Rock, stones and pebbles

Millions of years ago, there was a rock lying somewhere. To protect its interest, we won't disclose the location. Regardless of the geography, the sun shined on it for months before it finally cave in. Or cave out, not so sure. It developed a number of cracks in any case. Just a matter of wind before it fully disintegrated. It had to crumble, thus giving birth to heavy smooth stones. The comparatively little ones rolled away from one another, each trying to create its own identity under the sky. But then, how far can stones travel? They had to stop somewhere. And wait. Something what their mother did long ago. It was their turn now. So, they waited. The sun did what it was good at and the wind blew whenever it felt like. The stones family stood where they were hoping to move an inch away. But it never did so. The whole exercise was a pitiless harness of patience. Insofar the amount of hope invested, something noteworthy had to take place. Hence, after a long interval of days turning to night and summer turning to winter, they too found reincarnation by transforming into shiny pebbles. The pebbles seemed smarter though as they harboured no wish to move. They were glad with where they were. Neither the sun bothered them nor the wind or the weather. Being at peace with themselves helped—a luxury that eluded their ancestors.

Sating heart and stomach

My grandma used to say that there's no such thing as good or bad. "Only hunger exists." Those were her exact words... in Tulu, of course! What she meant to say was we do things because we want to. Even if it's something that contradicts the person that we are. We commit our deeds—well or evil—because an urge as strong as hunger—if not stronger—does the deal on our behalf. It's all about being in a given situation. People react differently under different conditions but they do react. Like, when you see an old lady finding it tough to cross the road, you just stand there transfixed wondering whether to go ahead and offer her an helping hand or not. And by the time you resolve to attempt your one-good-deed-a-day, she has already made it to the other side. The hunger to serve was lacking; nothing else. We tend to think too much about things that doesn't need pondering and conveniently overlook what necessitates burning of brain cells. One doesn't need to be a anthropologist or a sociologist to notice that behaviour makes us who we've become. An individual with a filled stomach is going to act in a certain manner. Facing starvation, that very individual is most likely to act in an uncertain manner. Ergo, it's advisable to find some food before your empty stomach nibbles on your conscience. Every time we waste food, someone dies of famish somewhere. This might sound statistically absurd but it surely holds some grain of truth. As my pious grandma never said, hunger is the religion that binds every creature on this godforsaken planet.

Changing years, Unchanging life

Neglect this part: For the past few days, I’ve been encountering queries like “Any plan for New Year?” and “Will you be spending New Year’s night at home again?”. The ones asking me the former question don’t know me and the ones asking the latter wish they were asking the former. Na, I'm not blaming them. They are genuinely nice people but victims of curiosity. My boringness is beyond me for a reason. Even snails are more interesting. Most of my jokes prefer not to be laughed at. In the course of human evolution, I’m a f—ing downhill. Sometimes I ask myself why am I not a chimp yet. But then chimps aren't supposed to suffer from identity crisis. For reality's sake, humankind is way too sophisticated and directional. But then there are always aberrations and exceptions and vocabulary to lean back on. So I console my bruised ego with asthmatic arguments and breathe deeply. It beats me how it works every single time. If it hadn’t, I’d have killed myself by hanging on a noose made of noodles. The worst part is I’m not even depressed and am a thorough teetotaler. The only thing I’m addicted to is cinema. Earlier I was mistaken about an apparent addiction to social media. Turns out it was just a temporary delusion. I scribble so-called funny one-liners daily masquerading as philosourphy. Luckily, I fail to laugh at them. Unluckily, some poor kind-hearted souls do. At least that’s what their comments imply. I don’t reply. I stopped communicating via tweets long time back. I’m quite grown-up for that nonsense now – making fake conversations with imaginary friends while overlooking calls from the real world ones. By the way, this doesn’t mean that my friends and I are on winning terms. Speaking of age, I’m 25 now and the year we are going to step into will try its best to make it 26. I’m prepared as I’m not ready to die as of now. I haven’t accomplished anything, you see, except few sweet words every now and then. I haven’t done well on the financial side too. The friends I grew up with have. I don't even have a girlfriend. The friends I grew up with do. Presently, they must be busy enjoying some parties somewhere. A few of them want me to be there with them although they understand that I don’t enjoy people’s company. I like individuals. I’m not adept at presenting myself as a people’s guy either. Pretending is an art and I can't pretend to be an artist. I hope all of them have a memorable night. (On a second thought, considering the alcohol they’ll be ingesting, I hope they don’t.) Coming back to me, I’m better off in my own company watching movies the popcorn-hogging people usually don’t bother with, posting meaningless blogs and creating sense out of absolute rubbish. It’s a less than pathetic existence but still fulfilling in its own precarious way. All I’ve got to do is remind myself that I’m supposed to be glum and smug and sad and fallow. And like I mentioned earlier, it works every single time.

