I will Survive ! - the Corporate Call

At first I was afraid I was petrified
Kept thinking I could never live inside corporate lifestyle
But then I spent so many nights
Thinking how I did so wrong
And I grew strong
And I learned how to get along
And so I am on it
with my mind on race
I just walk in everyday with a glorified smiling face
I have changed that stupid look
I have started to believe
If I had known for just one second I am hurting only me
Go on now go, do what u can do,
Just turn around now
'Cause u don't bother anymore
I was stupid enough to think I am a minion all the time
Do you think I'd crumble
Did you think I'd lay down and die?

Oh no not I. I will survive
Even when I go out out of breath
I know I'll stay alive
I've got so many docs to churn
I've got so many codes to run, yet I'll survive

(A big Heartfelt Thanks to Gloria Gaynor, for giving us something, that can be molded to anyone's frustration!)

Tuk Tuk

The door opened, and ‘Maa’ peeked out. The ethereal smile, the affection, I knew my first play school was here. I no longer needed my mother, I wanted to be here. I wanted to be cuddled by ‘Maa’, to be fed by her, to play with her, to feel free. I knew within, she would only smile at whatever I did.

My mother cautiously let me go. ‘Maa’ assured her that she can relax, and come back later to pick me. I dreaded the thought of leaving at 5. What if mother doesn't approve? What about weekends? Will I be allowed to sleep-over? So many thoughts raced in my mind , as I watched ‘Maa’ mischievously looking at me, hinting the adventures that lay ahead. I could not wait to get started.

Mother left. ‘Maa’ put me on the couch, and called ‘Tuk Tuk’! Tuk Tuk? what a funny name to address!

And she came. slowly, tottering, round, my Tuk Tuk. She resembled my doll at home. As big as me. She was my Tuk Tuk.

We played everyday, i refused to call her anything but ‘my Tuk Tuk’. We we inseparable. I wanted to give her everything I had, including my most beloved doll. She loved me. She hated me. She could not bear me hugging ‘Maa’. She could not bear to see me taken away by my mother each day.

I wonder if ‘Tuk Tuk’ was ‘Maa’s real daughter, or was she someone else’s. I never cared. I never asked back then. All i wanted and loved was 'my Tuk Tuk’.

I remember the day when my mother was telling ‘Maa’, we got her admitted to the school. She won’t come from next week.

My heart broke for the very first time. I was being pulled away from ‘Maa’ and ‘my Tuk Tuk’. I remember those pearly eyes of Tuk  Tuk when ‘Maa’ told her to bid me goodbye and hug. She seemed to know we may never meet again. She seemed to know, even if we did, our love would be long forgotten.

I lost ‘Tuk Tuk’ at the tender age of 4, an year from I met her. I do not know, if I saw ‘Tuk Tuk’ again. I do not recognize her. Neither does she.

But 'my Tuk Tuk’, you shall always be, my first love...

Paris

I never thought beyond Mumbai, or so did I think. The subtle stilts by Gateway, the Victorian Era architecture left behind, the flora marked by its quintessential placement, the locomotives for the people traveling to ends of the city, daily, breathlessly. To me, it was the perfect place to breathe, live and die. A city I belonged to, a city I grew up in, a city I wanted to forgotten with in future. And that is when Paris happened to me.

La Paris, the city of music, art and love. I may not be an art connoisseur, or a musician, but I am a lover. A lover I never thought I would be. A hope to fall endlessly in love, is something that lingers in our heart, knowingly or unknown to some. And I fell, oh I fell deep, so deep that I rediscover myself every moment I breathe now. The feel to caress, to touch, to experience love, in dimensions untold.

The inexplicable rush of excitement in one's nerves, walking the parisian streets, watching men unfold their chairs in front of their shops, serving bordeaux I have never tasted better before, women laughing gently, and wandering carefree with their men to unfurl the parties of the night. The musette accordion filling your ears and imagination galore. The touch of the Renaissance architecture all across, the Sienne flowing through the hearts, the French delacour (oh yes, people were wonderful). Alas, I don't speak French, else I would have been a lyric in the poetry of France.

Someday, some birth, I want to be a part of this magic, when a Lewis Caroll could pen, "Delilah in Frenchland".

Did not know that it has been so long since I wrote last, and that I have been stagnating otherwise mostly. I made new friends over the year, met lovely people, broke up with a bunch, and made some life-changing decisions (not sure if regret wins yet). 
Hope to be more active around here now ...

