My life be a rollercoaster of emotional overload and short circuits for some time now.
Yesterday I had two long conversations. First of course was with you-know-who (the past who’s now fast becoming the ‘past’ in all senses), surprising? Welcome to the insanities of my life. But the next one takes the cake.
My beshtest friend from school, from whom I had drifted apart a long time ago, makes her entry back with a bang. One of the best conversations that I’ve had with someone in a real long time. You lose some, you win some. I’m now feeling liberated, I told ye guys that right? And to be free, is like no other. And A. (we actually grew up together, doing all the possible good stuff that kids in school do, and were inseparable until of course college happened. We of course were in touch, but the old touch of magic was missing from our friendship, the one that makes it exalted and beautiful.) summed it up in the most sensible words ever.
“Enough, Sach. I think it’s about time you got girls off your head, and be a little independent and free for some time now.” My admiration for her grew by leaps and bounds, A. had really matured in the years that I never really noticed flew past.
For the first time in years since I left school, yesterday the conversation sparkled. Fizzled and bubbled over. And never stopped. And I loved every moment of it. Hail the return of the A.
As I said, you win some, you lose some. I’m glad I lost some. Because it brings back ghosts to life. And I realized I had always loved those ghosts :-)
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Tunak Punjabi
Say what you may, claim that you are a die-hard follower of the grunge rock or the underground pop-mania from the UK, but you all shake a leg to the good old beats of tunak-tunak Punjabi J Its downright infectious, and I have seen it so many times back in college! Play good old Metallica and angst-ridden Nirvana, you will have one section of the crowd trying hard to impress others by their junkie-rock-addict acts of trying to do manic air-guitaring, while banging their heads to non-existent rhythms. (Those honky mothafuckas get up the next morning and complain to me of severe neck pain!!)Don’t get me wrong, I pay homage to the musical greats like them too. But dude, come the beats of a phamous Punjabi song, you cannot stop those legs from shaking or the hips from doing the jhatkas. The entire sea of human bodies starts to move in an unconscious rhythm that is hard to play down. It’s so fucking unbeatable not to unconsciously twitch that hand, or at least (for the craven shy ones) move their heads, then slowly get into the act by throwing a leg and arm in the air imitating the phamous Bhangra, when you listen to the lovely rhythm of Nagada Nagada (If my limited Punjabi/Hindi ain’t wrong, the word means drums, and drums they be, beating out lovely and sonorous through the song). The body base instincts take over and you don’t really have to consciously do the slow gyrations like you do for the DJ’s best act from London School of Sound, but get into the act. Throw it all to the winds and dance like no one’s watching.
Long live ding-ding-ding-ding Ding! Nagada, Nagada, nagada bajaa! Ruk kyon gaye, Bajao!!
Long live ding-ding-ding-ding Ding! Nagada, Nagada, nagada bajaa! Ruk kyon gaye, Bajao!!
Saturday, May 3, 2008
G-TALK: Keeping in Touch
G-talk has definitely arrived. On turbo-jet engines, skidding screeching, burning rubbers, it has pervaded the lives of all us net-addicts. the latest fad to keep in touch, I know I'm perhaps a tad bit late in announcing this, especially in our present-day supercharged lives where a few minutes past becomes old news in a jiffy. Yeah, so for me, G-Talk with the SM(s) - Status Messages - measures how my life has progressed ( or retrogressed!) over past few months. Interesting to note the SM's and then reconstruct your life based on that. Take a look - how life takes the swan-dive into the depths of melancholy and my sincere G-TALK icon bears witness to all that.
Crossing the Chasm now.
I’m blind and waiting for you, God it’s good to be alive!
You’re my favorite damn disease.
Something’s in life are better off rich – Coffee, Chocolate and ME!
We cracked the top 20 in the world, whoa!
All night, Making friends with Shadows.
Lost in Lala land.
Walls will fall before we do.
Wrap me up in a dream with you.
Back from Dead.
Surviving the Holocaust.
I’m Jack’s broken heart.
I’m Jack’s elated heart on a song.
Dealing with Broken Things
Sieving through Kaleidoscope of memories.
Grey & Colorless – Rain Clouds or Heartbreak?
There, I rest my case and leave interpretations to your overly-imaginative mind fed on television and new age cinema. Peace out, shall update with more SM's as life hits the road to recovery :-)
Crossing the Chasm now.