Don't neglect this part: Happy New Year for bearing with me through factual fiction and wasting your not-so-precious time on this page! May 2012 make y’all forget what you always wanted to be.

Passionate enough to go home?

There is a memorable scene at the end of The Hurt Locker where Jeremy Renner’s character walks with a military swagger with his back towards us on the street of Baghdad before credits roll on. That moment captures a person’s commitment to his dreams – almost bordering on acute selfishness – nonetheless, inspiring. To put things in perspective, the case in point is this ain’t a tourist destination. It’s Iraq aka Shithole, for lack of better aka, especially when the person in question is an American army guy. And that’s exactly what Renner is in that movie!

One can note that he’s very passionate about his job and perhaps it’s the only thing on earth he’s very good at. He probably understands that loneliness and solitude are two different factors better than anybody else. Whatever. He literally abandons his family including his little kid to go back to being a freaking expert in dismantling bombs. The bottomline here is he does what he has to, and more importantly, what he wants to. All prices paid, it doesn’t matter whether he dies as a miserable old man regretting the arrogance of his youth or not.

Likewise, Mickey Rourke's The Wrestler strolls on a familiar terrain. It's all about love in the end. Just like it was in the beginning. In this movie, he is abandoned by folks who were supposed to be loved by him, failing which, they are not loving him. As the climax bares itself, he chooses his fans who were always there for him over his daughter and new-found girlfriend. The catch here is he's prepared to put even his life up on line to entertain the crowd. Maybe he died. Maybe he didn't. We'll never know. The bloody credits were on a roll as usual.

On a similar note, a classic moment from The Secret in Their Eyes takes place when Sandoval explains to Espósito how everything changes for a person but not his passion. It could be for anything. A football club. Books. Cinema. Alcohol. Art. Music. You name it and you have it. That’s the beauty of emotions conspiring against the host in collusion with the host. The search carries on but the quench stays unfulfilled; for if it does, there’d be nothing left to neither grieve nor pursue.

People are sad not because they are not happy but also because they've found comfort in being sorrowful. You could be one of them. I am for sure. Humans just want to go home. It could be a temporary one too. Passion simply helps us get there. This so-called home could be anything. It doesn't always have to have walls. It could be an abstract art, if you will. The sound of music might go a step further and shelter your abysmal soul. A painting's fine shades shall somehow encapsulate you in a well-protected cocoon. The list is endless, not to forget the inebriating depression. Or I like I say, the real call of nature.

Everywhere we go or wish to go, we leave a piece of us in there and once we are back, we can't help but hope to return at least one more time. This urge explains the time we spent in our mother's womb. Moreover, nine months is not a short period of time. And then one day, all of a sudden, we're forced to abandon that safe abode to enter a harsh world. Naturally, a piece of us got left behind. After all, that's where passion took birth. The place we keep looking for, fully aware that it's long gone. But passion not only works in mysterious ways but also makes us do the same.

Life, try not to die today

Everybody believes the race is up against time when in practicality, it is Death we are chasing. The poor florist has to sell his flowers before time smuggles them to Death. No matter what, we are all programmed to end up on the losing side of Life. You see, the problem with Death is it knows exactly what it's up to. Life, on the contrary, doesn’t. In the battle between Life and Death, one of them gives up to let the other survive. Furthermore, Life speaks Death fluently and vice versa. They are made for each other. Ironically, Life and afterlife are conjugated by Death.

