Thursday, December 21, 2006
I am outty! Outty my wits, outty my sensibility, i cant tell red from white, possibly canadian from the awkwardly feminine and grumbles from groans.
Something is definitely wrong, because it not happening right. Wrong! Nothing is happening at all. At times, I end up thinking that it doesn't even matter. It is a figment of my stomach's grumbles. But no, it is troubling.
Maybe the very thought of it. Every time i sit down to finally finish the piece, the ideas enter the mind and they are lost. Lost to the stupid ideas my people end up bringing out.
So these happy go lucky ideas enter my realm and spoil it. I do pay attention to all of it, the noise and the perpetual whinings. But then I lose it.
I am constantly in touch with the dictionary and thesaurus thinking that a better choice of words would heighten the writing and, eventually, the reading experience. But before i put the pen down i throw it wondering IS IT REALLY WORTH IT?
It pisses me off to learn that the world doesnt want real articles; they want crap every damn time and in a new bottle. Or a new pot!
The lonesome poet wanders through the corridors of hollow writing paradigms. "We dont want reality, are you crazy, who in the world do you think would be crazy enough to buy that."
But I aint fabricating, I m producing facts and stories the way they are.
You ask me to do a comprehensive story on theatre because you love delhi. But you dont love theatre. The thought of being in something that seems possibly elite is the motivation. Not the fact that as a powerful tool, theatre has lost it completely. Do we even remember that there was a Safdar Hashmi once?
You have got to be kidding me moonstruck, we dont want to hear about him. Tell us more about Barry John, of the names and THE NAMES. That is all that matters.
Remember? happy go lucky is the word!?!
Maniac, be moonstruck as thats what you are good at!
Fine, at least I wont have any regrets. But then I have got to be alive, and kicking. And for that I need money, who can survive on food for thought without eating some. What am I doing? I exemplify few lines of the great Faiz.
vo log bahut Khush_qismat the
jo ishq ko kaam samajhate the
yaa kaam se aashiqii karate the
ham jiite jii masaruuf rahe
kuchh ishq kiyaa kuchh kaam kiyaa
kaam ishq ke aade aataa rahaa
aur ishq se kaam ulajhataa rahaa
phir aaKhir tang aakar ham ne
donon ko adhuuraa chhod diyaaAnd the moonstruck, after a long time, remains just confused. I am just so confused!
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
the artist is the trapped muse
in between light and darkness
experimental click of a lens blackens the thoughts
the tormented figments of imagination
lips... calm, vision... stuck, blood... getting hotter
a tear drops and kisses the controlled smile......
Friday, November 24, 2006
Have i surrendered to the dreams i once saw with open eyes? With a spectre of sadness looming all over, why am i sitting wearing bright red? I am not a colourful person, and that is refuted by a lot of them around me. Adorning a colour so bright never made any sense. And neither does it now. There was a time, I remember, when hours were spent reclining on this chair in the balcony; I observed a lot of things, but none was registered. What was I doing then? Has there been a defect in my brain ever since the womb let me out? I thought so. At times, I still think so.
You know, this is not an insipid picture. Look at the wall, it is lit brightly, and the area that covers the boy is shining. It is not opulent but just bright. I have always liked that. But it is all behind me. (Smile) That is what people tell me, life is not that gloomy and dark. How do I look, I dont have eyes at the back of my head. Isnt it obvious that at times, I dont want to turn?
to be continued................
Wait, isnt that the sound of Bob Seagal doing a cover of Metallica? Nice, or so it seems. Where did i pick up this line, guess, no i cant even guess this one. It happens to me so often i try and recollect what i did, when i did, how i did, from whom did i take the inspiration and to whom did i take it to. Now, with so many questions anyone can lose their head. Hmmm... Putting life in order.
To answer that:
Young un: i peed in my pants
then I became an adult (bade ho rahe ho so stop playing in mud and behave)
teenage: pimples determined how fast i was growing and how adult i was with more pimples, thats what the doon boy taught me. until i learnt he made me a ch*****.
high school: Science, thats the only option. girls, you have got to see priyanka dhawan man. oh prachi kaviraj. uppal's mam daugher is just so... just so.. just so.... these people couldnt go further, any further.
did someone forget that one needs to study? oh ya only IIT is where i look upto.
college: forget it
PG: dont even mention it
first job: i dont even remember it
second job: life of a wanderer
why do we have questions? and why do we have to answer each one of them? why do we look at the past to help our future.
do we live in the past, all the time? It is like I am still catching up with yesterday, by tomorrow I will be ready for today! HAH!!!
surprisingly when someone sits with you and reminisces of all that happened and the days of yore, when we did that and did this and peeped inside the girls loo or when we were caught for sending cheesy chits to chicks, everything falls in place like a tale.
and then u remember all sorts of things.
