Other side

J : or maybe i'll Just Push Play

V : Or maybe Fall in love ( cos its hard on Knees )

J : (ooh! that's one of my favourites!), yeah. to heal the Hole In My Soul.

V : ( Shit, i wanted to write Hole in My Soul next :P ), To Heal a hole in ur soul, you should "Come Together".

J : yeah, possibly, cos Something's Gotta Give.

V : and that'll be Sweet Emotion

J : and then we Crash.

V : and then we crash on "Same Old Song And Dance"

J : good thing we have Nine Lives.

V : so we actually "Remember (Walking In The Sand"

J : waiting for a Taste Of India.

V : so finally we "Rock In A Hard Place"

J : and then we're Crying, (i like. very much.)

V : ( Aaaaah, Alicia Silverstone ), cos the world's turning out "Pink" LOL.

J : (argh. that was my line), now we're just fallen angels and i think we should wind up.

V : yeah, we're simply "Mama's Kin"

J : yeah, we're Drop Dead Gorgeous..

IMO, that was a kick ass conversation with someone who really knows their music, i wouldnt
mind if its rock, atleast she knows what she's talking unlike people who're like "Oh the band
which played the soundtrack to Armageddon and its "kvlt" to watch bands perform live" and
other comments go. But yeah, id probably end up going to the concert or just call someone who's there to listen to my favourite song by them when they're playing, think id ask my pals to call me when "Crying" is being played, i swear i love this song, the video is so kick ass too, its actually playing in my head right now as i type this. Brillliant, simply Brilliant, Aerosmith didnt just made some kick ass music, they complimented it with kick-ass videos too. Hail.

Vodka in summer ? Errr...... Why not :P

Finally, my baby is here, my HP dv6226TX laptop is here and its arrived with a bang, Im so glad that i have this lappie, feels like a part of my family, *sob*, *sob*, anyways, I love my lappie. Just started putting in all my pics from the desktop, the AIESEC memories 
folder went first, hehe, lots of pics, could not belive so many were there, was like a rush of
memories through limited time, was nice, gotta check all pics once again and think about them
if there's anything to be thought about and then switch to the next pic, to give it, its share of
time and thought. Feels so nice when we look at the photographs and go back in time as a third
person when you urself are a second person in the room and then re-enact, judge it all, should
probably feel better/worse/nothing for all i know, but somehow i feel, its all gonna be different.

Anyways, sleepy as hell, will watch Coupling for a while and hit the bed.

Your Depression Level: 88%

You seem to be severely depressed. You should seek immediate attention from your physician. Depression can be cured - you just need to take the first step.

Are You Depressed?

The Movie Of Your Life Is A Black Comedy

In your life, things are so twisted that you just have to laugh. You may end up insane, but you'll have fun on the way to the asylum. Your best movie matches: Being John Malkovich, The Royal Tenenbaums, American Psycho

If Your Life Was a Movie, What Genre Would It Be?

Your Career Type: Artistic

You are expressive, original, and independent. Your talents lie in your artistic abilities: creative writing, drama, crafts, music, or art. You would make an excellent: Actor - Art Teacher - Book Editor Clothes Designer - Comedian - Composer Dancer - DJ - Graphic Designer Illustrator - Musician - Sculptor The worst career options for your are conventional careers, like bank teller or secretary.

What's Your Ideal Career?

Now, this is weird

You Have Your Emotions in Check

You are an incredibly stable and happy person. Ever consider being a therapist? You have figured out how to keep a positive outlook, no matter what. You don't have an easier life than anyone else. You just have figured things out a little more.

Can You Keep Your Emotions in Check?

