tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10351171260476467712024-03-14T00:36:01.340+05:30As The Mind MeandersAs the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-59962551096789659932017-02-24T23:38:00.001+05:302017-02-24T23:38:37.693+05:30Living through yesterday... TOMORROW<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When the past calls out to to<br />
you<br />
Do you return<br />
Or wait<br />
For that moment<br />
When all will be past<br />
and the past<br />
Will be future radiant <br />
and moving forward<br />
Will be living past dreams <br />
Spectacular, uncanny<br />
But familiar<br />
An ocean or memories<br />
That one can swim through<br />
and live the now<br />
As one wanted yesterday <br />
<br />
It's happening. It's slow.<br />
<br />
I want it all. Now.<br />
<br />
Ram rod through tomorrow<br />
As if there is no today<br />
As I sought it yesterday <br />
<br />
<br /></div>
As the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-43907133421096380602015-06-21T00:21:00.000+05:302015-06-21T00:21:04.474+05:30It's still me...I hope...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
And it rains<br />And it gladdens my senses<br />It reminds me of that young boy<br />Who sought it's full onslaught<br />Determined to brave it<br />Exploring it's violence<br />Discovering his true self<br />Romanticizing the futileness of those endeavours<br />And living his dreams<br />
<br /><br />
I look at me now.<br />The downpour but a distraction<br />From the avalanche of of experiences<br />That make everyday life<br />No time. No patience.<br />To breathe in the the wet soil<br />As it rises up to the the monoliths that touch the sky<br />And falls victim<br />To the impossibility of city life<br />And fails to reach<br />That grown up boy<br />Now a man<br />
<br /><br />
<br /></div>
As the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-31874615094873392002014-07-20T00:51:00.000+05:302014-07-20T00:51:11.017+05:30Of You and Me...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Is it just the rain<br />Or that which drowns me<br />That washes me down<br />Down those streams<br />That I vowed<br />To never venture<br />But now that I have<br />Let me flow<br />Let me live<br />Those times again<br />Where I flowed, and<br />Where I drowned<br />And deep down there<br />Found my shelter<br />Temperory albeit<br />But nonethless<br />A lifetimes worth <br />Of you and me<br />And...<br />You and me...<br />Forever</div>
As the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-67520962250315566012013-07-15T02:36:00.001+05:302013-07-15T02:36:05.789+05:30Pssst<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Does anyone still blog??</div>
As the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-3103771376263738332011-03-10T14:50:00.001+05:302011-03-10T14:52:25.759+05:30A Bad Writers SongMy dense brain<br />Can’t write poetry<br />Can’t write prose<br />Stuck for words<br />Gasping for breath<br />On one stark blog<br /><br />If only I could write<br />Thoughts in flight<br />Would adorn the starkness<br />With vibrant luminance<br />Of potent prose<br />And fine verse<br /><br />But then I can’t<br />And so I scribe<br />Amateur tripe<br />Mushy trash<br />All empty and shallowAs the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-38529425720762918732011-02-24T01:33:00.000+05:302011-02-24T01:34:02.373+05:30I am backHe He heAs the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-44427784127726776182010-10-30T16:56:00.005+05:302010-10-30T17:14:59.703+05:30Creative... Yeah...Miwa Matreyek's Glorious Visions <br /><br /><!--copy and paste--><object width="446" height="326"><param name="movie" value="http://video.ted.com/assets/player/swf/EmbedPlayer.swf"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"/><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><param name="bgColor" value="#ffffff"></param> <param name="flashvars" value="vu=http://video.ted.com/talks/dynamic/MiwaMatrayek_2010G-medium.flv&su=http://images.ted.com/images/ted/tedindex/embed-posters/MiwaMatrayek-2010G.embed_thumbnail.jpg&vw=432&vh=240&ap=0&ti=995&introDuration=15330&adDuration=4000&postAdDuration=830&adKeys=talk=miwa_matreyek_s_glorious_visions;year=2010;theme=a_taste_of_tedglobal_2010;theme=the_creative_spark;theme=new_on_ted_com;event=TEDGlobal+2010;&preAdTag=tconf.ted/embed;tile=1;sz=512x288;" /><embed src="http://video.ted.com/assets/player/swf/EmbedPlayer.swf" pluginspace="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" bgColor="#ffffff" width="446" height="326" allowFullScreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" flashvars="vu=http://video.ted.com/talks/dynamic/MiwaMatrayek_2010G-medium.flv&su=http://images.ted.com/images/ted/tedindex/embed-posters/MiwaMatrayek-2010G.embed_thumbnail.jpg&vw=432&vh=240&ap=0&ti=995&introDuration=15330&adDuration=4000&postAdDuration=830&adKeys=talk=miwa_matreyek_s_glorious_visions;year=2010;theme=a_taste_of_tedglobal_2010;theme=the_creative_spark;theme=new_on_ted_com;event=TEDGlobal+2010;"></embed></object><br /><br /><a href="http://www.ted.com/talks/miwa_matreyek_s_glorious_visions.html">Miwa Matreyek's glorious visions | Video on TED.com</a><br /><br />This blew me away... watch this if you have 10 minutes... Click on the TED link above if the video does not play on this page<br /><br />And watch it with your headphones / speakers on... the music is brilliant too...As the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-53609164856015154332010-08-24T23:19:00.008+05:302010-08-25T00:25:20.433+05:30Wretched DarknessBorn with an urge...<br /><br />An urge he tried to understand...<br /><br />But never could...<br /><br />Cultural, hormonal or genetic – whatever the origin...<br /><br />The urge remains...<br /><br /><br />The cop walked down the street. Armed with nothing more than a lathi and protected by nothing more than a uniform. He had to do this every day. <br /><br />Walk his beat. Walk carefully. <br /><br />“Don’t step on the faeces” he thought. <br /><br />Faeces - The least of his concerns. There are other things a cop on a night vigil has to worry about. Stepping on the pavement dwellers, for example, while they slept through their fear. Mankind slept a disturbed sleeps on these streets. And it wasn’t the weather. <br /><br />The pavement dwellers were disturbed by the thought of the eerie violence that could be upon them on a dark night such as this. <br /><br />So they slept together. In batches of three or more. A rodent running through their legs would cause them to raise a fearful alarm. And whip out a knife or a stick or whatever it is that they slept with to protect themselves. They slept in fear. <br /><br />Fear of the unknown quantity that could drain out the blood from their bodies. And leave behind a starved corpse unrecognisable to all apart from those who slept next to the corpse while it was alive the night before. <br /><br />It had been out there for many months now. It had many names. And it had many faces. Few claimed to have seen it. Some saw a large bat. Others saw a giant mosquito. One saw a large snake. They argued about it all day while they went about doing what the poor do. They bickered over it while they ate their food. It entertained them in the morning and they feared it when they slept. For it attacked only in the night. <br /><br />They deluded themselves into believing that it attacked only those that sinned. And they believed it to be true. The streets turned pious. Gambling dens, hooch joints and brothels resembled housed haunted only be the spirits of dead vices. White lies were no longer spoken. Tongues were barred from speaking evil. Man became as pious as man could. <br /><br />Ironically, piety led by the devils hand.