A few days ago, I woke up to the news that Steve Jobs has passed away to a place in dire need of technological innovation. I always admired him for the way his Life shaped up and inspired millions not only to touch buttons on their small screens but also give digital revolution a chance. And like the rest of them, I too was shattered. The last time I felt such grief was when Pope John Paul II deceased. It’s kind of a strange feeling to be sad for someone whom you haven’t met but are damn sure about their goodness.

A few hours later, I was confronted with the knowledge that my close friend’s mom has fallen victim to a fatal heart attack amid Vijaya Dashami in a local temple that very morning. This was too much. It was like Death retweeting itself (for those who are familiar with Twitter). She was such a beautiful person. This was not only cruel but also unjustified. But then, who will challenge the final verdict? No one, I suppose. Maybe Death is the most pragmatic thing that ever happens to us. If not, kindly point me down the path that won’t lead to Death.

And then today, dad informed me that Jagjit Singh, one of the finest few Ghazal singers I admire, has left earthly bounds. Of course, there’s nothing phenomenal about people taking birth and then dying eventually. But still, you want others to survive; live one more day; get a better hang of Life. And if things don’t materialize according to your wishes, then you pray or hope the person dies an easy Death. The reason for this concession lies in the fact that there is no such thing as a perfect Death. How can there be a perfect Death when there ain't no perfect Life? By the way, Humpty Dumpty deserved a better Death.

Dying is totally over-rated. So is birth. Both happen every single day. Well, can't say the same about Life though. After all, the most constant side effect of Life is Death. People die in earthquakes and whatnot and term it accidents, either man-made or natural. While doing so, we conveniently overlook the truth that Death is a natural disaster, too. These are the times when all our opinions about Life and Death sum up to what they are indeed worth – nothing. Apparently we face too many of near-Death experiences but very few of near-Life ones to comment. That’s the reason we haven’t come to terms with this reality YET! Give or take, nothing else kills us faster than Death.

Birth gets trampled by childhood that gets trampled by youth that gets trampled by dotage that gets trampled by Death.

Lately, some Tibetans immolated themselves as a protest against Chinese aggression in Tibet. They merely burned themselves to Life, not Death. I fully endorse these sort of protests in which you hurt yourself instead of innocent bystanders. Needless to say, The Burning Monk is my hero. History is rife with such hyped glorious stories, permanent deaths and a little bit of temporary lives embedded in between.

Poets, not philosophers, came close to deciphering the mysteries of how everything begins and ends. They made a habit of romanticizing the experience of leaving this planet forever. I've got nothing against them or the alcohol they were on but I’m sure there must be better ways to die a poetic Death. Metaphors containing myriad meanings had been employed by them which help us get close to the cold truth. I agree with most of these verses and disagree with very few. For instance, economy, not Death, is the great leveler. And sometimes, we do feel older than Death.

Tip: Smile. Death can wait for your poker face.

There comes a moment in everyone’s Life when they finally learn to STFU. Nah, I ain’t talking about Death here. It’s called common sense. The court think it can decide (preferably, on behalf of the citizens and based on human laws) what is right and what is wrong when it comes to sentencing someone to hang till kingdom come. In any case, Death penalty itself is a crime. You can’t go wrong with this. If A kills B and C kills A via legal frameworks, then there is very little difference between A and C. Having said that, I’m not at all in favour of Kasab *enjoying* the costliest criminal status in India. There is no way can he reconcile with the grave mistakes he committed under the guise of ignorance and brainwashed ideology. Perhaps Death is more disappointed in him than Life itself.

"If you were on a death row, what would you like your last meal to be?"

"Delivered on time."

