February 20th, 2011.

Miss you Kurt
Happy belated one. It just slipped out of my mind.
So how is life in heaven ? 
The word out here is that Amy is finding it too hard to kick her bucket at 27. And I heard that you get 72 virgins in heaven. Is it true ? 
We got this whole recession mumbo jumbo where even your senators are finding it hard to pay their bills. And even India is suffering from chaos. 
There is considerable amount of crap going down here on earth and I wish I never grow 40 or for the matter even 30 to see myself amidst this crisis and anarchy.
I remember it. To burn out than fade away.
Things are bit slow with me. But I will catch up.
Yours affectionately ,
You know who.

A Page From the Diary of Gregor Samsa

The biggest problem is when something that was the reason for the happiness and joy, the reason for the smile after a long and tiring day and hours of silent mental fights and gloomy hours of loneliness becomes the reason of doubt and restlessness. Whatever it is. A result of too much expectations or an unresponsive end of the the rope that creates anxiety. Slow, slow, slow deep breathing as I write. All of the tens of arms and legs devoid of power and fervour as I write. No muscle wants to move as my gut sinks endlessly. All these days I have been locked up in my room. Every effort to make others habitual of my horrifying spatial contours of not only my physical appearance but also the emotional wreck inside of me. But she is the only one who seems to be trying. Even the upside perspective that pumped some extra litres of blood into the head has become ineffective. The apple is still stuck on the my back. It is the reason for sickness I believe . I am disinterested as ever now. Everything is alright. Just alright. No reservations for anything in my mind. Slightest tickle to the heaviest blow. I am dead inside.

Mad, are you ?

Macavity: I want to be officially mad.
Makenzie: But why?
Macavity: So that no one questions me about my madness .

An Evening At The Bar

Amorousness and adulation lasts a moment, most of which is the talking of eyes,

You touch-feel, chit-chat and shake a leg and hold each other tight.

''Go get me some wine and I'll tell you about this girl from the shire .''

Neither is it about her nor is it about the shire to which she belonged.

But the sparkling wine which took decades to be wise and velvet.

Touch of the moonlight, caress of the cordiality and sweetness when

'' We kissed and held fondly on the stairs''

Silence, its habit that it broke, was captivating.

The words don't pierce the air anymore.

The wine is in the blood and I don't want to talk.

''Fill my glass again and I shall tell you more''

Said the young lad as he passed out on the cozy futon.

Deeper Inside

In the spell of perspiration, rot and bleak.
Should abide with premonition to see.
Perpetuated musing on motility I deem.
Dissimilation, all desired by this being it seems.

Believe it Or not !

          Facebook: A website that has almost become synonymous to social networking. Started as simple project by Mark Zuckerberg in 2003 at Harvard University, it has now 1,110 Million registered users (As per the Facebook's Results for First Quarter 2013). With this exponential growth in it's users as well as the number of ways it can be used, the number of pages also grew.The pages ranging from the ones providing jokes and good humor and the ones giving you fitness tips and promoting business to those which seem to have a thing for cute little kittens. 
          I am no different from others in terms of regular habit of shambling through these pages and while one of those regular shuffling I came across a couple of pages which surely had a lot of democracy and love for freedom oozing out of them. As I went through these pages, I got a very new perspective of the potential of social media sites. Social media not only helps people connect, it even provides a platform to bring out the rebel, resistance or the visionary in them. The pages like Freethinkers Club and The Idealist, just to name a few, do the similar job.But as I spent time thinking about it and going deeper and deeper, I encountered a very grave question. 

          I am not talking about any terrorist group or any group planning a coup. I am talking about the person responsible for these.
It is an extremely serious issue that despite of such a huge following there is no one to check the authenticity. A single post on these pages are seen by such a wide number of audience that it is bound to leave an impact on some or other mind and this gets worse when the information is misleading or wrong. Like the quotations by the people who have not even said that and most amusing is the one asking you to thank your father as the pain of being hit in the nuts is equivalent to "160 child births".
          The need is to check what you follow and not believing till the you are sure of the credibility and reliability of the source no matter how big a freedom enthusiast or Guy Fawkes lover you are.

          Who is the authority behind these pages ?

You Don't Like The Beatles ?