I’m blind and waiting for you, God it’s good to be alive!
You’re my favorite damn disease.
Something’s in life are better off rich – Coffee, Chocolate and ME!
We cracked the top 20 in the world, whoa!
All night, Making friends with Shadows.
Lost in Lala land.
Walls will fall before we do.
Wrap me up in a dream with you.
Back from Dead.
Surviving the Holocaust.
I’m Jack’s broken heart.
I’m Jack’s elated heart on a song.
Dealing with Broken Things
Sieving through Kaleidoscope of memories.
Grey & Colorless – Rain Clouds or Heartbreak?
There, I rest my case and leave interpretations to your overly-imaginative mind fed on television and new age cinema. Peace out, shall update with more SM's as life hits the road to recovery :-)
The Healing Process
They say Time heals like nothing else.
Today evening, my best friend calls me up to ask me to speak with my past. I complied.
I spoke at length to my past. I actually enjoyed the line of conversations. With a free ticket to wildly hilarious sarcasms that I usually cut (ahem!) I was on a roll. Strictly one-sided opinion of course coz after having been once bitten, I’m super-fucking-twice shy about the whole thing. And closely guarded.
I felt refreshed after having confronted my past. Under glaring fog-lamps, the past admitted to having fucked up my life and being fully repentant about the same. But then again, no one beats me when it comes to talking about our favorite books, movies or music. And hence, the past craved for those glory-filled days from my previous life. The word ‘Miss’ figured quite a lot in our conversations. One sided of course and you can guess which side was that.
All said and done, now I truly believe I can live. I survived the biggest holocaust of my life and now, going by the axiom, that which does not kill me can only make me stronger, I emerge stronger. To take the bull right by the horns, Yeah Bring it On Babyee.
In spite of this, about today’s conversation, my only regret is that I couldn’t stick to the strict regime. It is widely believed and truly so, that to break out of an addiction, you needtcha refrain yourself from this drug for continuously 21 days at a stretch.
Today marked the 20th day since I last had contact with my previous life.
I miss by one fucking miserable day.
And strangely, am glad I’m missed. Coz the relief of hearing that voice from the past life, was mutual and exceedingly so on the other side. I was confused about my emotions. Having taken a vow never to face that part of my life, this was hara-kiri of my promises to myself. I think, what played the truant here, was my own narcissistic self. Listening to glowing reports of how the past got bad blessings from all her friends without exception (except Naali Ka Keeda of course! Now that is an interesting twist. How does he feel about competition? Makes for interesting read, wait up sweeties, I shall pen a longer one on that. – gleefully wicked smileJ) was like music to my own exceedingly selfish self. As I always wanted to be on the clear and hear good about me. I’m susceptible to flattery – there I said it, happy? Well yeah, so with the past being apologetic and being in exceedingly desperate needs to be speaking to me, I gave in. I hope I sounded gruff. And rough. And cruel and heartless. (A virtual impossibility, but one can hope?)
Well, I cannot really say No to anyone can I? Especially not to the beautiful past that had ruled my life for at least four years. I’m the gentle kid who’s still searching for that frame of reference on the hilly countryside. Sigh!
Today evening, my best friend calls me up to ask me to speak with my past. I complied.
I spoke at length to my past. I actually enjoyed the line of conversations. With a free ticket to wildly hilarious sarcasms that I usually cut (ahem!) I was on a roll. Strictly one-sided opinion of course coz after having been once bitten, I’m super-fucking-twice shy about the whole thing. And closely guarded.
I felt refreshed after having confronted my past. Under glaring fog-lamps, the past admitted to having fucked up my life and being fully repentant about the same. But then again, no one beats me when it comes to talking about our favorite books, movies or music. And hence, the past craved for those glory-filled days from my previous life. The word ‘Miss’ figured quite a lot in our conversations. One sided of course and you can guess which side was that.
All said and done, now I truly believe I can live. I survived the biggest holocaust of my life and now, going by the axiom, that which does not kill me can only make me stronger, I emerge stronger. To take the bull right by the horns, Yeah Bring it On Babyee.
In spite of this, about today’s conversation, my only regret is that I couldn’t stick to the strict regime. It is widely believed and truly so, that to break out of an addiction, you needtcha refrain yourself from this drug for continuously 21 days at a stretch.