SNOW

The clouds blocked the peaks. Yet, the white silk sheets floating over the velvety tips of snow were driving me ecstasic. He held me from behind, and whispered, his breath warming my nape, "S, we reached here finally" The feeling of him near me, all alone in this paradise, wish it never would go. As he led me into the small cottage we had woven in our dreams out of nowhere, my heart pumped.

Wasn't this de-ja-voo? Hadn't I been here before? The warmth of the hut, the fire blazing in the fire-place, it all felt so similar.

He drew me closer , and kissed gently on my forehead, i felt hands entwine around me. Firm, never to let away. We lay together, me on him, counting his heart-beat, with our eyes closed, with tears of triumph in our eyes, having covered all the obstacles. The doors shut firmly, withstanding the chilly winds outside, but a doubt lingering in my head, Haven't i felt something more?

The night rhymed to our love, opening up to the morning of bright rays, and I turned to look at him. The stranger lay there, the face I never saw before. The night had gone, so was my insight. Was it for real, or had I imagined it earlier?

Paragraphs of life.

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As it winds back, she met love, someone she wanted to live with forever. They were united by mother nature and God's blessings, and they decided to entwine into each other till eternity. Love and she are inseparable, and will continue to remain so ...

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She crossed paths with passion, and it flowed into her existence effortlessly. Together, they melted like chocolate; apart, it ate her raw. Flames was all it caused in her life, and she liked to burn in them.

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Lust could not be stopped, and so wouldn't she. They were wary of each other, but magnetic against laws of human. They bore the seed of insanity, enjoying every bit. Not to regret but once, they parted to unite each time.

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Revenge was her motive all the time. Only when she had it, she never knew. Ended up pining for it, meanwhile. While they loved to hate each other, they also could not stop themselves from indulging pulling out all stops. She would never know of it being with her, perhaps...

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End with love, while live with all others - she epitomizes truth. So difficult to accept, so difficult to live otherwise. Against all rights or wrongs, against human, in nature's womb.

Solace in Solitude.

Wandering lest loneliness engulfs me,

in deep thoughts which nobody could see,

timorous of being stranded alone,

feelings hidden inside, never shown.

Desirous of love purest,

lustful for a warm shoulder to rest,

to vent it all out, loud, crying,

to lift me from where I am lying.

Mizzle from my eyes, as they wet the ink,

running afar from truth, the harder they sink,

the endless anguish tearing my soul and heart,

shredding away my dreams, part by part.

Solitary comfort, not many know it though,

easier to suppress and harder to show,

the blood from my quill flows all over here,

as I embrace solitude to slay my fear.

Words I weigh ...

Someone said - "You may feel the compulsion to flirt, but the fear to cross morality-level is what keeps you in check."

The mind tends to be so readable by someone, yet so crypted for some. Women boast of being impossible to be understood; in-fact, they are no less than an open book, one only needs to understand the language. And when that reader comes by, she wants him to be with her forever as someone - a friend, a companion, a lover, a soul-mate, relations undefined or many.

Some like to bury their secrets deep, never to be unearthed, never to see day-light or another's ears and eyes. But some love to flaunt their secrets mockingly, in a care-free manner, which when cared for and heard, hits them hard. The vulnerability of falling prey to one's own words is tough to reckon with, and to live with it trying not to repeat the mistakes is gruesome.

Somewhere deep within, to realize the follies, the intentional mistakes, some unintensional slips and finally, the repentance, is a big and brave step, but to change one-self , is still herculean ...

And I get back to the codes, reluctantly, to wait for tonight to move on, restlessly, to live and wilt, quickly ...

Sinful Indulgence :

Wondered what would i do, if the worst ever happened to my life, and I knew there was no return ever, but to live on . Sounds depressing, eh ? But read on, and the ideas won't seem so bad; infact, they tend to be so normal sometimes, that I think if I should really have them before the worse :) (mental note : Mind makes too many excuses. Pocket does not. It only remains empty.)

1. Get my right arm and hand tattoed with some Satanic image. (throw in a few colours too, if I could bear with the pain)

2. Start to smoke, and try joints. ( then try weed, ganja, blah-blah, .... humbug)

(Note here too : as the points increase, the associated cost and craziness also increases. Man's after all, wildest in his fantasies, guffaw!!)...

