Why should one write a long paragraph when one can get noticed by one single tweet ? From scraps to statuses to tweets, the blogger has been watching them come and go and watch himself sitting in a corner in a heap of long forgotten muses and incomplete articles. Its a shame, its a shame. Words are getting shorter and lives are getting longer. But who shall have the time to read ? I for one was never in the habit of reading but typing the odd word or two would be never that much of a pain.
Today the secret is out, the secret to a successful life is not to waste time thinking about it. Just do it. So why write ? You could type once, you could text once and now you just touch and the impossible happens. The human mind's lack of thought has come down to 5 seconds, his mind diverts from one point to the other, there is too much information and too little time. Updates, deadlines, PINGs and all those superfast things.
Little did one know that while we were caught up in this rat race.
All the cheese had been left behind.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
Happy 100 posts
Not so suddenly, I am not the man I used to be, theres a shadow hanging over me. But despite the difference in the light, I can still remember the joy of reading and writing. And I might find it apt to put this as my 100th post for this blog that may have been ignored so many times by my oh so lazy self, yet Its been with me since the days Justin Bieber was still not potty trained. Facing a mid-mid-life crisis is something that shouldnt really happen to men my age but do end up happening purely because of the fact that youre surrounded by those who seem to have given up on life already.
I choose to solemnly swear with my conscience as my witness, that I shall not be a man whose decisions are based on his peers or predecessors, I shall not fear the future or rue the past and nor shall I ignore the Gym anymore ! Its high time I got in shape :) And let the Ruskin Bond in me not be forgotten because despite facing the dreariest of deserts and the murkiest of swamps, there is always a leopard waiting, on the other side of that hill.
I choose to solemnly swear with my conscience as my witness, that I shall not be a man whose decisions are based on his peers or predecessors, I shall not fear the future or rue the past and nor shall I ignore the Gym anymore ! Its high time I got in shape :) And let the Ruskin Bond in me not be forgotten because despite facing the dreariest of deserts and the murkiest of swamps, there is always a leopard waiting, on the other side of that hill.
The drive
To work
Switching on the radio to hear the jockey predict the weather and give his philosophies on life, I bring myself to the zone, preparing myself for what lies ahead and who I must face while watching the clock tick to its doom. I stare at the nothingness of my future and pray for my phone to stop taking calls. Dreading the moment when I would be in a fix, I tear from the roads and curse the slow movers. Probably I too will become one of them, tired of themselves, old and rotten in a basket that is getting too filthy. And as I speak of filth, I park in the realms of dirt as my feet look for a solid space to land as I open the door to a narrow gap I must squeeze through.
To home
I shut off the radio and leave the top 8 @ 8 for the other billions to listen, I switch to trance and let my mind run in this river of traffic that staggers, stumbles, stops and then starts. I stare at those around me and pan out their miserable lives in my head. I run in their alleys and sit in their light bulbs among the mosquitoes and flies, I count their money and lie on their sorry reason for a bed and wait for the fear of tomorrow. The curses are louder for some wish to let their cars break down and talk on their phones. It is funny but I choose to clock myself back as well, probably a hobby to keep me ticking. The drug, its kicking, and the one in the car next to me seems to notice, I am super, I am the best, I am rich and famous and I am loved by all but alas, the light is green and I am no more eighteen.
Switching on the radio to hear the jockey predict the weather and give his philosophies on life, I bring myself to the zone, preparing myself for what lies ahead and who I must face while watching the clock tick to its doom. I stare at the nothingness of my future and pray for my phone to stop taking calls. Dreading the moment when I would be in a fix, I tear from the roads and curse the slow movers. Probably I too will become one of them, tired of themselves, old and rotten in a basket that is getting too filthy. And as I speak of filth, I park in the realms of dirt as my feet look for a solid space to land as I open the door to a narrow gap I must squeeze through.
To home
I shut off the radio and leave the top 8 @ 8 for the other billions to listen, I switch to trance and let my mind run in this river of traffic that staggers, stumbles, stops and then starts. I stare at those around me and pan out their miserable lives in my head. I run in their alleys and sit in their light bulbs among the mosquitoes and flies, I count their money and lie on their sorry reason for a bed and wait for the fear of tomorrow. The curses are louder for some wish to let their cars break down and talk on their phones. It is funny but I choose to clock myself back as well, probably a hobby to keep me ticking. The drug, its kicking, and the one in the car next to me seems to notice, I am super, I am the best, I am rich and famous and I am loved by all but alas, the light is green and I am no more eighteen.
Friday, December 31, 2010
The kill joy
I am a kill joy, I don't have parties to attend and I am in no mood of creating parties of my own. I shall sit with my glass of whiskey and ring in the new year watching my life pass by right in front of me. Maybe a light read of fiction by my side and some nice music in the cold stale air of this December. I will not ride the streets nor will I be driven around like a chaperaun.