Death is beautiful because, unlike most other things in Life, it happens just once. It will certainly smell sweet if one is drowned in a pool full of chocolate or ice-cream. I keep discussing Death as it makes me feel good about the Life I never had. As I’m growing older, I’m realizing how lonely I really am. I don’t fantasize killing myself or anything. I am too selfish for such foolery. But every time someone I look up to or love decides to call it a life, I wonder why. Thankfully, I’ve stopped molesting poetry. Or else I’d have written some miserable verses on the perpetual shallowness of Life and the escapism facilitated by Death instead of this lengthy falderal. Anyway, just because I never had a Life doesn't mean I can't comment on it. By that yardstick, none of us should ever mention Death.

Quarterback

Disclaimer: Unlike a majority of my posts, this one comes directly from the bottom of my dark narcissistic heart. Okay. Not exactly but for the most part, yes. 

Chernobyl disaster happened in the final week of April 1986. Nearly two weeks later, I took birth and fixed the whole nuclear glitch. Rest is history. Legend has it that I was born on May 9^th, on the very same day Tenzing Norgay died. I can excuse you if you don’t know me but you ought to acknowledge him as he was the first human being ever to scale the mighty Mt. Everest. For the record, he died that morning and I appeared around sunset. He used to climb uphill and my life has been a downhill since then. If your math is as bad as mine, I’ve completed 25 years on this planet. Although I’m planning on living forever but even if I die at 100 (give or take), it’s like completing a quarter of my life. That’s a huge number. By today’s standards, nonetheless. I don’t exactly celebrate birthdays. Now, before the words “You stupid self-obsessed self-piteous cretin…!” springs to your head, let me make myself clear. It has nothing to do with my usual cynicism. I don’t hate birthday, so to speak. But I can’t deny the fact too many birthdays will eventually lead to my death. 

As a matter of fact, birthdays are wonderful. But that’s only as long as you are a kid. Once you grow up and know the functional benefits of being an adult, birthdays are just a date people don’t even care to remember coz Zuckerberg will always be there to help. I mean, that’s what Facebook is for–to remind you of your friends’ birthdays, right? 

For the birthday boy or girl, it’s a trip down memory lane and trying to match those childhood days when birthday meant something words can’t even describe. As for me, I never cut a cake or blew candles. It was never part of my upbringing. Maybe it has to do with the fact that my younger brother’s twin died a tragic death just days after my third birthday. So my parents avoided blowing trumpets out of birthdays and it has stayed that way since then.

I hate being so corny! Forget it.

Okay, so as I look back at what have I underachieved over all these years, I run short of errr… excuses. I haven’t got myself a career yet. I’m just a two-bit transcriber who writes three-bit pseudofunny quotes and posts them on Twitter and repeats ‘em on Facebook. Ironically, I am way too content playing with words and one-liners. I haven’t traveled to Ladakh or Tawang or Kashmir or anywhere north of Maharashtra. I haven’t helped Tibetans gain independence, either. I never got into a relationship (but secretly, I’m all smart about it!). I’m yet to receive an offer that I couldn’t refuse. I haven't touched snow yet (Seriously, Mumbai needs snow more than I do. Snowfall can solve more than half of its problem). Net-net, life has been devastatingly dull. Had it not been for my acute ignorance, I could have, well, killed myself on my 16^th birthday when I was writing bad poems which eventually graduated to worse and now it’s, as one can guess, worst. Thankfully, I have given up on poems. In other words, poems have given up on me. 

On the rosier side, I am happy too about some fabrics of my repugnant personality. Like I don’t wear watches. I ride my ‘cycle as far as I can and don’t plan to own any other vehicle. By the way, I’m tired of flat tires so maybe I’ll commute on a horse someday soon. I don’t have beverages be it coffee, tea or aerated drinks. And most significant of all, I’m deeply in love with cinema and I’m terribly proud of it. I’m brutally honest as long as I’m not forced to lie. I conserve energy too by not working too hard. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. That’s all. Of course, these are not Nobel-worthy traits but somehow I cherish them. 

You don’t grow intelligent with age. It’s an illusion. No one has anything coming. People just say so to feel wise about their amnesiac past. We are almost dead if we don’t know what to do with our time because in the long term, time is the biggest asset of our short lifespan. All you’ve got to do is live without being a pain in the ass of others. If you manage to share your time with the ones you care for, good for you. If not, it’s alright.