3. Buy some second-hand SUV, which can be used as a live-in vehicle too. (you know where am I getting next)

4. Go on a road-trip, with enough moolah to fuel my vehicle and a good camera to click what I might never see again.

5. Ram some auto-wallahs and speed off.

6. Sell off the vehicle to join some roadies (not MTV, d***-a**, I meant the real ones) on an expedition to Himalayan roads.

7. If I live enough, come back and post my experiences.

The last, would be the tribute to this space, I have been writing for a while now.

Getting emotional. Not over the blog-space. For the Oscar win/ lose tone. WTF !!

Froggy Predictions :

1. When you have a juicy mango, watch your throat. It may not be designed to handle the juiciness. Same holds for all fruits based on season and people and built.


2. Never say No to an Indian autorickshaw wallah in Chennai at midnight, if you are stranded at a place and have no one else to pick you up, and the man is the last one to offer a lift. Convert the price to USD, thank God, its not much then, and get into the Auto.


3. Exercise regularly to remove the fat, pain, fatigue and fart that trouble others. This ensures peaceful life with people around.


4. If you have met a hot-bod mexican chick around the corner with a good sense of humour and voice to die for, walk away since you are dreaming. Waiting consequences : Robbed of underpants, to say the least and no pleasure at all.


5. If you are starting to believe froggy predictions, time to get sanity checked.

Happy life and keep hopping !!! Till next we meet, that is...

Briefest Stint on a Social Networking Site ...

28 Hours ( Access limited to 3 hours)

Alas ! What Kiran Rao did to my direction-less mind ..

She made a movie, and that has left me to ponder over the long time idea of writing fiction. And the thought-process is going so steady, that I am scared.

Amen.

Incepting End ...

Last night was not well-received. Not at all. Sleep was intrigued by images; gory images which only brought tears in my motionless eyes. The pile of human dirt, waste, carcass, weariness, all building up to new mountains, across the world, occupying every inch of space and nature. I saw myself clambering up those hills, hoping for sunshine. But it had gone. Forever.

I wanted to go back to the place I love. Across those heaps, to catch one last glance of what I woke up smiling each day to. It seemed distant. Impossible to reach.

Yet the hope lingered.

Sleep leads to awakening. So it did to my mind. I have to go back, to where it all started. I need to live andd see, for the cause I feel I might have been made for.

Whether achievable or not, is not the question, not anymore. I need to achieve it. I need to ...

The need arises , so does the end.

Saat Khoon Maaf – Shot in a demented mind.

Vishal Bhardwaj’s upcoming movie – “Saat Khoon Maaf” (Seven Murders Forgiven), based on Ruskin Bond’s Susanna’s Seven Husbands from his book, When Darkness Falls and Other Stories, put my insane thought process to run.

Seven fathomable celebrity executions I would have loved to abet; unabashedly, shamelessly, nonchalantly. But sc**w Media, henceforth, I put cues as the names, easily guessable, worth the dry smile. Humour me, please.

1. Mr. ex-IIT-IIM, now hopeless writer – for writing heavily precedential Bollywood scripts and calling them books or novellas.
2. King of Bollywood’s best mate – for creating the movie industry’s most sucking movies ever and continue to do so, by taking exile breaks to foreign locales, pretending to churn out classics, instead, potions of boredom.
3. Mr. Nasal Artist - for his atrocity to compose music, sing, and even try a hand at acting!! And of course, torture all those, who went on to buy his songs and movies.
4. Mrs. Director-cum-mother of three of Bollywood – for making TMK along with her hubby. Both could have easily qualified as creators of an unfailing agent for Euthanasia.
5. This is a group massacre, which I would like to classify as a one-time killing: All Big Boss inmates, irrespective of seasons.
6. Any one CEO of a News Channel which airs Bollywood gossip, national lies and tries to expose dirty linen of peanut politicians and celebrities having little to do with our lives.
7. Finally, myself. For having to even think about the ones above for my blog, which, recently, has been out-of-activity anyways, and equally unproductive as any listed.

Disclaimer: The above written is purely the writer’s insanity and has nothing to do with living beings or things, assumed. If anybody else wants to take the responsibilities, the writer has no connection whatsoever.

Pet-o-philia:

Tired of my Mom's innumerable pleadings and complaints to spend a long vacation with my "old man and woman" at my picturesque home in Kerala, I finally obliged with a work-from-home option loaded on my shoulders. Not as exciting and fast-moving life it shall be, having known that, I moved in for a month to my Dad's lil villa on the river-side.