<br /><br />For a city that never sleeps, streets fell silent after midnight. Apart from a stray suicidal vehicle, those lucky to own their own abodes refrained from stepping out. It had never killed the affluent. But the affluent always fear more than the poor. <br /><br />The poor took strength from poverty and the absence of alternatives. And they slept a sleep wedged in twilight. Too tired to stay awake and too scared to sleep. <br /><br />The cops walked the street to protect the city. Sometimes alone and sometime in pairs and sometime on bicycles. They walked the lonely walk of the fearful. They walked the dark alleys and the sub-lit streets. <br /><br />They feared every corner, every blind spot and their blind side. <br /><br />They wished they had four eyes. Two behind the head. <br /><br />The commissioner, asleep in his secure bedroom at night, had asked them to refrain from using their vehicles. Vehicles made a noise that could drive the murderer away. The commissioner wanted him alive. He wanted to prove that the murderer was not some creature from the dark side. <br /><br />The commissioner liked to believe that the murderer was human.<br /><br />The cop walked the street. As he neared a dark alley on his right, an alley no cop would have stepped into alone, he thought he heard a cough. Something told him to stop. He stood still. He thought he heard a cough again. He was about to start walking again when he heard a muffled squeal. He was about to enter the alley when he heard footsteps running towards him. He looked up and saw two other policemen walking towards him. If whoever was in the lane heard them, there was a chance that he might get away. He gestured towards the cops to quiet down and tread slowly. <br /><br />After a few moments of bewilderment, they understood. They walked on eggshells towards him, gesturing “What is it” with their hands, fear written all over their faces. He put his finger to his lips asking them to be silent and pointed to the alley on his right. <br /><br />As they reached the entrance to the dark alley, he gestured towards them and asked them to back him up while he would spring into the lane. They took cover behind the shadows cast by the building at the corner of the alley. He sprung in, deliberately making a noise with his lathi. He was too scared of the element of surprise. "Who in the end might surprise whom", he thought.<br /> <br />Towards the far end of the lane, a man sprung up. The cop could not see the face shielded by darkness. The man was momentarily startled by the cop. But then he recovered and bolted. <br /><br />The cop ran after him. His girth ensuring that he was slower than the man ahead of him. He panted into his whistle while he ran. He heard the two cops behind him come out of the shadows and run after him. As he reached the far end of the alley, he saw a man unconscious, lying on his back. The old man looked like he belonged to the pavement. The two cops had by then reached the man too. The old man looked dead. But his pulse was alive. <br /><br />The cops were exhilarated. They finally had seen the one or at least the silhouette of the one. The one known as the bat and the mosquito and the snake. Now they knew that he was but a man. The cop asked one of his accomplices to follow him as he ran after the murderer. The other would go off and call an ambulance.<br /><br />The two cops took off after the murderer. As they turned the corner, they saw him running a few hundred yards away. They ran after him as fast as they could. <br /><br />The man kept running. They kept running. After what seemed like an eternity, they saw him duck into an alley. One cop followed him and the other, ran into another alley, further ahead, that ran parallel to the one the murderer had run into. <br /><br />They two alleys both opened out to the main road on the other side of the alley. Both alleys had only one other lane that cut across and connected both. If the man ducked into that lane, the other cop could cut across and apprehend him. If he kept running straight down to the main road, the cop had him in his sights. <br /><br />The first cop saw the man duck into the lane towards the right. Their plan would work. “The bastard will finally be caught” he thought.<br /><br />As he ducked into the lane on the right, he saw someone at the far end. As he ran towards him, he realized that the murderer was nowhere to be seen. The man at the other end was his partner. The cop stopped and looked around. There were no other exits. Apart from a few old ramshackle two story chawls. “The bastard could have entered any of these” he thought. “But which one?”<br /><br />He called out to the other cop and asked him to remain where he was. He saw a few lights come on at the sound of his voice. “This was a mistake”, he thought. “If anyone comes out of their houses in any of these buildings, they are in trouble. And I don’t even know which building the bastard entered”<br /><br />He saw a few fearful faces peeking out at him through half open windows. “Close your windows, bolt your doors, switch off your lights and stay quiet” he screamed out. He screamed out his instructions again and asked the other police man to do the same. As he kept shouting out instructions, he walked back quietly towards his end of the lane. <br /><br />The two cops were now at either end of the lane. And again, it was quiet, apart from a few stray dogs. The dogs had joined them in shouting out instructions and were still at it. Then the dogs fell silent too. And then it was really quiet. The only one with the courage to breathe was the wind.<br /><br />He looked for his mobile phone. He had to call for backup. It was dangerous for one of them to enter the poorly lit buildings all by themselves. The man was capable of violence. He had demonstrated that forty three times now. It was not sensible for both of them to go together into any building. They did not know where the man was hiding. And if both of them were off the road and searching the buildings, the murderer could run away, while they combed the wrong place. <br /><br />"But did his partner see the man" he wondered. He tried to gesture but the other cop was too far away. He had no choice but to ask him aloud. The other cop said that he didn’t. He did not see anyone when he reached his end of the alley.<br /><br />The first cop found his mobile phone. And it was switched off. He tried to switch it on and realized that the battery had drained off. “FUCK” he screamed out loud. A few dogs barked back. He was always lazy when it came to charging his phone. He disliked them, but had to carry one because his wife nagged him.<br /><br />He called out to his partner and asked if he had one. “No. I left mine at the police station. I had just stepped out for a walk with Thambe when this happened” <br /><br />“Benchut, all this has to happen today” the first cop abused loudly. He thought about combing the buildings alone and then thought of his family. “No. It is not wise”. <br /><br />There was nothing that he could do. He sat down in the middle of the road at his end of the lane and gestured towards the other cop to do the same. They had no choice but to wait. Wait until another cop walked this beat and could go get help. Neither could leave the place as it would give the murderer an escape route. “And who knows, the bhadwa might be watching us now”<br /><br />And so they lay siege. Someone switched on their lights and looked out of the window. An old man looked out. The cop screamed at the old man. “If you want to look out, at least do that with your lights off”<br /><br />They sat there for an hour. And nothing moved but the rodents. They had nothing to fear. There was no sound apart from an occasional street dog whimping and barking. And then it was nearly dawn. The man looked at his watch. 5:00 am it said. Something had to happen soon. He had to do something soon. <br /><br />In an hour, people would start going up and about. Someone would come down for a walk. Someone would start the kitchen fire. He wasn’t sure if everyone in the had heard him. If someone does step out, for a walk or to buy milk, the murderer would find a hostage if not a victim.