It is like even trying to remember where did u learn that trick of shagging till long while lieng upside down. DId that come from Shaleen? Nah, Lokesh once discussed this in the open in the canteen. it was one of those days during one of those times. But did it work? acutally it did. you see the brilliant way in which u contruct the story it all falls in place. do bisexuals also have a say in that, as in a character? Psst... yes in everyone's stories. they just dont accept it.
So is it okay to be a gay or lesbian?
I dont know if everyone was straight when they descended on the planet.
No but is it okay.
How do i know?
What are you?
Bi-curious! Asshole, What breed is that?
Waiter, another draught beer.
So where were we? Bob Seagal? Guess apathy - i want to know the meaning.
Fuck it man! Gibberish!!!!
And, the moonstruck and the maniac finish the beer and back on the track to build another fucked up conversation in the air.
(utter gibberish, i know)
Men make women messy: Catherine Banning (Thomas Crown Affair)
The more i see of men, the more i admire dogs: Anonymous
Men are taught to apologise for their weaknesses, women for their strengths: Lois Wyse
A woman could trust me as long as her interests didn't run too contrary to my own: Thomas Crown
Men are all alike - except the one who you've met is different: Mae West
Men are my hobby; if i ever get married, i would have to give it up: Mae West
The Bible contains six admonishments to homosexuals and 362 admonishments to heterosexuals. That doesn't mean that God doesn't love heterosexuals. It's just that they need more supervision: Lynn Lavner (this one i totally love)
My lesbianism is an act of Christian charity. All those women out there praying for a man, and I'm giving them my share: Rita Mae Brown
Why is it that, as a culture, we are more comfortable seeing two men holding guns than holding hands: Ernest Gaines
If time and space are curved, where do all of the straight people come from: Anonymous
The radical right is so homophobic that they're blaming global warming on the AIDS quilt: Dennis Miller
Thursday, November 16, 2006
The Union Cabinet on Thursday finally decided to grant permission to non-profit organisations and educational institutions to set up community radio stations as recommended by the I&B Ministry and subsequently cleared by the Group of Ministers (GoM) headed by Sharad Pawar.
Apart from educational institutes, civil society and voluntary organisations, State Agriculture Universities, Krishi Vigyan Kendras, registered societies and autonomous bodies and registered public trusts can also apply for community radio station (CRS) license.
To apply for a license a non-profit organisation should have a proven record of at least three years of service to the local community and the CRS should be designed to serve a well-defined local community.
Individuals, political parties and their affiliate organisations, organisations banned by the Union and State governments as well as organisations operating with a motive to earn profit will not be allowed to own a CRS.
The Cabinet also authorised the I&B Ministry to finalise the terms and conditions and procedures.
this calls for some good work now. it isn't something that is new at all. there are successful stories of good community radio set up in Kachch, Orissa, Bihar and rajasthan
and even in tsunami.
let's see where it goes
Friday, October 13, 2006
Daydreaming is one activity that stimulates our cells when we are young, in school. With our eyes open, gazing into the air, we create a course of events that is a story. Reality is touched with fantasy being the dominant tone. At times, it is the opposite also and eventually the whole gamut of things turns out to be one engaging ordeal for the child. Say something like a Hardy boys’ adventure.
Now, there is the problem!
Adults generally miss what the kids actually see. Ergo, they dismiss it as a figment of child-like imagination. But the ones who continue to weave endless threads together, end up being Ranjit Lal. His book The red Jaguar on the mountain is like a higher step in the evolution of his dreams.
Here he plays with the human psyche creating an atmosphere of which urban legends, adventure novels and engrossing stories are made up of.
Thirteen-year-old Anirudh, the protagonist narrates a story of his summer trip in the wilderness of a hill station called Sonekote. As a young lad, he is immensely interested in mystery and cars. Donning the mantle of a raconteur, he relives an incident that involved him, his teacher and guardian Ms Kohli and Kavita, the hotel owner where they stayed.
Lest we forget, a chirpy little girl called Shaila, who is first seen as a burden and then a sharp partner in crime by Anirudh. The twist in the tale is stemming from a red coloured E-type Jaguar, a roaring beast on the road as he puts it.
The tale starts simmering from the moment he discovers the car. Then, the strange course of events that happened before and the ones those are about to.
The book’s simple language, pictorial quality (both in terms of words and illustrations) and the tone that is purely conversational make it an interesting read that can be enjoyed by anyone.