I like my silence and I love my life, but to celebrate events that hold no meaning to my life I care not of. So let the bubbly pop and let the glasses clink and let them forget their worries for this one night so that they may wake up again with the same worries and a headache to top it all.
Don't forget to put up the photos on facebook where your girlfriend is too disinterested to pose and your couch has somehow changed its entire colour. Where your back yard has been watered by your guests and your wall has found new designs drawn on them.
So yes, please do remember the new year and its memories, each one as vague as the last one.
I like my silence and I love my life, but to celebrate events that hold no meaning to my life I care not of. So let the bubbly pop and let the glasses clink and let them forget their worries for this one night so that they may wake up again with the same worries and a headache to top it all.
Don't forget to put up the photos on facebook where your girlfriend is too disinterested to pose and your couch has somehow changed its entire colour. Where your back yard has been watered by your guests and your wall has found new designs drawn on them.
So yes, please do remember the new year and its memories, each one as vague as the last one.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
The workaholic
I have a job where I see lazy laid back officials, Ignorant fools who cant seem to get anything right and ass kissing idiots who just cant help sticking their nose in every matter.
And then there is my boss.
A big notice on the office board reads in bold, office hours shall now be from 930am to 610 pm, a wind brushes its corner up for a second and then passes a figure right past it. At 830 in the morning he walks up to his chair, opens up his laptop, places his left elbow on the table, resting his head on the hand of the same arm and strategically places his finger infront of his teeth. As the screen of his INBOX pops open...
His day has begun
Biting on his fingernails, staring at lines of gesture and urgency, his eyes widen and narrow at figures and deadlines. They look as if they are about to drop any second but that isnt sleep taking over, its just the way he looks, gives him the gentle yet cunning image. He sits there with his phone of a way beyond obsolete model kept at such a distance that the moment it rings, it is snatched from the outside world and taken into his own. His workaholic world
And as the day turns to night, he makes his calls, settles his bills, gives his reports and is up for more but alas there is one call that he cannot attend, his better half that keeps him sane. Its 8pm and his drug has not worn off, he can have more and still stand straight. With a few soft words and a tender touch he sends his last mail and heads back home.
But in his sleep too he settles his deals and has executive meals, staples his tenders and licks his envelopes. Waiting to see a new dawn of the day.
For he is all work and no play.
And then there is my boss.
A big notice on the office board reads in bold, office hours shall now be from 930am to 610 pm, a wind brushes its corner up for a second and then passes a figure right past it. At 830 in the morning he walks up to his chair, opens up his laptop, places his left elbow on the table, resting his head on the hand of the same arm and strategically places his finger infront of his teeth. As the screen of his INBOX pops open...
His day has begun
Biting on his fingernails, staring at lines of gesture and urgency, his eyes widen and narrow at figures and deadlines. They look as if they are about to drop any second but that isnt sleep taking over, its just the way he looks, gives him the gentle yet cunning image. He sits there with his phone of a way beyond obsolete model kept at such a distance that the moment it rings, it is snatched from the outside world and taken into his own. His workaholic world
And as the day turns to night, he makes his calls, settles his bills, gives his reports and is up for more but alas there is one call that he cannot attend, his better half that keeps him sane. Its 8pm and his drug has not worn off, he can have more and still stand straight. With a few soft words and a tender touch he sends his last mail and heads back home.
But in his sleep too he settles his deals and has executive meals, staples his tenders and licks his envelopes. Waiting to see a new dawn of the day.
For he is all work and no play.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
The bricks in the wall
Staring at the moments of the past and living them in my dreams. That is all there is left of my memories. And somehow, I seem to come across them a lot more often than before. Probably because the moment to live in nomore comes by that easy. All that Im surrounded by is a routine of Picking myself up in the morning and dropping of at night.
Clouded by the greed of money, life seems to have brought me to a dead end where I may do nothing but stare at the shades of red on the bricks before me. Fresh new bricks and discolored old ones, some have spiders crawling on them and some seem to be scratched upon. This is my tube of discolored dreams that has made me lean my neck up high and search for a way over the top of this dead end. Or should I try breaking a hole and squeezing through ? That I must decide. I may even find this spot comfortable and stay here, forgetting the lovely shapes of the clouds that the open sky offered me and choose to let these rectangles shape me.
Clouded by the greed of money, life seems to have brought me to a dead end where I may do nothing but stare at the shades of red on the bricks before me. Fresh new bricks and discolored old ones, some have spiders crawling on them and some seem to be scratched upon. This is my tube of discolored dreams that has made me lean my neck up high and search for a way over the top of this dead end. Or should I try breaking a hole and squeezing through ? That I must decide. I may even find this spot comfortable and stay here, forgetting the lovely shapes of the clouds that the open sky offered me and choose to let these rectangles shape me.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
The Mind of A Married Man
He was startled from his sleep as he yanked open his eyes to reality.