<br /><br />And then his luck turned. Luck walked up to him with a pot belly dressed in an uniform. “Why are you sitting here baba” the new cop asked while he walked up to him. The man who lay siege on the dark lane nearly cried out loud. Tears of joy and tears of relief. “Go get more back up. Go now benchut and come fast”<br /><br />“What happened”<br /><br />“Arre, benchut, the murderer is in one of these buildings. Now don’t fuck my head. Go and come fast. And get backup. Lots of back-up and ammunition. We need to comb these buildings. He is in there somewhere”<br /><br />The cop who had just arrived turned around and ran faster than his pot belly would allow. After a few paces, he had to catch his breath and started walking. He had just walked a couple of steps when he heard the other cop abuse him “Run fast bhadwa”. The man ran as fast as he could. At least till the end of the alley.<br /><br />In the next half an hour, there were more than 20 cops in the alley with their primitive ammunition. More were promised soon.<br /><br />The cops started combing the buildings in batches of five. Then more cops arrived. One cop was on a loud-speaker bellowing instructions to the building dwellers. “DO NOT LEAVE YOUR HOUSES. SHUT YOUR DOORS. STAY INDOORS. KEEP YOUR WINDOWS CLOSED”<br /><br />By 7:30 am they had him. A teenage urchin with murderous eyes. He had no weapons on him. He was crouching in a dark corner on the second floor of a building when they found him. He tried to fight back. He was strong but he was outnumbered. <br /><br />They took him to the police station. And they beat him. They beat him till he was nearly dead. Then they beat him some more. They then took the nearly dead body to the nearest government hospital. A few of them, the senior ones, serenaded the media. “It was a successful operation” they said “no casualties and no collateral damage. The murderer is recovering from his injuries that he sustained while he tried to escape”<br /><br />A week later, after fighting death, the boy recovered. And they questioned him. He said he was innocent. He said that he was a rag picker. He was addicted to pot and was crouching on the street, rolling a joint when the cops came upon him. He was scared and he ran. <br /><br />But finally he accepted that he was the murderer. Before that he was beaten again. He finally put his thumb print on the confession. A week later he died. "Of natural causes" the media reported.<br /><br />Two weeks later the two cops who lay siege were at the local bar. The bar was crowded again. The bar owner, happy that he was minting more money than he ever did, offered the two cops all they could drink on the house. <br /><br />After a few drinks they discussed the evening. The whole bar was all ears. The two gloated and exaggerated. How they nearly caught the murderer. How when they ran behind him and nearly caught up with him and tugged at his torn shirt. They said that he looked behind and with his red eyes and hypnotized them into momentary stillness. And how the two of them were a part of the search party that finally caught the murderer. And how he fought. One against ten. It took twenty cops to finally overpower him. And how he finally sat in meditation in the jail cell and gave up his life. The drunk crowd oohed and aahed and applauded and raved and abused.<br /><br />The two drunk cops finally walked out of the bar. They could go out on the beat again. Fearless and drunk.<br /><br />“By the way, Do you know where Thambe is ?”<br /><br />“Ha ha Ha, that fattu must have shat in his pants after that night and must be still cowering at home. Or he must have gone off to fuck that whore he dotes on”<br /><br />“Ha Ha Ha”<br /><br />Thambe never went home after that night. <br /><br />It took the cops a couple of days before they realized this. Wives of policewomen in the city are used to not seeing their husbands home for a few days. And Thambe had a mistress on the side. He sometimes did not come home for a week. <br /><br />But when he didn’t come home for more than a week, Thambe’s wife came looking for him.<br /><br />Thembe never went home that night.<br /><br />They found his uniform in a gutter.<br /><br />One month later the murders started again. In another city not far away...<br /><br /><br />The urge remains...<br /><br />The urge is strong...<br /><br />The urge grows stronger...As the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-86545251535808086022010-06-19T00:20:00.006+05:302010-06-19T00:59:50.627+05:30I Cry to DieHow does one<br />Write ones heart down<br />What does one<br />Do to cry<br /><br />Where does one<br />Go to hide now<br />When does one<br />Learn to die<br /><br />Or does one<br />Take a breath now<br />Dull the senses<br />And learn to lie<br /><br />Its been sometime now<br />I have this desire<br />For you to save me<br />And kill me while<br />I sing this song now<br />A song of hope<br />This optimist's whine<br /><br />This pain I cant<br />Bear to live with<br />Its not for me<br />This sickly white <br /><br />Loved ones wailing<br />Despair and strife<br />And all I do<br />Is watch a wall clock<br />And watch time go by<br /><br />Not a finger <br />I can move<br />While these machines <br />Keep me alive<br /><br />On them I depend<br />To breathe and live<br />On you I depend<br />To use your knife<br /><br />If you hear me<br />Do me this favour<br />Switch off this machines<br />This man made life<br /><br />All it take is<br />A little love son<br />And some courage<br /><br />This act son <br />I do encourage<br /><br /><br /><br />Random surfing of the net.. brought me to stories... of long spells of coma... and vegetation... and euthanasia.... and they brought me confusion... on ethics... and wrong... and right...<br /><br />I don't promote euthanasia... I think its wrong... but I feel for those... those that sleep... sleep unwillingly... and die each day... because of life... man-made life... <br /><br />What do you have to say???As the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-58801431732138549512010-06-14T16:05:00.007+05:302010-06-14T16:30:48.983+05:30The WordsmithMoments of magic<br />Begging to be captured<br />With deft strokes of a paintbrush<br />Or the illusory magnificence of light<br /><br />And then the master without a brush<br />She paints them into a life stream<br />No paint, no prints, no photos<br />Just moments reformed into words,<br />Refreshed, redefined and recreated<br /><br />This master without a brush<br />With a master-stroke unparalleled<br />Then breathes life into words<br />And sets them free to live<br /><br />And then the words<br />Unrestrained and unrestricted<br />By physical forms and compulsions<br />Roam free and far<br />To spread the word<br />Of their masters art<br /><br />And those blessed moments of magic...<br /><br /><br /><br />This post is inspired and dedicated to <a href="http://thisisthatsetup.blogspot.com/">This is That</a>.... I am currently drunk on her latest post called... ahem... <a href="http://thisisthatsetup.blogspot.com/2010/06/wordsmith.html">Wordsmith</a><br /><br />People... the post is absolute MAGIC.... Read it to believe it...As the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-78441168093172272232010-06-02T00:25:00.004+05:302010-06-02T00:28:00.739+05:30The Story Teller<a href="http://sleeplikeacat.blogspot.com/">Sleep Like A Cat</a>... Choco's Lesser known blog that contains one of the <a href="http://sleeplikeacat.blogspot.com/2010/05/storyteller.html">best blog posts</a> that I have read... EVER...As the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-8926787513698108502010-05-05T02:46:00.003+05:302010-05-05T03:07:38.885+05:30SummertimeThe sun at its radiant best. Angry blue skies. Arid earth. Hot collars.<br /><br />No cloud cover. No respite.<br /><br />A few harried salesmen and other sundry parched throats trudge along towards their destinations. Beads of sweat wet the foreheads. Their thirsty eyes look up in hope at those delightful soft drink hoardings. High up in the air, the hoardings look down at the tired souls and give hope. Magical blues and revitalizing greens. Cool cubes of ice floating in those tall glasses with multicolored nectar. A sight to quench your thirst while a greedy corner store awaits you.