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Archive for the ‘Frustrations and Rants’ Category

As you know, fair ladies and gentlemen, I’m not much of a fiction writer. I mean I’m not a “writer” in the sense of it either, but unlike some bloggers, I just can’t sit down and concoct an imaginative literary recipe. And I pretty much intend to continue not doing that, unless ofcourse some day I’m able to produce a pseudo real-life story, of my own life. And unless I intend you to understand what follows as having fictional resemblance.

So basically this is about a friend, male,and close acquaintance, very very close [or atleast so I want to believe], since the last four odd years. And about this another friend [or so I want to believe again], female, and decently familiar to say the least. And about how the two got together, by I can say pure coincidence, to the extent of classifying it as ‘fated’, an oracled coming-together!

Before we quickly reach any conclusions, let me tell you that till the time of writing this, they consider each other as ‘just friends’, and hence this is not going to be a fable of the love that was, and was not. Or perhaps it will be, cuz I remember when Harry met Sally, they realised they couldn’t remain ‘just friends’. Not for long basically.

So the story of our Harry and Sally began in a typical 21st century fashion. They met online, on Harry’s blog to be precise, whereby you know that their’s wasn’t a run-of-the-mill potentially romantic meeting, but had a subtle intellectual flavour. Sally blogged too, but the expression was rather incognito. Acceptable, cuz some blogs are very personal diaries, and women can have a lot of secrets, and surreal fundas. Anyway, so our Harry is a genius, saying which by the way attaches some cliched heroicism to his disposition. But nonetheless, his status as a blogger deserves more attention. Apparently Harry was a poet, dispatching his immaculate command on the Hindi and Urdu languages in the reluctant realms of his diary: ‘apparently’ because not one person who qualified to be his friend had confirmed ideas about the poet and his secretive asylum. That was till he decided to go public with his writing. It looked a perfectly timed action to me, non-deliberate ofcourse, probably because he’d been composing like a pro circa January ’07. And then the inevitable occured – he was discovered by our Sally one day, by certain networking measures, and their was an instant liking, to his poetic flow initially, and to the person soon after. And why not, your writing reflects on your person, and more often than not one is inclined to appreciate the writing and writer together.

And suddenly Harry seemed to have found his muse, in the form of a woman who loved his words, and the words now had a beautiful reason to better themselves. If I may take the liberty to say it, then our Harry had an all new motivation with his poetry, and mind you, a very strong thrust it was. Henceforth it got more intriguing, involving, interesting. Harry’s words had a fresh direction, a novel sense, a directed approach: they made a lot more sense than ever, and one could sense a personal touch, a deeper feeling to the poetic establishment. No wonder that Sally sensed it all: she’s a woman after all, and they are the undisputable know-it-alls! Conversations began, and with what passion! They were words in motion, amazing poetic fashion. Soon they were complementing each other, and when the talks seemed to jeopardise the gender-neutral sanctity of the blog, the focus shifted to more private media of communication.

However, another inevitable happened, and this time, the friends were the ones involved. As Harry and Sally discovered mutual interest, ofcourse in a friendly manner, it was Harry’s personal space that was invaded, much to the discomfiture of his friends. Our Harry got somewhat weird, almost to the end of being carried away. And obviously, his friendships within the same sex were the first casualty! In some uncanny frenzy, friends started to be kicked out of Harry’s room. The door was kept closed, and not opened at times as well for anyone. In case you were wondering how do I fit in here, well, mine was one of the first general relationships to be sacrificed, verbally, to be followed by intended physical kicks. And that was when I completely realised mine was a sore presence in the same room when Harry and Sally conversed virtually. Well, if the change was limited to that, me, and in fact no friend would have had an issue: I mean c’mon, we all understand a girl can be pretty effectual to a guy’s life, irrespective of the degree of involvement, and our characters were like reasonably bonded in no time. But then, that was not to be.

Sally seemed to hate me.

And I’d absolutely no clue why!

Yeah, there seemed to be some sort of disliking to my person in Sally’s mind, and she would sit and talk to Harry about it. The catch here is kinda unsettling – Harry would obviously tell me about it, being friends and activity partners for long. My only association with Sally seemed to be from my own blog, which she confesses to reading without fail. And thats even more perplexing cuz I cannot remember offending her ever! I believe she felt uneasy at Harry talking her to me, and while I don’t deny that happening, I intend to make it loud and clear that I’ve no particular urge to know anything remotely related to her if she’s uncool with it. The one thing that never fails to trouble me is baseless negative opinion anyone nurtures about me, and somehow Sally managed to do precisely that! I can’t entirely blame her either, cuz my dear friend Harry didn’t venture to obliterate the hatred ever, and I made sure to express my shock and disagreement at the same – which naturally made it slightly awkward between us. But then…

…I’ve a problem, which I’ve lately recognised as potentially very disturbing. I go out of my ways to keep people happy, often getting a raw deal in the process myself, but I would still do it. And post all this alien developments in the last few weeks, I think I’m sick and tired of playing all good. No one remembers it. No one appreciates it. No one understands it. It has become a very anti-altruist world, and I’m learning to play bad at times. Misunderstanding is one thing, and to build castles of grudge on top of that is another.