In your declining years, you go back to your own disappointments and accomplishments and the interrupting moments of happiness. That’s how it is. As for now, I may molest words like anything… and most probably will continue to do so provided the marbles rattle in my cranium. Any which way, who gives a damn? I’m growing old and I’m loving it!

Cheers.

Just Another Stupid Post

I talk a lot about life. And death. And everything that mingles in between. But I mostly stick with life. It’s easier to tattle on something you’re experiencing on a daily basis. Of course, death is a handy topic too but being alive is the biggest reality. Trying to sprinkle some gyan about life is an intriguing exercise. It may make others go “You need to get a life!” or something in that line but trust me, they don’t say anything to your face and whatever they think in their empty head is their own personal business. Whatever. I can even bet that almost each one of us spew philosophical nonsense on life, knowingly or unknowingly. It’s like a validation of all the time you spent on this lonely planet.

Interestingly, we refer to life as a third person. Most of the words we use to describe it is inspired from songs we hear, dialogues we rote on screen, news we read and stories and poems we learnt as a kid. Yes, not to deny that considerable amount of it is based on personal inexperiences, too. Situations vary. Expressions vary. For example, when we are happy, we don’t jump around thanking our life for being so kind and shit. The same reaction isn’t true when unfavorable events take place. Why me? How unfair! FML!...... follows. Needless to say, life is exaggerated so it’s quite normal to see its nuances pumped up via words. I

Almost everyone’s ultimate dream is to lead a perfect life. It could be for anything – love money, fame, peace, industry, benevolence, etc. In truth, very few pursue this relentless dream as the idea of perfection is hard to overcome. For the rest of us, talking helps. Hearing your voice may be the easiest task but that’s when reality kicks you in the balls. The thing is, our approach towards life is totally different from the way life approaches us. We are like life’s guinea pigs. Most of us have no clue what we want to do with our lives. Some do. But the worst are those who know exactly what they want to do but are doing nothing about it.

Moreover, there is no dearth of words of wisdom when it comes to how you should live. That’s how it is.

After reading this, you must be cursing “You need to get a life!” to me. Fair enough. If I had the kind of life I wish I had, I wouldn't have been bothering myself with this stupid blog either.

PhiloSOURphy on Life

First of all, I instinctively believe that life must not be treated in its abstract form. Freedom is essential part of this voyage called life. Victory, ambition, dream, dedication are attached, no doubt, but the very essence of life is far too elite…to be expressed. In everyday life, I’ve seen a lot of ups & downs but one thing strikes me through is the way ‘my life’ & ‘I’ is connected. I often wonder what would have been my life was I born some famous personality or so-called stars. But then this is what life is all about! To me, it seems like I was supposed to be a bird but ended up a human. Because I often understand the dissimilarity between me and my other friends who simply don’t take risk. I’m not saying that life is meant to be tested or breath held longer to prove might. All I’m trying to purport is that we are unheedingly sublime as we tend to be since we are socially answerable to the society we are in. But life could be too short to hold back on our dreams or to choke our urge to express our creativity. These all factors shape our life as we understand every single day of our life that we are here to learn, not to prophesize any event, as we often tend to do.

I am hardly religious and never observed fast or other religious obligation. But I don’t stoop to orthodox rituals that don’t stand the test of time. To me, God is within me and I’m trying to find him outside of me so that I can show myself how my creator looks like. That’s my thought on religion and more importantly on God. Friendship, honesty, courage, modesty are something we learn in moral science and of course, within the walls of our home. But to apply these unwritten codes in pragmatic life is assuredly a chore to do. Being human we calculate our risks and needs evenly; in this line we lose a lot of colour. We are abruptly selfish and terminally hypocritical, despite the fact that we are ruling the animal kingdom. And we don’t need to worry of any species taking over us. Yet we are insecure and are fighting among ourselves and all this either in the name of an innocent lord or violent means. I truly believe that our life is bounded to each other in some way and if we don’t feel that hunch of being connected then we are pathetically growing isolated. My grandmother often used to render stories about battle between good and evil in which evil is always subdued. But my grandma wasn’t aware of the fact that in today’s world these stories mean zilch. Even our schools are tired of these clichéd tales and our kids have grown too big to imbibe these elements.