Hmmm, wonder, what do people actually do this all for :P

Anyways, im emotionally stable, which i totally agree and yes, to be true, there's this cloud of depression that always hangs over me, dont ask me why or how, probably its because of all the Doom Metal music i listen to, lol, the real reason is Im just sick of a lot of things and dont see the meaning of things that are not meant to be understood, i mean was discussing about this yes'day, What percentage of people actually need a brain ? i concluded 1.5, i mean there are so many things that people overlook and not even bother thinking about them all, i mean, important things too, which should be thought for a moment, which should be introspected by oneself, Nope, there's no analysis, there's no bullshit, there's plain life, which circles around the same parameters for all the time in the world, suprisingly people will know if ur out of the orbit, but they dont know why ur in the orbit or what the fuck are you doing in it, makes no sense to them, it does not, cos they dont think about it at all, survival ? Survival makes no meaning, evolution is a curse, people are scared to look into themselves, that's why they're facade helps while looking into the mirrors, there's nothing that shall happen/work without thinking, but we make it so routine, we make it so independent of thought, that an intelligent idea is a sin, its a break up of the existing system, its the dawn of a new problem, and the problem is you who've brought up the idea. No matter how brillliant it will be, you wont be respected, you are not in charge and you shall suffer, Hmmm, taming the thoughts just wont do sometimes, so does being yourself or being what you want to be in a group, sometimes, things that absolutely make no sense to you seem funny to people, thats when you know, u could be succesful.

Mmm, Airport, Sitcoms, Drives, Hangover's, confessions, re-unions and worse Nothingness !!!

Hmmm, so where do i start ? There are lots of things to be written about but then again, they're so personal wonder what i will actually end up writing, firstly the airport incident.

Anirudh and myself, went to the rear side of the Hyderabad Airport and through the slum on the encroached land of one side of the airport we actually can proclaim we sneaked in, we saw 3 take off's and 3 landings from a distance of about 100 meter's, nothing ever made me feel this way, this was so kick ass, the engines roared their lungs out to the open air, were extremely noisy, all in all we saw Air Sahara, Kingfisher, Jet, Indian Airways flights take off and get down, the landing process was so interesting, we actually saw a plane tilt for a second and regain its position before it landed and that was kind of scary to see
wonder what the people must've felt inside, travelling in a plane also wont give u so much of 
pleasure, was so different to see it from the side of the runway, i will not suggest u do it too, but then
what the hell, if u can, they u should.

The oly thing was we didnt take any photographs, we feared for the plain cloth police men thinking 
us to be some anti social elements and putting us behind bars, was fun neverthless \\m//

400 Rupees of fuel can do a lot of things, firstly, it can make a fully automated Santro with two  hefty people run on 140Kmph, it can propel the air out of its trajectory and make it random, it can make the people within cross Medchal and 5 small other towns, it can make people want to go again and make them ready for a productive weekend with other friends who're obviously jealous of the drive of 100 Km into and out of the city for no reason but to want to drive, the roads were kick ass, the way i remember was so smooth, it could put the vision of clouds to shame, scary moments ? Maybe not, we didnt even realise we hit 140 and when we did, we immediately slowed down to savour the moment we hit 140, but not before we hit it again unknowingly to relish the moment, the road suprisingly seemed to welcome our assault on its back with a pleasant smile, the car seemed to float in thin air, the layer beneath appeared to have disappeared but then again, our feet were firmly on the ground, seat belts did a great deal of comfort in knowing we had to put them on.

Now Playing : Katatonia - Will I Arrive, love this song \\m//

Anyways, I've been watching BBC's As Time Goes By, starring Judi Dench and Geoffrey Palmer
and i must admit im an instant fan of the series, its built on pretty interesting story line and the
screenplay i should admit are not as per the British Standards but this will just pass through,
next time ur in British Library, dont forget to take this DVD, this will probably make u think about
life ahead and what the present will mean to you then, very interesting series.

Confessions ? Hmmm, lets ask Sriku and Anirudh, both seem to be in a nice mood of confessing
and acting drunk even when not actually being that pleasant state of mind and body, the whole
thing i think and so would you has been about the same topic everyone thinks about, Oh yes, women, mankind's true angels who're out there to harbour our pain and amplify the wait and make us in the end one of the many black eyed, starry suprise no one would have ever thought.

Not being able to do anything is not an art, it's actually more than art for the people who comprehend and for the unblessed and the unlucky it will mean nothing, just like the act in itself.

Err, whatever !!!!