<br /><br />A sun burnt cart puller. Dark sweat laden skin and thin sinewy muscles bounce off the sunlight while they exert the very last bit of energy left in them. The malnourished man pushes them to the extreme to carry his cross and inch towards his destination and to the few rupees that will feed his family this evening. Each step costs a fortune in blood and sweat, but ironically, is worth only a few pennies. A drop of life trickles down his forehead, works its way down to the bridge of his nose, finds his parched lips, ignores his kiss, finds the chin, drips down to wet his bare chest and dissipates into the wetness of his chest. <br /><br />The cart puller curses the sun. But then he repents. He is poor. He has no education. But he is wise. He knows deep within, that the sun may be merciless, but the sun is still a friend. Not like the rain. <br /><br />The sun is always angry. But it is honest. <br /><br />The rain, it is enticing and beautiful and pleasurable. But it is sly.<br /><br />In the rain, no one will hire his cart. An empty cart is directly proportional to an empty stomach. Sorry. Six empty stomachs.<br /><br />Not far away a man in his air-conditioned car looks out at the world. Cradled in his seat of luxury, awaiting a traffic signal to go green, he looks out at the beggar knocking at his window in disgust. The beggar, deformed and probably deranged, brings his sun burnt thirsty lips close to the expensive window pane. He knocks on the window and makes a sad face. A man pleading for life sustaining bread and a nourishing drink of water. A man begging to live. <br /><br />In his mind, the beggar too curses the sun, for the sun cares not for those who have little. He sides with the rich and roasts the poor. The beggar tries to open his mouth. But his dehydrated lips give up. He mumbles some words that say nothing but mean despair. The man in the car, however, can hear nothing. His ears are tuned to the throbbing music that reverberates through the expensive beige interiors. He breathes in cool air and gestures to the strange life form outside his window. Be gone you creep. “Why the fuck cant they work. If I give him money I know I will end up feeding the beggar mafia”<br /><br />The beggar trudges away towards other carriers of hope that await the signal to go green. One of them holds the key to nourishment. <br /><br />And then there are the children. Hopping and skipping to nowhere. Their unruly hair and their oily pigtails braving the mighty sun, making friends with the scorching sunlight. <br /><br />How can they be unaffected by the mighty summer? Does innocence nourish, shield, and protect. Or is it the benevolence of the sun for those that will, hopefully, one day, bring about compassion that the worlds needs.<br /><br />The sun lives in hope and burns with anticipation. He lights up those little lives and is optimistic. One day, before he collapses into himself to become a supernova, these little ones will work up the magic of innocence and sing songs that extend compassion. One day they will eradicate sin. On that day, everyone will see the light. <br /><br />God looks down at the sun. He looks down with a wry smile. A glint in his eye.<br /><br />“They will not understand because they are not programmed to”<br /><br />“Not many will understand that my greatest creation is not man or the sun or the water or fire or the planets. Not even the universe. Not love. Not the heart. Not even the brain. <br /><br />My greatest creation….<br /><br />Equilibrium….<br /><br />Which I created in abundance….<br /><br />Right and wrong<br />Rich and poor<br />Hot and cold<br />Life and Death<br />Love and hate<br />Creation and Destruction<br />Cyclical<br />Interdependent<br /><br />For that which sustains also destroys<br />One feeds the other<br />One negates the other<br />One leads to the other<br />One balances out the other<br /><br />Fuzzy logic… yeah… equilibrium…. My greatest creationAs the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-46095388891170755412010-04-19T03:27:00.013+05:302010-04-19T04:18:19.854+05:30StillTime was still. The man looked at his watch. Hours and minutes stuck in perpetuity. Defeated and motionless. <br /><br />“How ironic” he thought. His lifeless watch reflected the barren landscape – dull, desolate, and still. Thirsty shrubs reached out to the dry, parched soil. The slight breeze that blew through the landscape during these acrid months appeared to have been imprisoned by the lazy dust that rested listlessly in the summer sun-baked earth.<br /><br />The man looked at his car as it stood open-mouthed. Its defeated engine looking out at an angry victorious sun. <br /><br />He had been there for a few hours now since his car broke down. His kerchief tied around his head and a bottle of water in his hands. A bottle that now contained the last few sips of lukewarm water after the liquid had made friends with sunshine. The poor man however had no choice but to wait. <br /><br />Sweat trickled down his forehead and entered his eyes. He tried to flutter his eyelids to avoid the sweat trickling down into his eyes. Salt and sweat burnt his eyes and clouded his vision. He fluttered his eyes and looked out at the barren highway through a hazy tear screen. <br /><br />He hadn’t seen a vehicle pass by since his car overheated and his driver had gone off to get water. Since then, it had felt as if his defunct watch had somehow managed to stop time and keep him imprisoned in a vulnerable, timeless and harsh present. <br /><br />His patience had started getting the better of him. He looked at his bottle of lukewarm water, the acrid landscape, the isolated highway, and his useless car. He cursed under his breath. He cursed his luck, the weather and his driver. <br /><br />“Benchut, why the fuck did the car have to get overheated today and where the fuck is Ramprasad” <br /><br />His mind moved on. It moved on to unpleasant thoughts about a bag that was on the back-seat of the car. The bag worried him. The inconspicuous bag held gold, that generally, is a fortune for any middleclass father of an unwed girl child. The bag contained gold jewellery for his only daughters wedding, prepared by a family jeweller from their ancestral village, a few hundred miles away from the city. <br /><br />The gold had cost him a fortune. It had cost him enough to make him worry about it. <br /><br />He had set out last evening to go back to his ancestral village to collect the gold. He had to go alone, as the others in his small extended family were busy with other tasks that a grand wedding demanded of younger and fitter men. He had set out with his driver of eight years, a man he could trust with his soul, to collect his daughters wedding ornaments and issue the final payment. <br /><br />He had forgotten about the gold since his car broke down. But now it worried him. <br /><br />He pulled himself close to the car door and looked in through the car window.<br /><br />And then all hell broke loose. His heart started pounding through his chest and worked its way up violently to his temple. It pounded in his head and engaged in a violent scuffle with his brain. He felt his heart and brain scrambling through his veins. His head exploded and his heart tore through his chest.<br /><br />A lone man screaming on an isolated highway. His voice cutting through the caustic landscape, unsettling the lazy dust and ripping through the earth. Far away mountains, lying still, waiting in eagerness, unsure but eager - Can they absorb the angst.<br /><br />A car standing still. Its open mouth seems wider. Terrorstricken. This is not the master that it has known<br /><br />“BHENCHOT… BHADWA… MADHARCHUT”<br /><br />A man he trusted for eight years had taken off with his daughters future. A man who he trusted with all his secrets, frustrations and happiness. A man who had, for eight years, been just another accessory in his car. A man he trusted.<br /><br />He had to go after the bastard. <br /><br />There was no point waiting here. His daughters wedding was less than fourteen hours away. He had to get back with the gold. <br /><br />His daughter's father-in-law had said that he did not believe in dowry.But the man had also said that the only thing he expects is that his daughter-in--law enters the house like a princess. <br /><br />Everyone knew what that meant. He, as the father of the bride, was expected to give. This was the social norm and this was how his society worked.