Not a moment wasted; there are endless situations that the reader begins to probe himself because the child inside starts daydreaming suddenly. Though the reader still oscillates between reality and imagination. Yet, he imagines it all to be real by dismissing imagination with a smirk.
The problem continues!
I am a fan of Chirstopher Boone and Mark Haddon. Introduced to me by Kris, Chris turnes out to be the people i identify the most with after Holden Caulfied from Catcher in the Rye.
Last night as insomnia took over, i realised reading to be worthwhile than writing or wasting my time on the Net. i picked it up after i recalled that i hadnt had the chance tp read it in the past one year almost. so i did and did I happily sleep after that..... BLISS!!!!!!!!!
A boy, an autistic and living in his own cocoonish world, is brilliant at mathematics because he practices and admires logic. Extremely methodical for every aspect in and around his life, even if that means dissecting the reason behind a joke. Why people react in a manner they do and how should he react is something he ponders over? Then one day his neighborhood dog is killed and he attempts to solve the crime - recording his adventures in his journals.
Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime is a story told in a highly unlikely narrative from the point of autistic teenager Christopher Boone. Complex ideas, as they seem to the ‘normal’ world, are taken together and put into a fascinating and easy to understand story.
The boy, who has been put into a school that has children with ‘special needs,’ is unable to understand why people look at him this way. Siobhan, the teacher, is the only person he likes talking to as she talks to him in ‘clear terms.’ She is the one who inspires him to write a book that he can read himself. Boone likes murder mysteries, as they offer a puzzle to solve. And when one actually happens along with a few others, his excitement goes on a higher level and the reader is taken along with.
The book begins on a simple note that looks like a diary entry, something Boone calls grabbing the reader’s attention. Soon, you are going to fall into Christopher's world. His ideas and views are very unique and those are very far from other people. Has peculiar habits which actually provide respite in stressful times. His first love is maths and astronomy, and animals because they cant tell lies.
The novel is downright realistic despite being a work of fiction because the ending is neither happy nor sad. This helps all of us think about the people like Boone in this real world. Once you’ve finished reading, we can imagine Boone’s future in over a hundred ways, which is where the interesting part lies.
Sadly to say, species called humans is very clever that we all are inclined to criticize and destroy the other's sense of value. Everybody has it's own happiness, some people hope to have similar happiness or dream but others are not. As long as it doesn't mess or hurt other people, we don't have any right to take that away from other people or in simple words, destroy them.
After reading this book, one can realize that it is indeed difficult but tolerance is very important in the human society.
A part of this entry was my review for HT NExt. the first book review i had written and thankfully it was appreciated. amazing piece of work this book is.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
This piece is called Animal Farm Revisited. I typed Animal Farm on Google to find out different articles on one of the greatest books of the 20th century. and found this.
Written with anger, this one tries to oh i forgot the guy who writes this calls himself CAtcher of stink. wonder where does that come from. he wants to catch the stink be it in gossip or articles or coverage etc etc. and Jerry guess who he mentions - Shreevatsa
he in one of his articles tries to rip apart Nevatia's article on Krish and Superman.
so anyway in an extremely loud self congratulatory note Stink guy writes this ode to the novel.
worth giving a look or so i thought...
Animal farm where we work
The invasion of the predators, the cool as a cucumber arboreals sitting and just watching them fight. These monkey like creatures think that by sitting on top they are higher. Or is it that they are scared and complacent that they have been put on a branch.
There is another species that of the four legged ones, those who run in the race and few simians' descendants see riding them as a sign of pride.
So these horses, ponys, mules, asses, etc etc are the ones taken for granted. They will work no matter what. Because they have faith in their riders, or the ruling ones. The poor ones believe that they have to continue with the hard work and sooner or later when a predator is old enough to be graciously kicked into oblivion, they will be promoted. Alas, that moment is literally once in a lifetime.
Among these, there lay a donkey. He is quite often confused as an ass and highly inferior to a horse. But no, he is quite intelligent. He is the rebel without claiming to be one and he has a cause - work my way or i choose the high way, and you better stay out punk.
Infact, he is quite inspired by Clint cause with him you better know what you ask for PUNKK!!
His intelligence is not in crying foul, or proving how imbecile just like the predators. All that he does is choose a different grassland each time the current one totally dries out.
He has a choice! (Think)
Now back to predators.
They do not have a class, standard, or sense. Their culture, is agriculture.