Today marked the 20th day since I last had contact with my previous life.
I miss by one fucking miserable day.
And strangely, am glad I’m missed. Coz the relief of hearing that voice from the past life, was mutual and exceedingly so on the other side. I was confused about my emotions. Having taken a vow never to face that part of my life, this was hara-kiri of my promises to myself. I think, what played the truant here, was my own narcissistic self. Listening to glowing reports of how the past got bad blessings from all her friends without exception (except Naali Ka Keeda of course! Now that is an interesting twist. How does he feel about competition? Makes for interesting read, wait up sweeties, I shall pen a longer one on that. – gleefully wicked smileJ) was like music to my own exceedingly selfish self. As I always wanted to be on the clear and hear good about me. I’m susceptible to flattery – there I said it, happy? Well yeah, so with the past being apologetic and being in exceedingly desperate needs to be speaking to me, I gave in. I hope I sounded gruff. And rough. And cruel and heartless. (A virtual impossibility, but one can hope?)
Well, I cannot really say No to anyone can I? Especially not to the beautiful past that had ruled my life for at least four years. I’m the gentle kid who’s still searching for that frame of reference on the hilly countryside. Sigh!
The Quandary
You need to focus all the misguided energy in the right direction, lest you burn yourself up pining away over broken hearts and missed promises.
I plunged myself back into that beautiful imaginary world of gunslingers and phantoms and demons. I gave myself up on that road to the dark tower, to die in the company of brave Roland Deschain and his Ka-tet, in the quest for his mystic Dark Tower and to die protecting the beautiful red rose. The forlorn patch of land between 42nd and 43rd avenue in New York.
I took to writing with a passion. I finish a chapter on the pirate lords at sea, come back to my hero Jake’s days of glory at Emerald Isle. And here I’m stumped. Coz it’s all about the roaring passion between Jake and the only girl he ever loved, Alice that I needtcha pen now/ and I laugh at Ka. The cruel joke that Ka has pulled on me. Here was I, trying hard to get out from an unbelievably beautiful five years of my life, where I thought I was in love, but now have understood it all to be an imaginary phase of my previous life where I was bombed out of my skull on ‘love’ and sugar-pie nothings whispered into my ears!! And I was supposed to wax eloquent about the one emotion which I had so foolishly pursued with relentless passion, all the while chasing a ghost. L
Do you understand the depth of ironical quandary I’m in? I cannot move on. I need to face the ghosts. I need to flesh out the love story between Jake and his girl. The one who dies later on. Ah! There I shall redeem myself. In the death of Jake’s love/ but before we reach the juicy gory details of Alice’s merciless murder, I need to plough through the dreary fake lands of whispered nothings and hollow promises Jake and Alice exchange with each other. Oh Lord, lend me flight through these islands of make-believe!
I plunged myself back into that beautiful imaginary world of gunslingers and phantoms and demons. I gave myself up on that road to the dark tower, to die in the company of brave Roland Deschain and his Ka-tet, in the quest for his mystic Dark Tower and to die protecting the beautiful red rose. The forlorn patch of land between 42nd and 43rd avenue in New York.
I took to writing with a passion. I finish a chapter on the pirate lords at sea, come back to my hero Jake’s days of glory at Emerald Isle. And here I’m stumped. Coz it’s all about the roaring passion between Jake and the only girl he ever loved, Alice that I needtcha pen now/ and I laugh at Ka. The cruel joke that Ka has pulled on me. Here was I, trying hard to get out from an unbelievably beautiful five years of my life, where I thought I was in love, but now have understood it all to be an imaginary phase of my previous life where I was bombed out of my skull on ‘love’ and sugar-pie nothings whispered into my ears!! And I was supposed to wax eloquent about the one emotion which I had so foolishly pursued with relentless passion, all the while chasing a ghost. L
Do you understand the depth of ironical quandary I’m in? I cannot move on. I need to face the ghosts. I need to flesh out the love story between Jake and his girl. The one who dies later on. Ah! There I shall redeem myself. In the death of Jake’s love/ but before we reach the juicy gory details of Alice’s merciless murder, I need to plough through the dreary fake lands of whispered nothings and hollow promises Jake and Alice exchange with each other. Oh Lord, lend me flight through these islands of make-believe!
