Dear Rajiv.

Dear Rajiv, this is not an obituary nor am I going to portray a eulogy through these words. I will de-mystify death my friend, for you live and always will.

Never thought that the day would begin with such news, and never really cared about how the world outside functioned, for that dear brother I apologise, the feeling that I share with possibly a thousand others is unexplainable explicitly through words, it takes about a lightspeed rush of emotions, which leaves us dumbfounded and thoroughly shocked.

That last match, the winning boundary. The celebratory hostel ‘rice & dal’ which somehow tasted like heaven for victory was the essence of it, never relished a meal so much bro. your enthusiasm to bring change to a steadfast bunch still amazes me, and the life you chose to give us through your undying energy will somehow always inspire us through the rest of our lives. The final two months of college might just feel like another age, with cold smiles and non-zealous actions. I do not sympathise to sadden the state we all have found ourselves in, I know you wouldn’t have appreciated it much, life goes on and so it shall pass, as always. It’s just a tad more difficult for us to live it with memories which will remind us of your dedication towards physics, algorithms and all that, the other side of engineering that I always asked help for, and you never shied from providing it.

The morning of the Viva-voce, and our Study-kiosk would take care of us. The confidence you exhibited through your love for ‘hindi’ and how Indians need hindi more will make me wonder about the rest of the world on one side and you on one, you still held your own. We could be more like the Chinese, and make it on our own! I believe you friend, and the passionate conversations regarding the same will live on, I assure you.

A million detours later when the news hit the fan, I like anyone else couldn’t believe it, and honestly, I still can’t. I guess at this point let me try and kill inhibitions about that cloaked figure, death. The time was just wrong, it was wrong and a questionable doubt in everyone’s mind will alter sleep for many nights. The weird thing about death is, since it is sudden and unruly for many instances, the distress and anguish will create an equally difficult life ahead of us, time will heal, but teach as well. I’ve learnt my share.
Respecting life every time death shows it’s ugly face will cliché’ our beliefs, celebrating life will create guilt. Somehow, death will always play its part in the worst aftertaste, Life with all it’s colours, it’s ambiguity, It’s intricate details will always chose to amaze us, and sometimes shake hands with our cloaked demeanor to pass the torch on. You will always glow, and provide light in our lives. All that you have left behind, will glow with your presence in our souls. From one soul to another, rest in peace old friend. Love

The Stared upon.

It's been a while since i wrote, and i was beginning to wonder whether my fingers gave way or was it one of the innumerable such instances that i felt so. Well, its post midnight and i suddenly had the urge, so here i am typing away. Things have changed drastically, and i have none else to blame but the invisible race against time.

Ambition has struck me like a bolt of lightning, and things are to change for the better, or so people say. Today, i am going to try and draw a line between the 'Para' (prefix) and the 'Normal'. If the world was a calculated balance between forces, then the highs and lows should be taken with the stride, and one should always expect light at the end of the tunnel, in which case. Balance is maintained, Balance is divine and Balance is blind.

On that note, How many people around you are really your friends? Not everyone is a mind-reader, and i do not believe the ones who do! So, one tiny ray of hope, that we refer to as 'thought' remains our's and our's alone. I am a firm believer in 'aura' and the inverted commas that i use to highlight some of these words, is because of the attention my thought commands, Hell! it got me writing. Anger, Hatred, Envy. The most common forms of emotion (the darker side) developed in the course of time taken to establish a relationship, a love affair turned sour, makes killers. A friendship gone wrong, makes enemies. A brothers' rivalry, tears the family apart into families. That sour taste, The Nauseous repercussion following it, That Craving to be alone.

So in general, my inference from the matters mentioned above gives me a very naive understanding of the situation, which i wish to share. A situation filled with love, can just as quickly be equally filled with hatred, or is it proportional? the more you love someone, the more difficult it is to make amends after things turn sour. The crack remains.
Holy men mention the effect of the normal 'glare' or the thirsty 'stare', the aura emitted from such a form of human expression together intertwined with the 'thought' of even the faintest form of 'jealousy', 'hate' or 'awe' can create a universal imbalance(i did say my paragraphs could have the 'paranormal' touch to it, belief is needed and strongly recommended!) which in turn affects the aura of the individual on the receiving end of, lets call the poor unfortunate soul 'the stared upon'.

The stared upon, cannot stare back probably because such emotions and thoughts have not been instilled, here karma plays it's part. The one with the stare has to wait for the full circle before he completely realises his mistake, or is made to realise by the collateral effect of regaining balance, by our complex universe. Hail 'whoever is pulling the strings'! I have been the stared upon, balance dictates my next course of action. Staring back is the best possible reflex action that my short-tempered brain orders, but time being the greatest healer and teacher of all time. I wish to learn, and forgive, forget and let nature/karma take its course. Till the circle ends where it has to, i have nothing more to write.

Mind over Matter, Really?

