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.