It had been another dream.
Lifting himself from the depths of slumber he sat up on his bed and looked out onto the window that glistened in the moonlight and the drops of rain. As the sound of thunder bellowed through his room, he looked on the other side of his bed and saw her sleeping.
She had always been there.
He couldn't remember the last time he had slept alone on his bed, staring at the stars or listening to a classic song. He would always have to tuck himself in and turn off the lamp because 'they' needed a good night's sleep for tomorrow.
He got out of bed and headed to another room. Inside the room in the corner was a crib that housed a little baby as he was fast asleep in his own world of dreams.
He would now always be there too.
He let his finger press on his wedding ring and make a deep impression on his skin, quietly thinking of the decisions he had made to be what he was today. Many years back, his life had been something else, he had been someone else. He would share his partners and share his cigarettes and today he was sharing the mortgage and sharing the bed. He was a pawn in the pre-defined plan of life where he was playing his part as it as written in the script. Most of us do it, he thought, why should he be any different ?
Soon, this thought would also vanish and he would be back in the mazes of life, too busy to worry of who he was and what he was doing. This all would be just another dream. But then he thought to himself, He was only going to live this one life, he would never be able to jump off a plane, due to her fear of heights nor would he ever travel to the hills, because of her motion sickness and he would never be able to be with another woman, well for obvious reasons. With these thoughts he marched to his room and decided. He was going to run away.
Run away from it all. Live the life of a hippie, a renegade, a tourist, whatver he wanted and with whoever he wanted. He would go climb Mt. Everest one day and even be able to watch the sun set in Japan and do all of this as a free man. As he marched on to the bathroom to pack his stuff, he stopped by a photograph. A photograph of himslef and her, holding their son on the day he was born. He looked at the glow on her face and the tiny face of his son. His eyes were barely opening and her's were full of tears. And as for him, he hadn't smiled like that in years. That day he was a father and a proud one too. He had something to live for. His shoulders dropped and his face lightened, his eyes felt weaker and his heart felt lighter, he was tired and weary, maybe someother day he would make his escape.
Quietly, making no sound to ensure the baby did not wake up, he slipped into his bed. And as he was about to head back to sleep to dismiss his thoughts and think of morning's breakfast, he kissed her on the cheek and said, 'Thank You' and then he closed his eyes.
It had been another dream.
Lifting himself from the depths of slumber he sat up on his bed and looked out onto the window that glistened in the moonlight and the drops of rain. As the sound of thunder bellowed through his room, he looked on the other side of his bed and saw her sleeping.
She had always been there.
He couldn't remember the last time he had slept alone on his bed, staring at the stars or listening to a classic song. He would always have to tuck himself in and turn off the lamp because 'they' needed a good night's sleep for tomorrow.
He got out of bed and headed to another room. Inside the room in the corner was a crib that housed a little baby as he was fast asleep in his own world of dreams.
He would now always be there too.
He let his finger press on his wedding ring and make a deep impression on his skin, quietly thinking of the decisions he had made to be what he was today. Many years back, his life had been something else, he had been someone else. He would share his partners and share his cigarettes and today he was sharing the mortgage and sharing the bed. He was a pawn in the pre-defined plan of life where he was playing his part as it as written in the script. Most of us do it, he thought, why should he be any different ?
Soon, this thought would also vanish and he would be back in the mazes of life, too busy to worry of who he was and what he was doing. This all would be just another dream. But then he thought to himself, He was only going to live this one life, he would never be able to jump off a plane, due to her fear of heights nor would he ever travel to the hills, because of her motion sickness and he would never be able to be with another woman, well for obvious reasons. With these thoughts he marched to his room and decided. He was going to run away.
Run away from it all. Live the life of a hippie, a renegade, a tourist, whatver he wanted and with whoever he wanted. He would go climb Mt. Everest one day and even be able to watch the sun set in Japan and do all of this as a free man. As he marched on to the bathroom to pack his stuff, he stopped by a photograph. A photograph of himslef and her, holding their son on the day he was born. He looked at the glow on her face and the tiny face of his son. His eyes were barely opening and her's were full of tears. And as for him, he hadn't smiled like that in years. That day he was a father and a proud one too. He had something to live for. His shoulders dropped and his face lightened, his eyes felt weaker and his heart felt lighter, he was tired and weary, maybe someother day he would make his escape.
Quietly, making no sound to ensure the baby did not wake up, he slipped into his bed. And as he was about to head back to sleep to dismiss his thoughts and think of morning's breakfast, he kissed her on the cheek and said, 'Thank You' and then he closed his eyes.
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