For the past few days, I have been thinking about art, imagination, creativity and the close relationship they nurture with the destruction or the deprecation of oneself.
I never thought that surfing through the television channels on a mildly lazy mayday afternoon I would come across the spark I needed to pose my question.

Gia, Basquiat, Modigliani, Morrisson, Hendrix. Their stories have left this permanent reminder of the mind’s power to see, feel, react and reason. Over this certain period of time, which I modestly term as my ‘age’.
These names, I have come across through the very trusted mediums of movies and books, and everytime I am surprised at how easily, they have used their brains as objects of desire, fulfillment and artistic bliss. They see colours we only dream of, they can hear voices unheard of, they sway their spectator with the utmost elegance towards their way of life, towards what they see, and to just give them a glimpse of how beautiful their world is, we as the audience are enclosed in the boundaries of the frame.
The painting limits us to just that particular vision, it’s funny in a way, the artist derives a certain sadistic pleasure of dangling the bait and eventually feeding it to us, but it’s too late because we are already on our way in this ocean of responsibilities, the ‘real’ world. And the artist just stays there, who’s laughing now? That’s his question. I’d bet my life on it.

So, here I am posing my little question, Art is very seldom appreciated in the artist’s lifetime, he is questioned though, and his answers never find the questions they deserve, so the questions really never get answered. The world undergoes a certain renaissance of ideas and boom. That’s where everything is, Art is bought.

A note, a stroke. It belongs to where it comes from, the real appreciation is from the originality of its existence, it exists because it is real for the one who creates it. There is my thin little line I manage to draw with utmost ease, I am baffled at the thought of losing my mind, addressing it an affirmation for every minute whim and diverting my whole body’s attention towards chasing a single shine in my endeavor to claim my diamond.

The self-destructing legends of the modern world have, as mentioned, destroyed themselves or have they really been creating possibly the orbs of light that the ones to follow are the ones who learn from their mistakes, but will there ever be another Modigliani fighting another Picasso? Or another Jim Morrisson almost lighting a ‘joint’ on stage with a cop behind him!? Or another Gia Marie Carangi, fittingly, the string of other supermodels who were to follow her lead called themselves ‘gia’s girls’…

These incidents arise tremendous interest in me, I tend to get to the bottom of why they turned astray when I realized that they were heading home. They are home, and I will keep on pondering on the single thought, I am not an artist, but I appreciate what they do, I am a spectator but I love to see what they create and I like to put myself in their shoes when I see something they have created, am I posing as one of them? Or am I just experiencing one of life’s unexplained vices, or am I plain simply overwhelmed at the human mind? I will always keep my central question to, ‘why does the body fade at the quest for mental sanctity?’ Are the two at a divine balance? And why is it that the one’s who refuse to balance themselves, attain divinity for their own selves in their own little way. Strange, is life.

Curious

Curious.

The woman, is so difficult a term. It leads me to define the inexplicable demise the dilemma of the other half, we refer to as the opposite sex.

Watching tv, the lakme ad, somehow I get pulled into this world of how they sing, dance, work, play and most of all, think.
Do they ever think like we do? The way we look at them, the way we make an opinion, the way we compare, the way we use our empty ‘man’ minds to do our thing so to speak.

How would she react to talking about boxers and string bikinis (ahem, speedos too! I am no sexist!) and hairy legs, as we to lingerie, satin, cotton, and edible too.
Would she try and think about how the guy looked naked? at first glance.

Why do they do what they do? Does this lead to the age-old boys vs. girls debate? The simple things somehow complicate most of the situations when involving both the sexes, how is it that the importance levels of the not-so-important in practical life amenities make so-much-more sense when the dude and the girl really get their thing going.

I understand a relationship, I understand the feminine balance in a relationship, I also love the fact that without women, the race would not exist. I love the world as it is, I question however, the curiosity springing in me about how, how exactly one is to handle a situation involving a half-empty glass of water, turning into a three-year-old topic leading to something leading to the best line of all! ‘you always do this, *sniff sniff*’…’FAAAACCCKKK!!’, the death tears, the next day, after the night, when one needs to call….”your balance is nil, kindly recharge your phone to-“. It sucks. The whole night, destroyed.

It might be my luck, or is it that, movies, sports and cars make little or no sense to them, the hungry hunter of that royal teeny-weeny small piece of self-respect and pride filled ever-longing ‘free-run’. A free-run is a man’s rise to power.

But, I also believe that the woman makes the man complete, she is the negative, while we are the positive, but can there ever be an end to this debate, it still leaves me well, curious. Nevertheless, I love venting.

Fuel.

Part 1

Call it my drug, or my obsession, New Delhi.