<br /><br />Of Course, the wedding was doomed without the gold. <br /><br />Since the birth of his only child, a daughter, he had realized that the girl was to be his most precious asset and yet, ironically, his biggest liability. <br /><br />He loved his daughter. He would not let her down. His family name was at stake. He could not let his ancestors down<br /><br />He had to get home. And he had to get home with the gold. He had to act. <br /><br />Waiting around was not going to help. He had to act. <br /><br />Act now. <br /><br />"Act now you you bastard. Come on. You have seen a thousand movies where the impossible has become real. There must be some truth to it. Miracles happen. They happen to those who are desperate and who believe."<br /><br />"Pray now you bastard. Call out to the one who has blessed you all her life."<br /><br />“JAI MAATA DI”<br /><br />He tried to pull himself up and stand up on his feet. <br /><br />His wheelchair moved away from him<br /><br />He fell to the ground.<br /><br />He looked up at the scorching sun, his car and then his wheelchair. <br /><br />Then he cursed god and his fate. <br /><br />Why the fuck did this have to happen to him.<br /><br />Why was he cursed. <br /><br />Cursed with a daughter. Then cursed with a paralytic stroke that had rendered his legs useless for the last one year.<br /><br />And now cursed with this misfortune...As the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-86846131209967304792010-02-12T22:27:00.001+05:302010-02-12T22:27:27.703+05:30The Mind...Maybe it can never stop meandering...As the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-22220751243071880812009-11-07T18:25:00.002+05:302009-11-07T18:28:26.054+05:30Hey Mind... Its Time to Stop MeanderingIt ends here... something that started on a whim... the desire to write... no longer as strong...<br /><br />I thank all of you who tolerated my feeble attempts at writing. Thank you for encouragement. Thank you for all your support...<br /><br />I wish you well...<br /><br />Cheers...As the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-2428868990028564082009-11-02T01:15:00.002+05:302009-11-02T01:23:03.581+05:30Thirsty...Back in the days when the sun was at its brightest, life reflected the brilliance of sunshine and the soul sparkled with innocence - Back then I embraced darkness.<br /><br />Brightness was stark and darkness was lush. Darkness was many hued, layered with curiosity, throbbing with the passion of sin and blessed with a deep dark voice of manhood. <br /><br />Innocence, relatively, seemed effete and boring.<br /><br />I dived into the depths of darkness. Far away from the reach of light.<br /><br />Who needs light? Who needs sight... when there is blindness... and blindness can be… Exhilarating. Thrilling. Powerful. Magical.<br /><br />Ah! To sell the soul in a whore-house frequented by deaf blindness. Darkness raping the soul with insane fervor and to the sound of buzzing psychedelia. Darkness and the soul creating devastating devilish dark hued fabric to dress life up for the night life in the moon light.<br /><br />My fangs. Are drawn.<br /><br />My wings. Are spread<br /><br />I hunt. My love.<br /><br />Your windows. Are they open tonight?<br /><br />If yes. Lets drink to it…As the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-88734467180273436672009-10-05T11:47:00.009+05:302009-10-05T12:23:48.497+05:30Ah!It has been a good fortnight for me as a blog reader...<br /><br />I had to share some of the brilliance...<br /><br />Posts in alphabetical order:<br /><br /><a href="http://ashesandsomedust.blogspot.com/2009/10/promise.html">A Promise</a> written by <span style="font-weight:bold;">Ashley</span> @ <a href="http://ashesandsomedust.blogspot.com/">Ashes And Some Dust</a> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">A relatively new blogger and a brilliant beginning</span><br /><br /><a href="http://m4maruvada.blogspot.com/2009/09/face-in-mirror-and-voice-within.html">A Face in the Mirror, A voice Within</a> by <span style="font-weight:bold;">Pawan</span> @ <a href="http://m4maruvada.blogspot.com">The Other Perspective</a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Angst and Cynicism; Also a prolific writer of fiction. Loves non-linear narratives and improving at the speed of thought</span> <br /><br /><a href="http://dimaagkoshot.blogspot.com/2009/10/home-he-was.html">Home, He Was</a> by <span style="font-weight:bold;">Shamanth Huddar</span> @ <a href="http://dimaagkoshot.blogspot.com">Diligent Wanderings</a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The master@work... Meghana refers to him as the master and rightly so...</span><br /><br /><a href="http://one-long-rant.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-love-smell-of-crazy-in-morning.html">I Love the Smell of Crazy in the Morning</a> by <span style="font-weight:bold;">Indiegurl</span> @ <a href="http://one-long-rant.blogspot.com">One Long Rant</a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Sarcasm walks amongst us... unfailingly funny and intelligent...</span><br /><br /><a href="http://agentgreenglass.blogspot.com/2009/10/love-in-parts.html">Love in Parts</a> by <span style="font-weight:bold;">AGG</span> @ <a href="http://agentgreenglass.blogspot.com">The files of Agent Green Glass</a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Creative! Yes... thats her... can write anything... <br /></span><br /><a href="http://thisisthatsetup.blogspot.com/2009/09/mona-bua.html">Mona Bua</a> by <span style="font-weight:bold;">This is That</span> @ er… <a href="http://thisisthatsetup.blogspot.com">This is That</a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Her posts are pictures... read them and they come alive</span><br /><br /><a href="http://loveacrossbridges.wordpress.com/2009/09/25/nine-lives/">Nine lives</a> by <span style="font-weight:bold;">Gayathri</span> @ <a href="http://loveacrossbridges.wordpress.com">Love across Bridges</a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Super prolific and awesome... a million stories in her head, I think...</span><br /><br /><a href="http://subtle-signs.blogspot.com/2009/09/and-when-i-finish-sifting-through-moon.html">You wait, patiently. But…</a> by <span style="font-weight:bold;">Meghana Naidu</span> @ <a href="http://subtle-signs.blogspot.com">Subtle Signs</a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Non-linear, thoughtful and magical...</span>As the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-26170374211100661222009-09-25T14:45:00.011+05:302009-09-25T19:48:37.924+05:30You know that I love you, don’t you???“You know that I love you, don’t you”<br /><br />“Yes baby”<br /><br />“Then don’t ever leave me.” He sounded upset.<br /><br />“Why do you say such things baby. And that too over a long distance phone call. It hurts”<br /><br />“I don’t know what comes over me. Sorry. I guess I am a bit frustrated. Life is not really great, you know”<br /><br />“Don’t worry babu. I loooove you”<br /><br />“I don’t have much money you know. Or I would have come down to meet you. Things are really tough. I lost my job because of the fucking recession. I think the bastards needed an excuse to kick people out and recession was their excuse”<br /><br />“Doesn’t matter. We will meet soon honey. Till then we have the phone baby. And If you don’t have money – I will call you”<br /><br />“You are chooo sweet honey” he cooed.<br /><br />“I love you baby.” <br /><br />He saw her in his mind. She was radiant. Her jet black her and her cute nose. He wanted to bite the nose.<br /><br />“Heh Heh… You know what I want to do now”<br /><br />“No. What?” She was all innocence, wasn't she?<br /><br />“Guess” he teased.<br /><br />“Shut Up. That is all you can think of” she said in mock annoyance.<br /><br />“You don’t like it? Ok. Wont talk about it” he teased again.