The Beatles

Me: HEY JUDE!
Friend: Hi.
Me: Did you go to ABBEY ROAD YESTERDAY ?
Friend: No, I didn't.
Me: Okay. Look at this Beatles' poster . Amazing ! Isn't it ?
Friend: I don't know.
Me: Oh really ? Tell me. Don't be afraid. EVERYBODY'S GOT SOMETHING TO HIDE EXCEPT ME AND MY MONKEY !
Friend: Well, I am not interested.
Me: Seriously ? What are you ? a DAY TRIPPER ! They are The Beatles. They are HERE THERE AND EVERYWHERE and I am THE PERFECT FAN !
Friend: Cut it now !
Me: You mean to say that you have never been to OCTOPUS'S GARDEN ? HELP! Guess what ? I'M LOOKING THROUGH YOU now. If you LIVE IN A YELLOW SUBMARINE then it will always be GOOD DAY SUNSHINE AND YOUR BIRD CAN SING ! 
Friend: I am not listening to your Beatles stories anymore !
Me: Is it so? You deserve to be taken to NORWEGIAN WOODS and beaten up till you get all OB-LA-DI, OB-LA-DA ! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE !
Friend: Fine! I am going ! 
Me: Go away ! CRY BABY CRY. Actually YOUR MOTHER SHOULD KNOW this. I am disappointed with you. I just have three words for you; LET IT BE.

Celebrations ?

Is it a festival or the shallowness of our thoughts?

Is it a celebration amongst the onslaughts?

Celebration?

What is it?

How can we celebrate when we are supposed to mourn?

Mourn while walking over the shards of hyaloid dreams,

Through which we once looked at the world.

Lamenting about the withering fate.

Bemoaning the loss of senses.

We locked ourselves in rooms with greasy walls daubed with dirt,

Which smelled of soot and without any spurt.

Where the sun peeped through the chasms in the corrugated sheets of tin,

Faintly lighting up the place, making it as bright as it could have ever been.

The windows that showed the dreams of tomorrow have now turned lacteal,

Incessant biding till the laceration heals.

The gashed piece of tabloid in the corner doesn't read our news.
neither has it anything to do with us nor does it belong to our world.
The flyers of the manifestos seem to be beguile,
And every baby kisser a charlatan.
A convivial life full of brio and verve is an allegory.
Happy life: a phenomenon that never happened.
Dusty, tilted frame with head of The Father, chipped at the corner.
Every face that you see here is just another foreigner.
The destiny is painted with fog here.
And the illusive vagary caught up in the lead sky.
But giving up is not we have learnt while we have persisted through the time.
Not enough to cover the body but naked ambitions are hard to stop.
The eyes behind broken glasses, cloudy with cataract, still see the hope.
Children still wish to fly and wave to a car that passes and every jet that flies.
The day is not far when we shall be sad no more.
Happiness will exist, not only in tales but our lives too.
And I ?
You wonder what I would do?
I would not write this anymore.

Mahakumbh

"It is wonderful, the power of a faith like that, that can make multitudes upon multitudes of the old and weak and the young and frail enter without hesitation or complaint upon such incredible journeys and endure the resultant miseries without repining. It is done in love, or it is done in fear, I do not know which it is. No matter what the impulse is, the act born of it is beyond imagination, marvelous to our kind of people, the cold whites.” -Mark Twain 

Pass the Bade Hanuman Temple abutting the Sangam Banks , take a left from the Shanker Viman Mandapam and you will find yourself in the quaint vastness of world’s largest religious gathering which attracted an overwhelming crowd of 120 million people during its tenure of 2 months.  A whole city of colourful tents and huge balloons showing off the sponsors spread over 58 sq-km area with 25,000 street lamps and an electricity grid with 2,081 miles of cable was put up to house the pilgrims and devotees.

Down the slope of the road surfaced with metal sheets to avoid slipping, there was a magnificent congregation of sadhus and sants draped in saffron coloured sheets, marking the renunciation from the material world and ascetics and foreign tourists. 

The pointed tent tops covered the landscape and air carried intoxicating scent of revelry and festivity with a hint of sanctity. An array of religious akhadas on both sides of the streets completed the mural and made it more breathtaking. There were hospitals, police stations, post offices, banks and radio stations just to make the visit more convenient. Police personnel patrolled the area and choppers scanned from above for proper flow of crowd. Walking through the serpentine streets, among the sadhus and all the devotees, was an experience that cannot be expressed in words. The anachronism still made a lot of sense. The hustle that looked very chaotic from outside moved in a very orderly fashion. The sound of vedic mantras and jaikaras  from the camps and akhadas filled the environment with energy, giving a very lively and electrifying feel. The devotees owed a great deal of their convenience to the babas. Akhadas provided food to all the people present without any sense of discrimination or difference, feeding the hungry from time to time. The place saw a huge divergence in the visitors. Some visiting in cars and some carrying their ration on their heads as buying food from the shops is out of their reach. But despite of this the enthusiasm and ardour to take a dip in the waters at the confluence of India’s holiest rivers seemed indomitable. 

