By the way

Wouldn't it be awesome if our office wasn't stationary. Like it kept moving from one place to another. No fixed address. No fancy pincode. What our auto-rickshawallahs are privy to. They leave their houses not knowing where they are going to land. So, although they are working, their workplace is basically the wide open world (and narrow streets). Do notice that the rickshawallahs are a kinder breed when compared to their counterparts in cabs. They seldom unacknowledge your existence. Taxiwallahs are notorious for a reason. It has something to do with their right hands perched on the front door. It's thoroughly sunburned. Or maybe this theory is mistaken because they must have turned habitual over time. Or maybe i don't know what i'm talking. Maybe, neither do you. Anyway, go back to work.

Nonsense of tumour

Thought of the day: Try not to die today. Thank you.

It's never too late to post crap

It's never too late to facepalm. It's never too late to be kind. It's never too late to get our priorities wrong. It's never too late to catch up with who we really are. It's never too late to commit a mistake or two. It's never too late to wake up and feel hapless. It's never too late to give a damn. It's never too late to create a fool out of yourself. It's never too late to die. On the clouded side, it's never too early to rain.

An agenda against procrastination

I’m sick of everything I am as well as I’m not. But things will change very soon. From tomorrow onwards, I’ll be a new person. With a broader outlook, no-nonsense attitude and a better vision. To begin with, I’ll wake up with the cold sun and go for jogging. (The reason why I've never attempted this stunt before is I feared I may not come back and keep running the way Forrest Gump did.) Then I’ll return home and practise some breathing exercises that I used to when I was an amoeba. This will be followed by a soul-rinsing hot bath. If I survive that, I’d be having an intelligent breakfast in place of the regular healthy one. And by this, I don’t mean idli. Trust a South Indian when he postulates, “Idli doesn’t make you anymore idligent than you already are.” After this, I’ll read aloud any Rimbaud poem at hand and pretend to understand its depth. I won’t pay attention to the newspapers lying on the table. They aren’t worth my short attention span. I’ll then change the course of human history by promptly leaving for office in my usual blue cap, blue tee, blue jeans and blue sandals. In the crowded train, I’ll try to help someone get off the bogey against his wish. I owe people this much kindness. In the meantime, my mind will be an orchard bearing fruits of sanguinity with a scent of humility. I won’t be moved by the depressing sight of a beggar nor would I care to bargain with him. I haven’t figured out how but I’ll avoid ricocheting every obstacle that appears on my path. Once in office, I’ll offload my creativity onto the desk instead of Twitter or Facebook. I’ll smile less and laugh more at colleagues from other departments who ponder why I do that in the first place. (For the record, so do I!) While leaving, I’ll be the face of productivity. And on reaching home, I’ll make sure I don’t waste time going through what tweeps think are opinion or what facebookers believe is cool. On the contrary, I’ll watch at least two movies back-to-back, intervaled by a warm lonely dinner. And then I’ll go to sleep hoping for a nocturnal emission with Malèna in lieu of the usual Tristana. All the aforementioned plans are prone to alterations but overall, they shall prove my existence more meaningful and organized. Like always. From tomorrow onwards.

Him Advising Her

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Don’t listen to them, ignore what you hear
They’re just a crowd
They’ve got to talk
Don’t be selfish, give them something to gossip about
Your moves invite envy for a reason
Your gaze has a story of her own
What’s the point in staying coy
When there are gaits to be shown?
Beauty chose you while you were fast asleep
It’s beyond you – it’s beyond them, too
Live your life as per you wish
Like living-things are supposed to be
Grinless yet smiling
Strong yet fragile
Hold yourself high for the days are few and nights, dark
The memory will play with your youth no matter what
So better make it worthwhile
There’s no need to bow if your heart doesn’t ask you to
You are wonderful as you are
Far more than just what the word ‘unique’ has to say
Your wicked chortle shall echo in the minds of your loved ones
Waiting for their eyes to be flooded again
Akin to the wind that carries the weather wherever it wants
Stay yourself
If sad, write some painful verses
Thrive
For you are a part of something bigger than anything else
And wilder than the universe’s imagination
Nothing ends with you except your thoughts
As well as your laughs
They know you are used to forgiving
As a question mark at the end of a meaningless sentence
You are nature personified
You'll stay unbeknownst to them yet seen.
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A Strawberry Tale

Since he secretly liked her a lot, he always desired a casual conversation. His head rattled with millions of flop ideas. Finally a plan stuck his mind and his ears almost bled. Well, not really, but it’s always fun to inject exaggeration into matters pertaining to heart, love, mind and ear. Anyway, he went ahead with his stratagem and didn’t want to wait no longer. It was 2012 already and there was no point in leaving things to a destiny that followed the Mayan calendar.