<br /><br />“No baby. Of course I do”<br /><br />“Then why are you taking bhav”<br /><br />“Shut Up”<br /><br />“He He… listen to me na… You know what I feel like doing”<br /><br />“No babu. Tell me”<br /><br />“I want to kiss you”<br /><br />“And”<br /><br />“I want to feel your tongue on mine”<br /><br />“And”<br /><br />“I want to move down slowly, smelling your skin, kissing your neck”<br /><br />Giggle. “Shut up. I am feeling ticklish”<br /><br />“I want to run my tongue over your lips, find your chin and work my way down to your breasts”<br /><br />“And then”<br /><br />“Move up slowly again and find your mouth. I want to smell your breath. I want to feel the wetness of your mouth. I want my body to be warmed by your flesh. I want to tickle your breasts. I want to feel them grow in my hands.”<br /><br />“You are so good baby" she cooed. "I can feel your hands baby and your breath. I love you baby. Come here na. What are you doing there. Come her Now. Pleeease”<br /><br />“Shhh. Listen. Can you feel my tongue moving back down your neck. Can you feel my tongue moving towards your breasts. I can feel the taste of salt on your skin baby. I can smell your breast. I can hear your heart throb”<br /><br />“Baby" she moaned "I can feel your body against mine. I can feel its warmth. I feel your strength. Your large manhood and your rigid hardness. Your hard harsh hands crushing my delicate body. I want you baby. I want you now. Move your hands lower down na baby. Feel me there. Find me. I want you there”<br /><br />“Baby. My hands are reaching down. I feel your belly button baby. How I love it. Its depth. Its…. <br /><br />CLICK.............................................................................<br /><br />"Hello... Hello... Baby... are you there baby.... Helooooo"<br /><br />“Fuck” she thought “the line dropped.”<br /><br />She wiped her brow. The air conditioner wasn't working for three days now.<br /><br />She smiled to herself. And then stifled her laughter.<br /><br />The fifty year old lady in the next cubicle was doing her version of the orgasm. It sounded suspiciously like an alien being tortured in Area 51. “Now which was that film”<br /><br />“Poor woman. She’s giving it her all” she thought "But she wont last long. Its her first day live on calls and the big boss would be monitoring all her conversations. Alien shrieks don't work for the boss. But I wonder what her story is. Everyone here has a story. If only someone listened carefully, they would find a story screaming out loud through each fake orgasm"<br /><br />That reminded her. She had to collect her paycheck from Burger King for the part time stint she did there during the last month. But she was doing two fucking shifts back to back this week. Sex sells. Even during a downturn. <br /><br />"I wonder when I'll find time" she grumbled. "A million corny B-movie dialogues to be spouted sixteen hours a day - I can feel your large manhood and your rigid hardness. What the fuck is rigid hardness" she laughed to herself. "Hard harsh hands crushing my delicate body" she laughed again. <br /><br />The middle aged alien looked at her in disgust. <br /> <br />Her phone was ringing again.<br /><br />“Fuck! Seven calls on queue” she muttered to herself “Seven horny toads salivating, one of whom will help pay for my child’s education” <br /><br />“Wait… I am coming baby” <br /><br /><br />“Seven calls on queue bitches. Everyone on the phone. NOW” <br /><br /><br />PS: This post is inspired by a tweet that grabbed my attention a few days back on <a href="http://mentalie.blogspot.com/">Mentalie's</a> blogAs the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com93tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-2155807069774983182009-09-23T16:01:00.001+05:302009-09-23T16:03:46.741+05:30Dream Afresh & Work AroundI sit by a waterfall<br />Refreshed and elated<br />By the lemony sweet newness<br />That comes up to greet me<br />After water meets stone<br />And a random spray leaps in joy<br />With wetness and life<br />Drenching my exhilarated soul<br /><br />Then the eyes, they open <br />To a vision of illusory grandeur <br />The King is on his throne <br />He, the lord of nothingness <br />His empire weighed down and numbed<br />By the repercussion and the sullenness<br />Of a dreary existence <br />And biting bytes of the executive kind <br /><br /><br />The mind should now shut up and get back to workAs the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com49tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-76328354841890596632009-09-18T14:10:00.006+05:302009-09-18T16:20:12.276+05:30Dead WorriedIt has been four minutes since I died. <br /><br />My wife sleeps next to what had been me, unaware of the corpse, which was once her husband that lies next to her. <br /><br />She will be up in the next couple of hours. By habit, she will do her daily prayers and ablutions and set some tea on fire before coming back to wake me up. <br /><br />Then I am afraid, all hell will break loose.<br /><br />I hope God takes me away before this transpires. Nothing such has happened yet. I haven’t seen any light or any such thing. I am still here. <br /><br />Formless and shapeless. Hopeful. Peaceful. Waiting. <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">One hour since death</span><br /><br />My wife shifts slightly in her sleep. I want to reach out to her, hold her and comfort her. I want to tell her not to worry and that I am there for her. <br /><br />I fear that she will awaken and ask for the bottle of water that always lies on my side of the bed.<br /><br />We argued before going to bed last night – on some trivial issue. On lending some money to her cousin brother whom I never really liked. For someone who had taken voluntary retirement a few months back, it is difficult to take the liberty with money the way young people do.<br /><br />My children take liberty with money. I have two sons. Both married, great jobs, on a high, and spending more than they should. I have tried to talk sense into them. They hear my ranting and respectfully ignore me. No one listens to an old man. <br /><br />They take after me. I did not listen to my old man.<br /><br />I married my wife against my fathers wishes. It was meant to be an arranged match. We had visited her house to see her. I, a London educated graduate, working with a bank in Bombay (as it as called then), was a price catch. <br /><br />My father, a traditionalist with right wing leanings, would only settle for the best.<br /><br />‘Best’ for him was defined by the size of my potential father in laws bank balance and his willingness to part with a large chunk of it in dowry. ‘Best’ was also defined by the colour of my potential wife’s skin. My father’s son had lived and dined with fair men and of course he had to have a fair wife.<br /><br />The girl we have travelled to see that day did not qualify. It was a mistake. My father said he realised this the minute the taxi drew into the lower middle class suburb. He would have turned around right then if not for my uncle, who had recommended the match, and who had helped my father financially for my expensive education.<br /><br />A grim father and an obedient son walked through an open door into a little house that announced aloud that it belonged to a mid-level government servant. <br /><br />Sparse, minimalistic, functional and definitely not to my fathers taste. <br /><br />We were greeted by many joyous, rotund relatives and a bald, sombre, humble father. The usual tiffin was served with laddoos wrestling with chaklis and chivda for space in the little plates brought out for each of us by rotound relatives. <br /><br />“Where is the girls mother. Does she not have the courtesy to come and greet guests” my father whispered loudly to my uncle.<br /><br />“She died when the girl was little” <br /><br />“How can my son marry a girl that has not learnt the ways of women from her mother. Will she know how a good daughter in law is expected to conduct herself” my father must have thought. Thankfully he did not say it out loud.