The city's name on the television, or the radio, or the ever-impressive plane ticket. It lightens my spirit, and i usually tend to wonder, why?
My folks spent their whole lives moving, and when it was my turn to adapt, because i understood the meaning of the word now, things started to fall into place, i found reason, i found character, i found existence.
probably, the main reason for me doing my bidding in this innocence-long-lost work of art. Yes, it is, it is as passionate as a painter's vision and as abstract as his work. For me it brings harmony to my decadent, deceitful educational life. Education here does not persist its boundaries to my engineering facade, for it barely makes a nibble of the real deal. I greet, i meet, i learn.
I might be a little philosophical in my approach towards looking at a city, but it is worth my time.

Part 2

Gelled hair, Fast cars, diamonds, legs.

wondering why i put them all together? it is because i could not put them anywhere else to explain how it is to me.
Its not the look, its the idea behind it. People look good, they do like to look good and i am completely up for it, for i do tend to like when i do see, i listen, i think and then i hear and i decide.
Conversations remain constricted bordering closely from television, movies, food, relationships to the vague excerpt from one of the Delhi-ish.

"Bhenchod, tujhe pata hai main kaun hun?"
"teri gaand tod sakta hun main abhi"

(out comes the cell phone and the various speed-dial numbers ranging from the father to the goon.)

Part 3

Why?

A friend, A brother, A sister, The ex-girlfriends.

Part 4

Stoned in Saket.

My latest experience, which was my most enlightening of the lot was to reach a level of observation which i did this time, in saket.
The movie theatre just about masks the rest of the village when viewed from the street, it is a buzzing life-form in itself. Hundreds gather every evening to celebrate its existence, for it is and will be the essential.
As we make our way, the usual walk around the place, a friend decides to bring in an act of nobility, she rolls a joint.

McDonalds doesnt seem so bright anymore, Azzuro remains mysterious, Planet M is beautiful, for they are paying tribute to Pink Floyd, 24*7 remains the saviour, Barista is the old man in the corner, Bennigans is the snooty bitch i dont want to see, Ruby Tuesday is red, for it bleeds any paying customer to 'fucked for a fucking salad' state, Pizza hut, who gives a fuck? and Cafe coffee day, that idiot just had to be there now, right!

A corner houses a woman's obsession towards accessories, and books line up to make the pirated world a little more respectful than a decaying carcass. They buy and sell lives in books, numerous characters penned by thinkers of magnanimous capabilities.

There are herds of the hunters, there a groups of the hunted, the 'potentially awesome for the hunt', there is also the occasional marital bliss, and the overly excited tourists.
I do relate to man-woman chemistry when i mean the hunt. It is balanced, so feminists...who are u kidding?
i looked through them all, i do not know if i did see, but it's what i like looking for, they seem shallow, but they aren't, the true self shows in exceptionally dire circumstances, for which i long...
I enjoy New Delhi. Call me a cynic in this world of Diamonds and rust, but its the thrill of thought that gets me, and i get to think a lot about there. My Drug remains, and will.

Evolution of popularity.

Language was invented with the sole purpose of explaining one’s position. Head of the herd could communicate well, hunt well, was sought after by the women. Natural instincts of women could not be suppressed anymore, they said what they felt and did what they thought was right. Civilization was born.
From Neanderthals to the later stages, Man had someone he could look up to, an ideal idol. Gods were born, Kings were sought, Queens pampered, and the pattern of popularity started varying; now there were multiple podiums with numerous popularity-seeking individual identities.
Conquests and centuries later, when unity amongst one species was completely destroyed, and the world was defined as a map, countries distinguished, superpowers established, Project: Third World; a success.
Popularity still seems to be part of one pattern, Television, Movies, Glamour, Fashion, Pretty faces, handsome faces, and sports.
One may poise the question of how this pattern never seems to change, and take a new turn. I have that same question, is it the hypocrisy of the world population, to establish an identity which would in one way solve all their problems, for they would be popular. People would talk, they always do.

The balcony.

The balcony, yes. That's all i needed, the last weekend was all about that corner of the balcony, the corner with portals, the corner with clarity, the corner with the ultimate visual bliss.



Change was supposedly my hidden curiosity towards experiencing unexplored happiness, every moment if savoured with a taste for perfection in Nature's unfolding imperfect ways, one realises most changes with the sense of peace whilst acquiring vast amounts of knowledge together.

Engulfed by the wave, and still standing tall. The salt from the water stays on a little longer as if to carry the message of the abyss, the vastness, stating its respect for them still standing tall. They live on, in tandom for millions of years, respecting the presence and stature of eachother.



Brilliance, Nature. A fighter by 'nature'. A soldier of the army of the power, the divine supreme.



The ships sailing towards the harbor were since childhood, my secret valued possesions. The reason i loved sitting out at the bay for hours and hours as a child, viewing the lights from the vessels. Huge and powerful, moving slowly towards a certain destination, as a defined livelihood. They never realised the inspiration they provided to me, they were my jewels. People would go to savour the saline air, i would go to witness power vessels on their journey gently gliding over the part of the world, where they flew in their own space.



Sunrise, The hill shaped as a dolphin hides some of the burning king, the existence we are thankful for, we are.