3 Months and Counting . . .

Its been three months since i posted and it really shocked me about the neglect i give to few things, lots of things changed, i wrote competitive examinations, screwed up hopes of thousands of aspirants for an MBA admission at Christ College :P, did the same again at campus placements, bagged the best placement of the college while the 70 percent'ers were whining about it all, didnt bother me but then again, the best placement is the best placement in campus, its time i took the seriousness off the blog and made it more casual. Today, today became today just 28 minutes 45 seconds back, today 28th of April, a day away from my final semester examinations, 3 days away from my last ever semester exam of JNTU, today, a day after listening to Lykathea Aflame around 8 times, i did nothing but listen to more music, Neuraxis kicks serious ass, their album Trilateral Progression is their best ever release IMO, still gotta listen to their new release Neurotic Mass, anyways. Its been such a wonderful journey till here, here, where everyone passes through the streets, where everyone looks up at the direction board at the crossroads, till here, where every one starts thinking about life, till here, what here has brought upon on all of us time shall tell. Its strange what internet friendship/networking sites do, put all of us together so close that we exhaust all the search options to look for neighbours and friends in a window that'll flicker with the background as fluently as the power fluctuations.

Its been over three months and this is what i write, all the time that went by, all the moments that shall never come, Oh God who ever said Mallika Inn, Errr, yeah, Final seminar Viva Voce and my batch mates come 15 minutes late to the Viva, they start getting the admits, time keeps ticking away, people exploring options, status messages in Instant Messaging Softwares change everyday, people lost, find themselves through some one else, people who found themselves, found themselves in deep shit, never to come out, Its kinda moved, the picture's getting clearer, as the days number and as the portion demands attention, we know its all over, its sad that i wont be seeing telugu movies anymore with friends, i wont be chatting 24/7 and make it feel like I'm preparing the most important report in life midnight. It just wont make us feel the same, New bands, new recommendations, more brutality, more the distance that separates us and the closer we try to get, the farther we're pushed. Keep pushing, everyone keeps pushing, for space, for room, for convenience, for comfort, for life. Words still go unspoken, portion still remains untouched, messages still not delivered, all shall happen as they're meant to happen, to sit and stare, to ponder and care, to dwelve and tear are passe.

Im going home, finally for one last time, we're all going home, to see it for the final time. HOME.

Untitled

Antagonizing, the pain that drenched the mortal remains of the almost dead, the walls left nothing but the pale shadows of everyday that left behind no memories, the emptiness echoed through the head that had no thought but to think and was made to think. It’s been a while, a long while, slogging out life out of the lifeless, they’d been successful, alliterated abuses hurled didn’t break my defense, my blood, my food, my puke, my food, nothing was left, they took it all away, my senses, my pain, my agony. Felt like a slow motion dream, but sometimes dreams go bad when you’re not looking at them and this was one of them, already fueled to the point of no return.

They caught me brutally wounded, suffocated with the dust from the field where shells left no space for the dust to rise, where ground was soiled with the thickness of the blood oozing out of the alive, the only altruist was the wind that helped us breathe, as the eyes slowly made way for the darkness to creep in, the body gave up too. Waking up dead is easy said than done, pain that screamed right through your ankle till the head coupled with the alacrity of the moan signaled that death still didn’t bless us. Press never penetrated into the affairs of the government and this was the perfect example.

To the world outside, it was a fortress built with blood, stick and stone, it was an inferno, had no rules, no time, no nothing, all one needed was the occasional prayer on the lips to set them free forever but nothing worked. Learning to sit still came with time, talking, admonitions were free and being optimistic was a sin in itself, Hope was not a good thing, incarceration sounds like heaven, life in here cannot be called life, it was a rebirth in itself, it all made us believe that sometimes, dreams can go really sour.

The people in here were always hungry for something or the other, sometimes it was lives, sometimes it was blood, sometimes it was sheer boredom which had to be killed, they had no hearts, no eyes, straight faced, concentrated smile with corroded enamels, added to the existing beauty, dark clothed always smelling sick to the bone, there were no shifts, people seem to work here forever, they had only one job at hand, to torture us, nobody knew how long it had been since we got in here, the walls ran out of space, names, abuses, forms, drawings, blood stained patches next to cracks, it had it all. We were just a mere speck of dust, waiting to get lost in the desert sand some day like any other dead-mortal in here. It didn’t matter anymore, they knew nothing, neither did we, breaking the habit is always hard, but not being on the other side of it. All I did everyday was to close my eyes, because you never know what’s heading your way. Choice was never discussed, options never existed, all we knew was Death’s invitation which had to honoured soon, and soon it will be. 