Bathing in the river Ganges is of great importance especially during this time. It is believed that it washes away all the sins and the cycle of rebirth and death ends as the soul becomes one with God Almighty.  February 10th, was the most important date of the ongoing Maha Kumbh Mela. Predicted in advance, based on a precise configuration of stars and planets, this date held great importance as taking a dip on this day is believed to purify an individual’s existence. . With the commencement of shahi snan , an army of spear carrying, ash-smeared, dreadlocked naga babas emerged from their orders to take a dip. A posse moved along with the naga sadhus who hauled with much fanfare. By the end of the day an estimated 30 - 40 million people had gathered at the sangam to take a dip in the holy Ganges.

The world's biggest religious event concluded on 10th March on the occasion of mahashivratri, washing away the sins of 120 million people in the last 60 days.  According to authorities it would take at least 10 days to remove the tented city from the location. This mahakumbh ended providing moksha  to millions of people.

   

Tale of A Samosa-wala

There stands a man
With folded sleeves and folded pants.
Breathing out exhaustion and wearing a cap.
His eyes keep searching for a bus to come.
He keeps scrounging the furthest end of the road for a bus to come.
Then suddenly the muscles under his face tighten,
The exhaustion is swept away by hope.
He sees a rickety bus dashing towards him.
As the rattling engine comes nearer, 
He reaches out for the basket of samosas which were once piping hot,
But are cold now.
His hands search for some green chilies,
while his eyes remain fixed on the bus.
He hurriedly cleans his greasy hands  with a soiled cloth,
picks up the basket and runs towards the stop.
He remains unaware of the reality until he comes near.
He is not alone,
Several others ,some carrying baskets on their head and some on their 
shoulders,are there already.
An uneasiness grips him,
His train of thoughts is stopped by horn that made a blaring sound .
His consciousness comes to the present and he finds himself alone.
Through the hazy window of thebus he sees the men selling their eatables.
Knowing that he has missed his chance, disappointed is he now, 
Hangs his head low and drags his heavy feet and goes back.
He stands there again,waiting for a bus to come again.

Something Belonged to Me Once

I remember that something belong to me once,
The memory is quite hazy though.
It was life maybe.
Not sure, maybe.

It was the tryst with destiny,
A rendezvous with death.
That took place that day and robbed me of my breath.
A misadventure some would say and fate for others,
Whatever it was, it happened all of a sudden.

Lovely was the weather and a lake shrouded in the mist,
Who would have seen it coming, who was ready for the twist.

Among the laughter of the children and frolics in the loch,
Rose a shrill voice, silencing all.
Voice tearing the air, piercing the ears,
Widening the eyes and sending shivers.

A score of eyes groped every inch of water,
None could find what was the matter.

The question is where was I amongst all the commotion ?
Amusing is the answer, that's my notion.

Somewhere underneath the sheets of Adam's ale.
Brawling with the water, turning pale.
Shook,swallowed, struggled in pain,
Felt my lungs bursting out but every effort in vain.

Summoned all the strength and sprang to the top,
Had expected, will bob to the surface like a cork.
Nothing like that happened, nine feet turned to ninety.
What a foolish plan it was, shouldn't have it so lightly.

Sheer, stark terror seized me then, 
Terror that knew no understanding, knew no control.
My lungs ached, head throbbed, 
I got dizzy, knew I could not bear it any more.
I went down and down and down, endlessly,
Water with a yellow glow devoured me.
Paraplegic was I and then all the efforts ceased,
Yellowish water filled the spaces as all the air was released.

Blackness swept over the brain, wiped out fear and terror,
No more fighting and no more tremors.
It was quite and peaceful, tender like mother's arms.
I passed into oblivion into the recess of the abysmal depths
To sleep till eternity as curtains of life fell.

I woke up again, thought of penning down this short tale .
before it got rusted by the tides of time.
I shall continue telling my adventures,
Stories and reminiscences that are sublime.

Intoxication:The Story

Far away from the city’s blazing lights

Away from the race, away from the fights

Lies a room full of smokes

Full of despair and withering hopes

A group of young souls sitting together

All equal, no one a bellwether

They smoke.

They smoke up and smoke down, drink and make merry

For the spirits are all rugged and weary

Treating themselves to the elixir of Satan

As if nothing is left, everything has been taken

The fraternity is strongest of all

An implicit resolution, never to fall

All they need is just an ear to lend

To pour their heart out and a heart to mend

They confess, cry and bleed

Sad, scary and very sad indeed.

The world has been cruel

Mean and vindictive.

And alcohol is very

Very, very addictive.

It traces down the pains to its roots.

Deep down in catacombs full of soot

People curse, blame and shout,

But no one will ever find out.

The sad tales of dilemmas and disillusions.

Long stories of confusion, insanity and conclusions.

Tries, they do, efforts, they make.

the rooms drag them back,telling them the world beyond is absolutely fake.

It sings them a lullaby, makes them sleep.

Pities and gives them dreams to keep.

They doze off, safe and soundly.

But the city,

The city still carries on.