Anyway, the good part is, Harry and Sally continue to have fun together, and I can’t do without saying that am glad for them 🙂 Just cut me some slack, and return me my happiness!

So basically I was plain troubled with all the bad publicity coming from unexpected quarters for some time, and just had to puke it out. With all due apologies to Harry and Sally, if they read this [and find overstatements at places], but I’m a self-respecting man, and I’ll goddamn hurt back if hurt! And everyone should know, I do not spit venom unless absolutely required!

Disclaimer: Readers are kindly requested to avoid any form of opinion-making about anyone, excepting me. This was mostly about me, and Harry/Sally could well have been fictional props. Thank you!

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am I a speck
and more I shouldn’t expect
in the desert of life
in the galaxy of fret!

an obscure spot
on the horizon of civilization
off the promisingly unlimited resource
can I only squeeze decimal fun?

there is a city
I call my own
the one across the seven seas
is that not a clone?

do I go to my death bed
having known a handful?
am I just filling in
for some grand cosmic cycle?

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How bad can life get without a personal computer, that indeed was incredibly personal to me! Reading Mark Tully while sipping on beer in this discounted-for-IIT’ians pub, in the company of this guy who scribbled his totally impulsive poetry on the high-quality table napkins, was indeed some experience this evening. It’s hard to believe that getting rid of your computer can possibly be a life-twisting enterprise! I mean I have visited this same pub like thrice this week already, went for hookah yesterday with few getting-rich-soon guys, reading obsessively in the new year, breakfasting before morning lectures, and ofcourse, attending lectures as well! That’s not meeeee!

Anyway, met this friend who came down from Zurich, and got me yummy Swiss chocolates. Wish I didn’t have to confess, but her being irresistibly gorgeous did decently itch my singlehood! Sigh 😦

And Urvashi actually did a good thing by calling me up while I wasted away pubbing desperately. I pitched her with an if-available-then-lets-mingle request, but she ain’t quite ready yet! She offered to find me someone from the HT Matrimonial, which elicited a most extempore response – “shaadi ni karni oye! I’d rather stay single than permanently mingle right away!” Little did I realise, that wasn’t quite the perfect reply!

“Why do all men run away from commitment?”

Yep, I should have known this was coming! Because intuition works, and it did!

I couldn’t agree more with what you say Urvashi. The tougher part is explaining it in a man’s capacity! How am I at fault! The Creator hardwired such obstinately repulsive disposition in my cranium, and kicked me on this unfair planet!

How reasonable do I sound if I say women do get (much) more involved in relationships in later stages, while men are all romantically libidinous initially! I remember this from the Batman series – “never play with the affections of a woman in love”! I’m no Sigmund Freud Junior to create my own interpretation of how men and women feel differently when in love! But it’s probably not universally true without occasional fails. I mean there are stable, future-secured affairs involving doting duos! Perhaps having a girl in his life massages a man’s ego, makes him feel positive about himself, or may be completes him which most men might not want to confess to. While a man in her life is like a most beautiful event to a woman, which ain’t hard to believe considering its a feminine force working behind the scenes. It must mean something when women get to bear the offspring, and not men – they undoubtedly have this infinite capacity to love, at least decently more than most men! And not that men can’t love reciprocally: just that Mars’ians and Venus’ians feel a lot differently about it. A not-so obvious deviation in perspective is acceptable from the two sexes right!

This certainly is not the best and the maximum I could have spoken about it, but the sex-dependent parameters of love make like an unending debate. They think we jump at the mention of any variations of the word ‘commit’, but I guess its just a matter of perception. The love of a man unwilling to commit wouldn’t in all probability reduce itself. Not necessarily I mean. I could say men have a lot on their minds, equally if not more important than the love of a woman. So do the new-age women I guess. Its just that ladies attach overwhelming importance to a relationship, and they will show it, while the man just wouldn’t! He can’t. He should perhaps, but inherent helplessness is the word!

I just realised I’ve ceased being politically correct on my blog. Or perhaps Urvashi demanded a frank opinion!

I’m no sexist. Just the response to a misunderstood fundamental concept!

By the way, you could say men are like promiscuous bastards, unwilling-to-stop & settle beasts. That could save me some rebuttal here!

Guess some fired-up comments would aptly complete this banter!

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when I feel all alone
I wish there was somewhere I could be gone
not the same room, the familiar gloom
misery strewn, the lurking quarter moon
music is said to heal
pick the right spot, sigh! lyrics could never appeal!
can be with myself
but would that alone help?
write I can, and be read, and I do
the strangers we are, help me possibly, can you?
talk to yourself, it will help
problem and solution as one, what crap!
an ear, a shoulder
some kind of a calming boulder
everyone needs one, an alter ego
who’d mean it when (s)he’d say, “how-do-u-do?”
when I’m one for hundred and a half
why on earth can’t I find any support staff?
mend the brittle heart
someone who’d gather me, before I could fall apart!