Five Years, Later..........

The chemical dust embraces the sky like a shroud,
as it struggles to settle,
the facts try and inject more fear into the crowd,
as the memory lingers to that faint still.
While eyes flickered to believe the horrible,
we lived to breathe in the toxic,
trying to comprehend the terrible.
Mothers cried with emotions in mute,
holding her's, to her arms,
for the love, once they had been,
now lie, as their blood bleaches the ground.

Who played the god ? Who rolled the dice ?
Political conspiracy ? Or hollow lies ?

Flowers adorn the memorial,
painting the black white,
as millions shed tears
too weak to hold and too broke to fight
Business went on, shipments to be made,
resurrecting the metal, to justify the paid.
And now five years later..
As we look at the empty spaces
we tell ourselves, the cloud desended
the emptiness speaks of life,
of love, of struggle, of tears and of pain.

The flowers still adorn the memorial,
still painting the black white
the doors still open and tables now sparkle,
the dust, they say, still reels their sense away.

Its been five years and soon it will be six, images have always reeled in my mind.

May the souls of all innocent victims and the fire fighters rest in peace.

Stringing the Liquid.

I wrote this way back in 2003, i was into writing poems and songs then, this, when you will read you will know for whom i wrote it. Found it while cleaning my room, paper's still intact, the same condition when i left it and left it to get lost so that i would never see it again, but today, after seeing it after 3 years, im really excited and i wanted to post it in here right away cos its also been a while since i posted.

Stringing The Liquid...............

Sitting still, with the world staring at me,
broken will, scattered and hard to see.
I've tried and tried, but darkness wont fade,
been thinking of life, the parts i have remade.
Pieces of time, disturbed with your touch,
moments i needed, i needed you much.
Perpetual madness, tangible to the hardest stone,
Momentary happiness, flickers away alone.

The thoughts in me and the things you said,
the only things upon which my soul ever fed,
being blessed with a sense of morbid,
It ain't easy, stringing the liquid.

Paranoid lexicon, fluzing blur to bright,
fugal shadow, consuming the darkest light,,
stretched pain, sheds tears till death,
unholy rain, unchristens the sins it met,
Orange blue, perpetuated on the heavens floor,
with lonliness, dripping from my core.
In the middle of nowhere, im standing alone,
everyone's with me, but im on my own.

The dust settles down and the anger dies,
in this world of dreams and hell of lies
and of all my petulant hands ever did,
the one i didn't, Stringing the liquid.

Mumbai Local Trains

My experience of travelling in a Mumbai Local Train.

The sea of people, the need to travel, the situation of chaos, time running out situations, cheap, comfortable transport and randomness is what Mumbai Local Trains are all about. Stations are like small towns in themselves, shops, people, sipt stained walls and floor, dirt kissed surroundings, often stamped by flesh and skin, rarely by footwear. The stations are old reflecting the deteriorating phase of life, where hibernation is the best possible state of life. Over used to the core, neglected out of love and the un-willingness to pay taxes, Mumbai train stations are anything but structures made of sand and stone. Knee deep tracks, stink of blood, waste, spent life and un controlled emotion that crept itselft beyond reason and hope.

People, the beauty and the beast of Mumbai are everywhere, red, blue and green rule anyday, speak of anything they think of, women, the most common topic of discussion, music, be how they de-crypt it, Women have a seperate compartment to avoid the hassles of men, they all wait patiently at the platform like all of us, but only watching what other women are wearing, be it clothes, be it jewellery or tops, they would see them, with all the attention they can, remember them till they have a notion about it and then jump to the next thing that catches their curiosity. With magazines wrapped with utmost care, bags protected with the wrath of their unknown thought process, they wait patiently for the train.

The air in the station is warm, filled with dust, moving always, irritating, fart mixed, evaporated sweat, odour and happiness. Feeds the people with life and things they have to think and go through, Always moving as different trains push them away with neglect they linger on nearby waiting for their turn the next time. Humans are very ignorant of its presence, all they do is cut it right through by walking into its face everytime. The light of the train exposes the dust particles that concealed themselves into darkness and know that its time to settle at an onther place. As the train makes its way into the station royally, people move away and take their best shot at getting into it.