<br /><br />The usual small talk followed with my father answering in monosyllables and sarcasm and I, Mr. London educated eligible commodity, cowered with timidity. <br /><br />It was then, thankfully, that respite walked in the form of the eyes. <br /><br />All I could see in her when she walked in were the eyes. She was all eyes and I was all eyes. Eyes met. Eyes spoke. Eyes explored. Eyes questioned. Eyes answered. Eyes were loving and tender and laced with dew. Eyes walked gracefully and sat opposite me. Eyes were bashful. Eyes were shy. Eyes were confident. Eyes told stories that no one else but me could see. Eyes hypnotised. I levitated. <br /><br />Eyes could melt ice. <br /><br />I melted. <br /><br />The obedient son/slave of the father now enslaved by a vision seen through those eyes.<br /><br />Vision of the eyes beholding me, tempting me and seducing me while I made tender love, each night, to the possessor of the eyes. A vision of them looking over me, lovingly, each morning while I slept. Eyes that would warn me of harm, comfort me in despair, guide me through life, and direct me when I wandered.<br /> <br />Eyes named Nethra. <br /><br />While I was all eyes my father saw things differently. Nethra was dark and she was talkative and she was opinionated and her father did not own a bank.<br /><br />My father walked out of the house in ten minutes. I followed meekly. <br /><br />My soul stayed back and lingered.<br /><br />For a month more I saw more girls than there were days. I saw all kinds. I found an excuse for them all. <br /><br />My father was growing increasingly impatient and agitated. <br /><br />I had to act.<br /><br />I did. <br /><br />When I wasn’t working or visiting sundry potential wives, I started frequenting the area where she lived. <br /><br />Thank God I smoked. <br /><br />Thank God I bought my cigarettes from a corner-store while I awaited the eyes to walk around the corner. On the eighth day they did. They walked into the store to buy bread and milk. Thank god for stores in India that stock and sell everything.<br /><br />“Oh! Hello”<br /><br />“Ha.. Hi” <span style="font-style:italic;">(I think I had farted out of shock.)</span><br /><br />“What are you doing here”<br /><br />“Nothing much. Had come to see a friend who stays close by. He is not at home so I thought I will wait here for him”<br /><br />“Smoking is injurious to health”<br /><br />“There are other things that are killing me right now”. <span style="font-style:italic;">(Shit. What did I say. I wanted to chew on the burning cigarette and make a hole in my tongue. Idiot. I was. I am.)</span><br /> <br />Giggle. <span style="font-style:italic;">(Oooh! She is soo cute.)</span> “What???”<br /><br />“No. Nothing. So you come to this store often” (<span style="font-style:italic;">Yeah. What a great conversationalist I am)</span><br /><br />“Yes. We have an account here. So we pay at the end of the month. I come here every morning after I visit the market”<br /><br />“What time??” <span style="font-style:italic;">(What an idiot. Go slow idiot.)</span><br /><br />Giggle. <span style="font-style:italic;">(Please don’t do that… don’t giggle... It is doing things to me that you cant imagine)</span> “Between 9:30 and 10:30”<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Shit! Shit, Shit Shit…. I am at work at that time.</span><br /><br />From the next day, I got to work two hours late each morning. Some in my office thought that my father was ailing. Others thought it was my mother.<br /><br />And then it started. The wheel started turning and I could not bring myself to stop it. <br /><br />I had to tell my father. <br /><br />I did. <br /><br />And all hell broke loose. <br /><br />Then I broke loose.<br /><br />We eloped. We got married at a temple with only a few friends of mine representing both the groom and the bride. Not, by far, the proper Indian wedding circus.<br /><br />I also knew that I had to get out of the city. My father was friends with some right wing politicians (goons) and I knew his ego was bigger than his love for me. Another day and all the grime in the city would be hunting for us. <br /><br />I took a friend’s old battered Fiat, most of his money and whatever little I had saved and drove out of the city. My heart beating a drum each time we passed a check-post. <br /><br />We left the car with my friend’s uncle in Ahmedabad and took a train to Delhi. From Delhi we travelled aimlessly in cheap government busses. <br /><br />I remember the first time we made love. In a bus stand lavatory at Gorakhpur. I know. It isn’t romantic. But we were on the move and too scared to stay for the night in any one place. We were young and our hormones got the better of us. And so in a foul smelling ladies lavatory at an isolated government bus stand, the newly wed couple consummated their marriage for the first time.<br /><br />We travelled further up and I started breathing again only after we reached Sunauli, a border town in Nepal. We travelled further up to Kathmandu and stayed there, blissfully, in bed, for two months, till the money was nearly over. Then it was back to Bombay.<br /><br />Back in Bombay, I realised that I had lost my job. <br /><br />My father got me the job and my father took it away. He had not forgotten and he would never forgive. Thankfully he had accepted that what had occurred could not be undone. <br /><br />The first few years still rankle. We stayed in a friend’s apartment until I found a low paying job in a textile mill. We then moved into a one-room ‘chawl’ in Byculla. <br /><br />From Byculla, I rebuilt my life. I managed to find another job in a bank and in time, life blessed us with two sons, a larger house and reasonable prosperity.<br /><br />My father never spoke to me till he died. My mother died a few months after I eloped. I would like to believe that she was probably tortured to death by my father for bringing a wretch like me into this world. Into his world. <br /><br />I have never grieved for them.<br /><br />I was too busy playing prisoner to the eyes. <br /><br />I have been imprisoned for life. <br /><br />Now even death has failed to secure a release.<br /><br />And it is two hours since I died and its is time for her to wake up. <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Two hours since death</span><br /><br />I worry for her. Who would believe that the soul (or am I a ghost) worries after death. But I do. I wonder how she will live her life now that I am gone. I am not sure if she knows where I keep all my documents and information. She has never had to pay a bill by herself. She has never wanted to know how much money I have saved or about the insurance or the investments. I have never told her much.<br /><br />My children lead their own lives. They live separately. They lead busy lives. They have no time for our middle aged bones. They do visit occasionally but I don’t think that they would be comfortable having their mother stay with them.<br /><br />She doesn't even bloody take her medicines on time. She spent her entire life looking after me and the children and with time she has forgotten herself completely. Her health has been failing in recent years. She has diabetes and high blood pressure. <br /><br />I took voluntary retirement only to take care of her. And since then she is completely reliant on me. She eats when I eat and I have to cajole her to take her medicines. She had become my baby for the second time in our lives. We were planning to go on a pilgrimage up north. I had booked our tickets last week. Our second road trip.<br /><br />But now I am FUCKING dead. <br /><br />And I have waited for two fucking hours for God to take me. To Release me.<br /><br />And I have come to realise that there is no God.As the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com78tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-58125020349830410552009-09-02T01:11:00.013+05:302009-09-02T02:02:13.172+05:30"Tag Ka Saamna" aka "Iss Tag Se Mujhe Bachao"I have been tagged... by <a href="http://boxingwords.blogspot.com/2009/08/winner-and-tag.html">Choco</a>... so here goes... <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">1. Grab the book nearest to you, turn on page 18 and find line 4</span><br />Under the influence of the landowner’s smile, in whose….