A pretty predictable routine, my Mom and Dad have made for themselves for each day. Wake-up, argue, have breakfast, argue (maybe fight), have lunch, argue, have evening tea, fight, dinner, argue, sleep. Things might change between days, when they decide to go out, and argue there. When you don't hear noises and voices in my house or close to where my parents are together,assume something's majorly gone wrong. Else, everything is just as fine and bonny it could be.

My Dad loves fish, and though he complains my Mom doesnt make them often for him, I don't see much truth in that considering all fishermen flocking every morning in front of my house promising the best and fresh ones. And though the dish may be lip-smacking, the effort that goes behind it is remarkable ( despicable to me, since I can't bear the smell and feel of any raw fish). I decided to watch my Mom clean those slimy things once in the back-yard from a distance. To be more precise, my lappy and me on the terrace, me with nothing much to do than gaze around, and Mom down there.

And he came. Magnificient. A giant white-eagle who perched right on top of the wall my Mom rested against. He was a treat to watch, but a scare. Eagles hit hard, and deep. What if Mom got hurt? with these fishes, I was sure the eagle might show no pity for my Mom's poor head. Ideas racing in my mind on how to warn my Mom, my jaw dropped when she raised a fish in her hand and the eagle pecked at it lovingly. One strange pet she has, i thought. And that's when two more came. Two ravens. The three together were a sight to watch, white between two blacks, all waiting for their master to feed them with her own hands.

My mom later told me, that if she misses for a couple of days, the eagle shows his anger by making screeching noises while perching on our terrace. But no physical harm. The ravens, more subtle, only pluck the tender fruits and flowers as their retaliation. Interesting.

I dialled my nature-loving uncle at my maternal home to tell him of this spectacular pet show. He was busy feeding his new friend. An elapid reptile just eight feet long. King Cobra.

A feather lost … So was my friend

Life and time never stops, not once for those who never want it to move. How one could wish if time waited for them, to explain, to repent, to act upon and to rectify life’s wrong moments. But alas, it happens only in supernatural fictions and dreams.

The day never blurs, the wound stays afresh, when she walked out. Walked far, walked beyond where she could hear my cries. My woes which had turned into bitterness within. The revenge I had to vent upon those similar, the trust I had lost hoping for the best. But she did not postpone her inhibitions. And I could not stop her from leaving.

I was a bird with fewer feathers, but a bird that learnt to fly low to still fly. Though obstacles increased, and vision obstructed, yet flying low was to land quicker whenever tired. Euphemism – a human with lesser good friends. Man never is complete without them, the ones who call to abuse you, who still wake you up from deserved sound sleep, who celebrate you’re-getting-dumped to make you feel lighter, who eye and gobble everything your Mom dishes out, and who always have to two shoulders for you to lean upon and wail.

The void lasts forever, trying hard to be replaced with new faces, failing endlessly. The search continues, till hope wilts and you coil up a loner. But does life end? It pulls on with more stabs sustained. And you are weakened to be stronger next. A good friend can never be bargained for, so cannot be life and time ….

Dedicated to all my good friends whom I treasure, away or near to me.

Own Destroyer.

Every morning, while waking up, I pray vehemently to myself to spare any horrors for the day. Sounds crazy? Well; it did to me also till some time back. Some time …
Every morning, while waking up, I used to pray vehemently to God to spare any horrors for the day. It could all be attributed with gratitude to the days after college spent in offices I never really wanted to work in, or where I wanted to, things went wrong definitely :). After changing jobs and still finding no respite from the ill-fate, I decided to introspect. Where did I miserably fail? As my mom persistently chirped, who cast the bad luck on me? Or the last excuse, why wasn’t God happy with me?
I like to say good things about myself. Hold on, some define it as pride / snobbishness/ superiority complex, etc. etc. But I was well within limits. At least I thought so. Got a new bag, went about what a great deal it was. Got a new haircut, discussed about how cool it was. Got a new assignment, bragged about how passionate were my colleagues. And then, things never remained the same.
The bag rotted in the rain, the haircut frizzled in a week, and the colleagues, well, never expect too much out of any living thing which has a remote resemblance of a human. And still, I did not deter from my habit.
I also like to imagine the best happening to me. To elaborate, I love to live in my good dreams once a while, which gets pulled to many :(. And then, not only do these dreams crash in reality, but also favor to occur exactly opposite to what they should have been. Lucky, right? I don’t think so, not in the least bit. I could have, if the not-so-good dreams had opposites too in reality. But they always stuck to their script; or remained loyal to their occurrence.
The realization dawned. I was my own enemy. One thing I praise about myself, it had to back-fire. God’s idea of playing with a child. Or His lack of interest to improve things for me and instead, putting the mismanagement on myself. The irony was that whenever I bad-mouth myself thinking things can’t get worse, they do. Believe me, they definitely do.
My troubles are currently multiplying, now thanks to latest fad that I destroy myself, though I pity myself too for being such a helpless curser. Poor me, I can’t even like me too much, lest it all starts going wrong.
The madness is beckoning to immerse in itself. Let me stop bringing out more vivid picture, unless I really end up so. Amen.