The train has its own constitution for itself, along with the web-embedded compartments, where fans turn only to burn electricity and are of no other use butcut the occasional finger that heads its way. The hand rests serve little purpose, all you can do is learn to lean on to someone effectively, if not, then learn to lean onto 4 people at a time. Sometimes, if there is no place t ostand, you could somfortably stand on someone else's feet and keep them juggling or they relly wouldnt appreciate it well. The hours termed "RUSH Hours" are the most wonderful times to travel in the local trains, you would experience a variety of life existing in the compartment, the local slang, cigarrette butt's warmth, the pushing of the body to the no-place-zone, vying for a hand rest.

Getting into the local train is an art-in-itself, wait patiently for the people inside the compartment to rush out like the water out of a leak from a tank, gushing with all the force it could to free itself from the walls, that held it back. Getting in is equally tuff, you dont really require any effort to setp into the train, all you have to do is stand at the right place and at the right time, the energeti c Mumbaikars will do the rest, gently ( pardon the pun ) push you into the train with respect and verbal love that you just cant resist. There are times when there is no place and peole actually sense that, which is a wonderful thing in itself, and all that people would do is to cling to the entry door and look out of the world and see Tracks, dirty tracks, full of shit and puke. They enjoy the air that runs through their hair.

Women in the local train are really wonderful to look at, beautiful attire's hug thier bodies, perfumes linger when they get down, the curious look when they see their fellow passengers, the physical work load they carry, the gentleness with which they treat everyone, respect they have for the others, trying not to make an eye contact with the males in the next compartment, their footwear always ready to slap the occasional stalker and their hand ready to smoke the occasional cigarrette. they got it all, looks, attitude, arrogance, anxiousness, boldness, beauty and others. So this is how i look at the local trains, wonderful, full of amazing people who always have somehting to share with the fellow passenger regarding anything anytime, never empty of the filth, the stink, the memory of the last visit. Its all in there.

So, can i take you for a ride ??????????????

Blessing called Life

The pale look into the eyes, random expression, wounded soul, tortured senses, head count for the world, burden for self, hope with time and hope with practise, They sense the world with the muteness of the night, sparkling thoughts looking at the dull lighted world, searching a way of life to live it the way the eyes perceive, kissing the dust for its the rest for the head and torso, shelter aint home and home aint shelter, winters kill them for the sheer will to stay alive, summers burn them for daring to staring aside.

They live life and know not what they live it for, maybe scared of death, maybe sacred to live, hinging on the edge of decision, they let the time move, dont know what they think when they strtch their arms and ask for food, for money, for love, for hope, for direction, for a better form of life, who's here to bless them all, whos here to promise a better world, A lucky day would be generous to give them a morsel of stale and hal-dog-eaten food, dont know whats their food for thought, their reaction to the news, frown for the loss, happiness for the moment are all that can be measured.

Tomorrow, they have a new home, they have anew life, they have new friends, just the street of life changes lanes, slows the speed, gives time for new thoughts, new ideas that spring through the seeds that have been sown, reap the decisions that have been made, dwell in the moment of glory and carry on with life, uncertainity in all forms, sorrow in measures, living life on terms which told to no one, explained to none, simplified victory and ultimate death.

Thanks to www.yomtovart.com for the pic.

Television on Mute.

The swirling of air, the fastness of breath, the sound of crying, the shadow of talking, the whisper of love, sight of syllable, touch of sense, loading of the gun, the burning desire, wretched anger, soft pain, revenge in the eyes, Power of the speech, the chirping of the birds, kiss of the ocean with the sun, ringing of the phone, expressing hate, snatching peace, colliding matter, honking of the train, friction of the wheel, scream of the mute, silence of the sound, rumbling of the breeze, strum of the strings, eclipse of the sun, essence of the kiss, communicating by symbols, strength in numbers, cold in winters, stillness in movement, reflex in the action, weakness of the cemetry, frightening background's, emotional attachments, respite from thrist, pleading for life, cracking of the dawn, chirping of the birds, snow from the black and white, fading memories with no stress, pinching-pink on the face, alliterating altars for the sane, mortal perils for the fit, shreik of death, hiss of alertness, thrill of madness, decrypting the script, spreading the myth, senselessness of commercials, random image changes, confessing the done, stringing the scattered, point of arguement and transition of time.