<br />Salman Rushdie’s Midnight Children<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">2. Stretch your left arm out as far as you can & catch air?</span><br />Ok… reached out… grabbed some air… Yikes… caught something smelly… Did someone fart??? <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">3. What is the last thing you watched on TV?</span><br />NDTV India… Salman Khan is buying an IPL team to compete with Sharukh Khan… go figure… does anyone care…<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">4. Without looking, guess what time it is?</span><br />1:15 am?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">5. Now look at the clock, what is the actual time?</span><br />1:18 am.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">6. With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?</span><br />Sania Mirza and Somdev Burman have reached the second round in the US Open… good news… on CNN IBN <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">7. When did you last step outside? What were you doing?</span><br />A hour and a half back. Left office to come home. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">8. Before you started this Q&As, what did you look at?</span><br />My blog…<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">9. What are you wearing?</span><br />A grey pyjama.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">10. When did you last laugh?</span><br />When I answered question no. 2.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">11. What is on the walls of the room you are in?</span><br />Paint.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">12. Seen anything weird lately?</span><br />The mirror…<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />13. What do you think of this quiz?-</span><br />Yawn!<span style="font-weight:bold;"><br /><br />14. What is the last film you saw?</span><br />Little Zizou… on DVD… a delightful little film<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />15. If you became a multimillionaire overnight, what would you buy?</span><br />A book… on how to spend it overnight….<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />16. Tell me something about you that I dunno!</span><br />I live exactly 402 miles (647 kms) from the Palolem beach in Goa.<br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">17. If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you do?</span><br />Nothing… sometimes things are not great… at other times they are dreadful… but everything has a reason… the wheel of creation and destruction has to be kept in motion… consciously we create... subconsciously we destruct... the wheels turn... <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">18. Do you like to Dance?</span><br />I like to prance… <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br /><br />19. Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her?</span><br />Huh! Gajgamini<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />20. Imagine your first child is a boy, what do you call him?</span><br />Supandi<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />21. Would you ever consider living abroad?</span><br />Not forever… not for long… I care too much for my Indian Passport to exchange it for another… I have had opportunities… I choose to live here. There, in my opinion, is nothing that you can do abroad that you can’t do in India.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">22. What do you want GOD to say to you when you reach the pearly gates?</span><br />Son… Here are my papers…. 1 month notice… When do I start the hand-over…<br /><br /><br />Ok... done... I pass this on to anyone unfortunate enough to have the low IQ levels required to even consider answering this... like me... of course...<br /><br />If you are proudly stupid... like me... and decide to take up this tag... let me know... i promise to come over and cry while I read the rubbish written on your blog...As the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com63tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-51835869152800005142009-08-28T15:52:00.002+05:302009-08-28T15:56:41.299+05:30Have you ever...Dreamt of a dream<br />Where you slept in your sleep<br /><br />Ran a race<br />Where no one moved<br /><br />And lost <br />From a winning position<br /><br />Then found Success<br />In failure<br /><br />And felt victorious<br />In defeat<br /><br />Found fortune<br />And lost your soul<br /><br />Then negotiated your way<br />Into losing your providence<br /><br />Achieved fame<br />And lost your identity <br /><br />Desired the Devil<br />When you finally found God<br /><br />Felt desire<br />On a lonely night<br /><br />And craved for solitude<br />In gorgeous companionship<br /><br />If this is you…<br /><br />Go on <br /><br />Get up <br /><br />Be human<br /><br />Go Places <br /><br />Start running<br /><br />Hunt for life <br /><br />Find Death<br /><br />And when you eventually get there… look back… and smile… you have lived a full life….As the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com70tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-4664773909470595142009-08-24T16:03:00.010+05:302009-08-25T10:05:25.411+05:30Shhhh...It's quiet. Very quiet<br />I breathe in the silence<br />No one speaks<br />There's no one here<br />Just my thoughts<br />And me, bored<br />In my fishbowl existence<br /><br />I speak up - Let's talk<br />They all join in<br />Turn up the volume please<br />Everyone has to be heard<br />My solitary fishbowl <br />Now my populated ocean<br />And my cacophonic claustrophobia<br /><br />Rewind. <br /><br />Stop. <br /><br />Play. <br /><br />Fail. <br /><br />Cry.As the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com54tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-85237983398196717902009-08-14T13:54:00.006+05:302009-08-14T19:45:26.985+05:30FeedbackI have a new template for my blog. <br /><br />I am currently bankrupt of new writing ideas and too lazy to build on ideas that I already have. But I had to do something with my blog this week - so I took the easy way out and got myself a new template.<br /><br />And I am mighty kicked about it. <br /><br />But at the same time, dear reader, I need your feedback. You are the reason I write. Your comments have encouraged me and kept me going despite my lazy self. Your feedback has helped me improve.<br /><br />While I am pleased with the template, there is a part of me which fears that my obsession with reinvention might take away from your reading pleasure.<br /><br />Help me out and tell me what you think. <br /><br />Feed-back on the template - tell me if I should keep this one or go back to the earlier design. And if you feel like it, feel free to feed-back on anything that you wish to about this blog. <br /><br />I realize that I wont be able to keep everyone happy all the time - but I promise to take majority opinion into account.As the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035117126047646771.post-19041238252337658812009-08-12T21:16:00.004+05:302009-08-12T21:42:46.798+05:30Green Glasses SparkleI had, in an earlier post, promised to write about blogs or blog posts that fascinate or inspire me. Here is one that does both...<br /><br /><a href="http://agentgreenglass.blogspot.com/">The files of Agent Green Glass</a>...<br /><br />This Bandra (ahem) girl has more creativity in her little finger than most writers can claim to have in their entire body and soul...<br /><br />Her writing is effortless, easy to read and appears to have that easy, spontaneous, laid back and effortless flow that most writers would sacrifice their fingers for...<br /><br />And she is funny... again effortlessly funny...<br /><br /><a href="http://agentgreenglass.blogspot.com/2009/08/infectious.html">Infectious</a> is her latest blog post... a little love story with a difference... which I loved<br /><br /><a href="http://agentgreenglass.blogspot.com/2009/05/how-west-was-won.html">How the west was won</a> was the first post that I read on her blog and this is the post that inspired me to write fiction...As the Mind Meandershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05289502626334651157noreply@blogger.com27