Magic at Kashid

The drops of water trickling down my hair,

The sky so dark, yet so clear,

I stand with my eyes closed, waiting for more,

the cold droplets wetting me on the shore.

Eyes to open, waiting to only see,

the wide-open arms of mother sea.
She was beckoning me into her lap,

with waves of thunder and soft clap.

The moment to cherish, the moment to live,

I breathed happiness like no one else could give,

It was the time if missed, never to be forgiven,

to see water unite from hell and heaven..

----- Gratitude to Kashid beach during Monsoon and very dear friends

Work-O-Phobia

Ever since I joined my current assignment, never have I hated work so much. Mostly, it gets on my nerves, travels down the spine and creates an itch in my a** which I can't even scratch due to office manners. The depth of my frustration seems pretty visible.

Traverse back 9 months, when I fell into the dazzling web of virtually projected oppurtunities to learn and carve a niche for myself. Oh, the lead was so cunningly persuasive that I had no word against. Life never seemed better, if not worser.
And I stepped into hell. With so many expectations, with so less to have. Recession also found its time to have more fun. The job-scare over-ruled the job-respect. But my self-respect refused to lose.
Today, I stand at a point of losing my bread, but do I really care for it more than my conscience? I think not.

Just a request. Add the title to the dictionary. It really explains a whole lot.

Mood: Defunct

Three Minutes ...

The crowded 20:33 local, even first class season pass really did not help. Every journey was an ordeal hanging by the door, trying to hold down swooshing hair lest it entered some co-passenger's nostrils and she chokes to death ! It was a hot and sultry summer Thursday, when I saw him, waiting for the crowd-puller by my side on the platform. Tall, dark, lean (not beefy at all) and with a mysterious sparkle in his eyes. Making futile attempts to keep his lips from drying endlessly, he looked back at me. Our eyes met. It was a cosmic connection. I wanted to roll back my eyes, but was helpless. It was as if he had locked them there. So were his. Beyond his shoulder, rested the huge timer. Three mins more to go... I was restless. He was still piercing me with his eyes. Was he amused or amazed? I do not know. I decided to give in.
"Why cant I look away from you?" - my thought raced. I stared with anger and despair.
"Because we are connected..." - Pat came his reply, smiling and relaxed, lips unmoved.
I shivered.Shuddered. How could this happen? Did i really telepathize with him? Was it .....He shot back then.
"Why are you so confused? You wana waste away these few moments? Do not doubt. I am listening to you."
"Is it for real?"
"Yes it is. We are connected."
"Do you know me?"
"No. Saw you for the first time today."
"But you knew we were connected instantly !"
"Not until you looked at me."
"But why me?"
"I don't know. Maybe we are destined for the connection."
"For what?" 

"Life."
"eh?"
" Just believe."
"The train is coming. Will we ever meet again?"
"Not something I can tell. But you remain in my heart, just like I will do."

I looked at him with surprise and amazement. The more restless I became, the more calmness he showed. The engine whistled, I turned to the coming train. Maybe I did not want to catch it. Maybe I did not want him to catch it. I turned back again. He was gone. The light-blue shirt had dissappeared. He was nowhere. The train approached. Crowd tightened. I was singled out, searching for him. But he was unseen. He was invisible. I got in the local.. to see familiar faces, tired as always. But today I was not tired, not at all. His energy was flowing through me. The anxiety and expectation to see him again, kept me energised with vigour. Never I met him again, never I saw him again. But he lives in my heart, like he had made me promise. Just another reason to live life with more hope...

Disclaimer: All characters and contents of this write-up are entirely fictional and any resemblance to any living character, place, thing or train is purely coincidential.