Television on mute, aint it funny,
How would you express love,
How would you wana hate
How may have the clouds rumbled,
What may caused all the pain,
The stiffness in the mobile,
Longness in the short,
How could we refer to the cold of winter,
Suffer in the chemical chambers of the Discovery Channel,
Sang aloud with Lennon,
May be we might have not noticed the televison at all.

Simulating Death

As the stillness of the moment faints with the breath of the living, the light on the way darkens by the second, where memories linger around through the way into the journey. Still holding back, moments, memories, messages, minds, miracles, mosh-pits, maniacal musings, methods and meanings which might have triggered the reason to stay, to breathe, to shed that occasional tear that fell to the indifferent floor, to sit still in the winter sensing every inch of broken skin that ran to the heels.

Stripped of all feelings, devoid of thoughts, hollow with light, growing weaker as the light dims to the shadows, scared to look back, hiding in the flame of the truth, covering the face of the lie, with a bitter-sweet face to end the misery of the time, Soon remembering, the deeds of the unholy, sinning the right, shedding the true, to wearing the facade to cut the thoughts of confusion that crept through the barriers of time and space to intrude poison into the logical.

Still asleep, refusing to read whats written, strolling through the labrynith to hide from the dreaded, wishing for time, when all we have is emptiness, simulating the touch, wondering how it felt, when she gave the rose and you felt the thorn, simulating the breath, slowing with the delay and refusing to live, simulating the pain, when the glass cut through your hand wishing it felt worse that what it had been defined to do, simulating the moment of lost hope, sweating through the brows to find the way from the unbelieved asylum, simulating the light, as it warmed the senses slowly, with the patience of a blooming lotus, simulating the end, wishing it had come, in accordance to what had been thought and what had been thought as right.

Night Driving

The echo of silence fades as the day breaks into the perpetual night, darkness creeps into the shadows and vision blurrs into the distance, The lane empty with the voidness of a long-day's memory wounded by the unimagined. Slipping into the veil of an automobile, churning the levers, cams and gears to life, bringing the monster back to life and wishing for everything u want, a perfect place, a way to look for, a direction unbound by time and pain, the smell of the tiredness on the way, the remains of the once-lingered fragrance of her and the night.

As the light, slowly kills the night and moves ahead with the will of the master, the rear leaves behind a shade of red, coughing up the unwanted and kissing the air around, The chill cuts through the thought, hoping to stop getting ravaged by the untimely and the un-welcome, shifting the mehanised gear to propel the thought into action and making way to the unknown. Sleep is bitten by the dream of the reality , actions by the will of the mind, a thirst to speed down the way into the emptiness existing along the way, where the world might not be bound by relationships, promises, fears and redundant thoughts.

Navigating the lady into the ocean of the endless distance, the thoughts of haunting life threating to overpower the alter-ego ruling the senses at the moment, brings back the state of nirvana to the dust, forcing it to crash into the other broken dreams scattered apart by the illusion called life.

Percepting Life

I didnt try and understand it, it just came my way, didnt even opt for it, just got noticed, a wave in the ocean, where every drop is unknown to the other, a particle of dust on a busy street, shifting places by someone else's will.

So what have i all got at the end of the day, tears for myself or pity for the pie, Who knows, today here, with a flickering image of humanity and tomorrow, in a world of absurdity, fully complicated, this concept of life, made by none, perceived my many, controlled by wish and executed by desire.

Just a game with time, clickin into the infinity, will never know, when the clock stops ticking, will never know why the clock stopped ticking, been here, done what ?, been there, seen what ?, I dont see things the way they are, dont believe them the way they are told about.

See them right through their heart, perceive them the way i want, free them all to the world to care, imagine, to stare and wish. Its such a beautiful life. Neither me made it, nor you, still we accept it, dont want to mend it, leave it untouched and unharmed, wandering through the mazes of darkness to find the light, ignorant of it being left right behind.

So ultimately its a circle, who cares, neighter me, nor you, read this and think, maybe abuse, maybe comment, maybe hack, maybe die, maybe live, how does it all matter, Honestly, it does not.