So he decided to confront her in the office canteen. Accordingly, he walked straight up to her table where she was having lunch alone. He leaned forward and looked straight into her bespectacled eyes and asked, “Do you like strawberries?” Needless to say she was startled and could barely manage a perplexing “o_O” in reply.

But for him, it was as if every sound dropped mute. Time froze back to Ice Age. Life seemed meaningful after an interval of a lifetime. He just stood there like an idiot which he was and witnessed her beauty create a never-imagined-before frown. But being a true lover, he simply couldn’t quit admiring the art form that her face had turned into. All thanks to his one benign question. This episode must have carried on for about 189 seconds when suddenly she changed her stance and uttered, “Yes, I do.”

Sensing an incredible opportunity, he pulled the chair in front of her and started talking in his native tongue Gibberish. Within moments, the equation rolled down to status quo and things went f—ing downhill from then onwards.

Moral of the story: Strawberries are helpful for budding love-stories during winter but some languages ought to be banned for good.

Diwali is Jack's utter lack of darkness but noise

The smoke has settled. The noise is dead too. By this, I mean nobody is bursting firecrackers nor feeling jubilant about not getting burned in the process. All in all, Diwali is no more. At least for now. Just two nights ago, I wished folks in my neighborhood took a break and while they were at it, donated their ammunition of firecrackers to Army or something.

Yeah, I must be sounding like a party pooper here with an anti-festival stand but that’s only half of the truth. What I am versus are these morons who sadly belong to the very same species I come from. Now that’s not to surmise that I’m wise et al but considering the present situation, I won’t give into invisible peer pressure and create unnecessary din.

Early Stone Age men who discovered fire must have been Hindus. Perhaps that could have explained our infatuation with firecrackers. Or maybe not. Anyway, show me one person who enjoys the noise these firecrackers produce. Just one person. You can’t, can you? Well, those who fired crackers are the only ones who derive sadistic pleasure from them while the bystanders’ eardrums wish the commotion end as quickly as possible. This is the other half of the truth I was referring to earlier. The government has already levied a noise curfew but not everyone adheres to it and to top that, the power-that-be hardly reacts to such disobedience.

You see, it’s quite interesting to note that Diwali is a festival of lights, not chemicals. I’m pretty sure no one exploded loud irritating bangers when Lord Rama returned to Ayodhya crooning ♫ ♪I’m coming Ommmmmmmm♫ ♪ a la Ozzy Osbourne! But what we witness today is a chaotic aberration of how things should have been but are somehow distorted by overt commercialization of an event. Correct me if I’m wrong but Diwali should be more of diyas, sweets, lanterns, rangolis, social gatherings and noiseless-firecrackers-bursting-in-the-sky, if you will. But that obviously ain’t the case.

Though it’s not specifically a Hindu festival, so to speak, considering the fact that Jains, Buddhists and Sikhs celebrate it too according to their assorted legends, the diyas are nonetheless missing in numbers in urban India. Diwali has become an Indian festival celebrated with made-in-China lanterns. Blame it on globalization. Of course, everyone have their own way of celebrating as well as celeberating and one can’t superimpose their beliefs on others. End of argument.

I love Diwali too as millions out there do. Especially when I’m not wondering how Sri Lankans feel about this hyped festival of ours. My mind may not comply with religious byproducts but my tongue holds nothing against delicious festive food. I have a soft corner in my mouth for sweets. My decaying sweet teeth can vouch for that! But you get sick of sweets after a while. This is how it works – you crave Diwali sweets; you devour 'em; you get bored; you run out of 'me; and then you miss 'em. Tada. Diwali has ended. You know the drill.

I also like to see my house spick and span though (unlike my amma) I resent the painstaking procedure called cleaning. Just to put things into better perspective, the reason why I hate firecrackers so much is I can’t possibly make more noise than they do. And for the record, in an internet-less parallel universe, each one of us must be busy participating in criminal activities like bursting firecrackers be it Diwali or not.