{how can you still be reading me!}

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Crap!

ok
for once
trust me people
I’m an observer
for long
have been one
a silent one
save a few words
here and there
but chuck the history
I unravel the not-so mystery
listen
today you will
because I mean it
more than I ever did
plus
I know you read me
you’re screwed into this one as well
so
IIT sucks!
for sure
and bigtime
every other time
no wonder
we just dropped
and generously
on the world’s best
yeah that’s what happens
when you deny us
water, and clean
protection
from dengue
malaria
and accompanied nausea
from mosquitoes
who chant
bigtime
every other time
tum mujhe khoon do
main tumhe azaadi doonga
zindagi se
IIT se
exams se
jo kal se hain
and a few hours before them
aadha IIT sickbay mein
apne hi hospital mein lambi line mein
blood test
urine check
fever control
what the fuck!
I mean
really
what the fuck!
this is IIT
this is the truth
disturbingly naked
the brain is dying
slow erosion
of spirit
zest
passion
this can’t be premier
damn it’s bullshit
who likes science
anymore
research
anyone?
its all about dollar salaries
and fraudulently attained degrees
its about getting outta here
asap
cuz IIT sucks
weakens you out
mentally
emotionally
and in my case
physically
and the icing
on the slush
nobody cares
yeah
they just don’t
they got jobs
government jobs
guaranteed salaries
air-conditioned offices
plush homes
wives
plus
they know
we don’t act
we never did
that’s the truth
it’s harsh
we have empowered them
and it’s coming back to us
it is yeah
the exam tomorrow
and it’s tough
I need to let go
of visions from the hospital
or memories of my recent ailing
cuz rumours are
the water’s ruined again
and I’ve consumed it
generously lot
help me
please God
do!

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I have always known I think a lot. And I mean an inordinately lot. Saying I am a Virgo and they are supposed to be fusspots, is being nonchalantly unreasonable. I do a hell lot of daydreaming. And lot here means most of the times I’m myself deluged by the unfathomable degrees of fantasizing I can subject myself to! I think I attach excessive importance to affairs, immensity of the matter being extraneous to the concern. I don’t know if such fanatical worrying helps! If it makes me do things the right way. If it gets me any closer to perfectionism.

The kernel of my current stream of cerebration is the overzealous amount of seriousness that has creeped in my beingness of late. The blitheness is still surviving, but I think I have got a lot more sober than I ever was. I feel like I have aged all of a sudden. I understand I’m going to a new phase of life. I know it’s time to move on, to change the modalities of living that I have sustained all this while.

With a positive probability, I can credit the switch to the shocking death of Dollar. His demise certainly produced a vacuum, a space never to be replaced by anything that breathes. I still disgorge teardrops when I miss him, and I do that quite often. People close to me have advised me to desist from such surreal involvement with animate things. And I guarantee I have never understood a chip of such counseling!

Or may be it’s the way of life, the student one, that has started to take its toll on me. I have been in this place for long, and have naturally got quite used to the way life is conducted in these limited domains. Everyday is marked by tedious repetition, freshness is throttled!

I think I have been witness to a substantively active lifespan. I have seen so much. I have done so much. I have known so many. Perhaps the ailing enormity of it all has been paining me. I can nervelessly profess about having it all, balanced and just enough for blissful contentment. But the unsettling realism of the formidable quantum of things-to-do never ceases to haunt me. There seems to be no end to the course of acquisition. The infiniteness of the recipe of a normal euphoric being teases me.

How can I not think about it? How can I help being a worrier? I cannot. Life is short. It demands careful tending. I want to believe there are others who attach similar attentive inspection to their lives. Who question their existence. Who reach out to find a meaning to their survival.

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here I am
just the music and me
the sluggish fan
and the computer I refuse to set free

room number twelve
first floor
fuckin great deal of fretful delve
indeed, am wore!

Nirvana would sell the world
dream of rain, would Sting's brain
with no more sense they could blurt
GNR says it's november rain!

blood sucking dipterons linger
desperate and lonely
winged bastards wouldn't cease their tinker
even as am fuckin desperate and lonely

and as I write this
perhaps makes things nice
Goo Goo Dolls would sing Iris
for Phil Collins, its another day in paradise

what's the purpose of life, my life
read, learn, work, earn
and sooner or later, get yourself a wife
fuck ..fuck ..fuck, in this room, I only burn

dead, jobless, unused
where do I see it going?
not the first time yours truly's this confused
ah! why couldn't futurity delusion itself burgeoning?

Died In Your Arms Tonight, wish I could Air Supply
no soul, not a shadow around
ask me to take a breather, nah ..the disarray would only multiply
there's no end to misery ..negative, do I sound?

it ain't the future
no that's not bleak
it's today, now, this instant, when am reduced to a bloody caricature
don't you say it, I know the word's "a crazy freak"!

this is no fear
there never has been
thrown to life, a nonchalant sneer
it's just some momentary spleen!

I see I could go on, and on, and on
it's the perfect setting, the music, the mood, the solitude, yeay!
but no, I'm tired, no more vigor, no more brawn
the precis – not everyday's a Sunday!

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