Eventually, all our actions results in something which could be good or bad or stupid. But seriously who cares? Your parents? Your teachers? To me, it seems that results are fabricated and lose their mettle once the purpose is served. We all are fallacious. We all are fatal. We all are idiotic. So what? Accept it and move. That sounds easy. But trust me. That is the toughest part. To accept the way things are! Some put on their best face and smirk through to get their mean. Some cry foul to achieve what they intended and some simply write poems! Whatever the reasons are, I know for sure that even my life is deserted and hopeless. All parents want their offspring to be self dependent, like any other animal. But we tend to take a lot of time to stand on our own risk. Naturally, we lose a lot of life in it.

Listening to good music is leisure, watching inspiring movies with hard-slap dialogues isn’t going to help our case because little or more everything remains the same.

Today, we as a human race are missing the very fire that ignited renaissance or revolution. We are suppressing our thoughts, lest we may be mocked for our travesty. God forbid, someday we may realize that the kids who were left stranded on the last benches might have us saved or our society or contained aggression. These are just thoughts by which we can debate with whats going on. Since long time, we have turned robotic & worldly affairs are depriving us of our daily leisure. We have stopped living, I guess. Life with all its ingredients including good, bad, ugly and best can deliver back. Of course work is worship and without hard work, we can’t move a inch but at what cost are we providing ourselves these perks of mundane beauty?.......maybe we are paying exorbitantly! We all are different and that’s a good thing because being similar can be monotonous. But we don’t define ourselves by what food we eat, or clothes we wear or beliefs we follow. We just don’t know for real what future holds for us and whether our incumbent action shows any fruit, at all.

I might be too young to comment on issues such as life & death but from whatever books that I’ve reads, movies that I’ve seen and stories that I’ve heard-one thing is for sure, nothing is predictable. We can die any moment and that’s what intrigues me to test myself to the farthest extent. We can’t treat life like a gift because gifts are always smothered and rendered useless. I don’t wish to spoil my life by being corny & afraid. To me, fear is essential until it serves it purpose that is helping us learn. If it is not doing that, then fear is a hindrance, the sooner eliminated, sooner and the good! Sports and school exams teach us that failure is inexcusable but they fail to teach that success is just another side for failure-because a person is winning because someone is out there performing the role of a loser. That is what life duly is! Success can be someone’s curse while perseverance may be someone else’s bliss. We are performers here and we can’t encompass life in its upright form. It is way beyond us. All we can do is stay clear of its tricks and use our brain cells to cope with hurdles. We can be smart or we can dumb but what matters is we realize what we are before its too late. Some people die not knowing the fact that they were utmost gifted because they never realized it themselves and so no one else acknowledged it either. That’s unchecked tragedy. Some people go kill someone because anger overcomes their cloud of sanity. And some cheat and some embezzle even the strongest of walls. Most of these kinds end up in jail. Some forget how they once were outside those stinking wall while some just can’t give up on their hope. But darkness hardly leaves these unfortunate souls alone. What is the whole point behind standing and kneeling and standing and kneeling before a statue or edifice when we can’t figure out ourselves? We don’t find it cool enough to discuss AIDS, drugs, orthodoxy and other trivial concerns. Because we all know that somewhere within us we are contributing to this bane and we are afraid that we may get caught. Life is this and life is that but what is life if we don’t travel and see for ourselves how the sun looks like on the other side or how the leaves fall. These idyllic truths won’t salvage us. But still without love and calm we can’t go long enough to see things and its beauty. We may too end up like vegetables. For me, this is my chance either I get to do it or never again. Its my choice and I must not regret spilled milk!ive got only only one query and that is

These statements are naive in sense but this is what I feel about life. Like I’ve said earlier life can’t be abstract except in poems or on canvas. There are some folks out there who cry on getting their umbrella wet. They will never learn. Life can’t be dealt with words that soothe but with activities that help us go on and on, tirelessly.