The Dreary Existence
They say pain makes you wax eloquent.
Buoyed by such confidence in the wisdom of the crowd (in MBA jargon, they would have called it the Tribal Wisdom!) I try my hands yet again at blogging.
Ah, but where’s the pain you say?
The worse ones ain’t physical, and cut deep. I’m now reminded of a metaphor I drew a long time back, before my hands were singed and burned by the disease called Love. A toddler who’s been led by hand on a steep incline uphill and now left all alone to fend for himself. Naturally, Jack came tumbling down. Jill ran away with Naali Ka Keeda.
And now I’m Jack’s broken heart.
Cheated. Hurt like never before. Vulnerable. Helpless. In anguish. An angry ugly purple welt in the place that hurts the most, a patch that rankles like hell. For being taken on the trip of my lifetime.
Yeah, I ought not stretch your sympathy too much, eh? For someone who pledged oaths for a life-time with me, all it took was one strong realization a fine blue morning. And out came the fangs. Pulled all the plugs of my life away, leaving me stumped and stupefied on the ground, without having realized what hit me. I’m still trying to find my frame of reference and decode the mangled up remains of life. 42 ain’t really very consoling an answer you know. It runs deeper yet. And I’m still digging.
I miss a lot of things in my new life. I cannot help reflect on the bitter sweet irony of almost all the songs that I listen to, because at a past point in my life, all of it held beautiful promises and were pregnant with meaning. Now they sound like gibberish and I can only smile in riposte. Oh How I hate love songs. I cannot bear to look up at the beautiful gibbous moon wreathed in smiley lines. Ridiculous, you say? Trust me; wait until you fall in love. Clichéd, and yet I cannot forgo making this dig, now I know why they call it ‘falling’ in love! J And yet, the new life comes easy to me. Probably because I’m away from where most of the action had happened. I’m actually living the good life at home now. Books, music, movies, food, love (yeah, it has multiple hues, you idiot!) I’m content being the icon of extreme self-indulgence at home before I start back on the corporate rat race. Worse news again, my joining has been postponed by a week again. Damn! Welcome to thassophobic heartbroken existence for a little while longer !
Buoyed by such confidence in the wisdom of the crowd (in MBA jargon, they would have called it the Tribal Wisdom!) I try my hands yet again at blogging.
Ah, but where’s the pain you say?
The worse ones ain’t physical, and cut deep. I’m now reminded of a metaphor I drew a long time back, before my hands were singed and burned by the disease called Love. A toddler who’s been led by hand on a steep incline uphill and now left all alone to fend for himself. Naturally, Jack came tumbling down. Jill ran away with Naali Ka Keeda.
And now I’m Jack’s broken heart.
Cheated. Hurt like never before. Vulnerable. Helpless. In anguish. An angry ugly purple welt in the place that hurts the most, a patch that rankles like hell. For being taken on the trip of my lifetime.
Yeah, I ought not stretch your sympathy too much, eh? For someone who pledged oaths for a life-time with me, all it took was one strong realization a fine blue morning. And out came the fangs. Pulled all the plugs of my life away, leaving me stumped and stupefied on the ground, without having realized what hit me. I’m still trying to find my frame of reference and decode the mangled up remains of life. 42 ain’t really very consoling an answer you know. It runs deeper yet. And I’m still digging.
I miss a lot of things in my new life. I cannot help reflect on the bitter sweet irony of almost all the songs that I listen to, because at a past point in my life, all of it held beautiful promises and were pregnant with meaning. Now they sound like gibberish and I can only smile in riposte. Oh How I hate love songs. I cannot bear to look up at the beautiful gibbous moon wreathed in smiley lines. Ridiculous, you say? Trust me; wait until you fall in love. Clichéd, and yet I cannot forgo making this dig, now I know why they call it ‘falling’ in love! J And yet, the new life comes easy to me. Probably because I’m away from where most of the action had happened. I’m actually living the good life at home now. Books, music, movies, food, love (yeah, it has multiple hues, you idiot!) I’m content being the icon of extreme self-indulgence at home before I start back on the corporate rat race. Worse news again, my joining has been postponed by a week again. Damn! Welcome to thassophobic heartbroken existence for a little while longer !
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