For them, the patch of the grassland is theirs and dare no one enter that. Too bad, they don’t know it is a mud swamp. Usually their interest area is not what they have or own, or have chosen. But, what the others possess. Some by the virtue of sycophancy, others (feminine) by their anatomy that is pushed up and very few by the idiocy of their hard work and basic intelligence. Like it was mentioned in the prelude, people above ZERO IQ are doofuses.
Their basic principle, apart from flattery, ass-licking and low standards, “My success is dependent on others’ defeats.”
Hmmmm makes a lot of sense.
So people, there begins the saga of Journalismahabharata.
This prologue paves way for the fables that maketh the newsroom one animal farm.
Friday, October 06, 2006
1. Bad to the bone by George Throughgood:
And when I walk the streets Kings and Queens step aside Every woman I meet They all stay satisfied I wanna tell ya pretty baby Well Ya see I make my own I'm here to tell ya honey That I'm bad to the bone
Now way back in 1994, when i saw the movie T2, I was freaked out of my senses to see a beast so heavy on the road. No wonder the name was Fat Boy Harley. the potato grumble, terminator taking the glasses with ease and off he goes, i vividly remember how i used to imagine that by sitting on an imaginary harley. then when i rode a yezdi in 1996, I kept going to the song and thought of myself as Arnie, tee hee. the quintessential motorcycle song for me.
The moment i press the decompressor, give a powerful kick and pick up my brown aviators (i ride wearing them in the night as well), all that i say is BBBBBBADDDD To the Bone
2. Riding with the King by BB King & Clapton:
You can see it in his face, the blue never lie.
Phew! Right from the very first notes, cool wind in my face and the thumper going sturdy at 80 on the clean road with the street lights shinign bright, could there be a better song. oh i forgot, a good high. I remember the second week, me riding with Aditi, spirit intoxicated thanks to the feeling at that time, all i could imagine was a chevy going past me with the KING and Clapton waving at me and singing this one.
When i checked out the royal enfield website some time back there was an article about whats bigger pride than riding a bullet. The author concluded by saying the pride of owning one.
that is the song i would sing with a beer bottle in hand in tribute to my bike. AHHH, i am already daydreaming and smiling. Dont you know you're riding with the KINGHHHH!!!!! (PS I did the artwork myself on the pic here good na)
3. Dream on By Depeche Mode:
Can't you feeeeeeeellll a little love!!!!
and the acoustic follows.
This is the one for the highway, high on corex and two joints. or waitin for the sun to go down as you are atop the cliff with a bottle and a smoke. as the air calms down, the spirit mellows. and you feel one with the world, and with the one you love. you dont need physical presence, the solitude is yer partner and as the golden one bids ye goodbye you just say Dream On, Dream on.
After i saw the video It's no Good from Ultra, the voice of Dave Gahan was immensely deep. Not just the baritone but the way he felt while he sang it. DM is a band one can not classify in any genre whatsoever. their music evolves with each album. What was there in Ultra was totally different when they came out with Exciter. For long i desired that if i were to be a sex symbol God, make me a clone of Gahan. the ultimate cool, composed image of this heavy voice rocker with a white vest, blue denims, shades a la aviators and short hair singing atop a moving wagon. Tip: Ride your beast at the speed of 60-70, with just one hand and taking drags with ease. And then Dream On........
4. Baba o Reilly by The Who
Its only teenage wasteland
Sally take my hand, travel far crossland
Put out the fire, dont look past my shoulder
the exodus is here, the happy ones are near
let's get together, before we get much older...
Could there be a better song to exemplify when yer happy, liberated and excited. Could there be a better song that pleases us while we get older. the 60s came and went few gems like these never get old. i can just imagine how my script 'Brave New World' ends with this. In fact i remember one of these days in the October sunshine, i wrote two scripts. the first became the opening chapter of my novel. the other turned out to be this science fiction cum drama cum i dont know what movie where in talk about the final destruction of the forces onthis planet. and how this world becomes one, humans and animals and life. there after an entire script took shape and i called it after one of my favourite authors' works. i hadnt read his brave new world at that time. but imagined what it would be like.
Now why i chose this as abike song is difficult to explain. for a lot of you, this may seem as the most inappropriate chart here but to me these songs are images. images of me free, riding happily to a destination far crossland i dont know. i see green fields, and sunlight tickling the clouds, dew drops frolicking with leaves, birds that tweet and chirp when they see me, a road that leads to nowhere but has a destination - i dont want to know that as i jus keep riding.... i dont need to fight, dont need to forgiven, dont need to be talked just me and a soulmate who holds me from behind. that would be celebrating love in its purest way.
these are the ones that are mellow, soft and just songs that are fun...
Part 2 of the list is the heavy stuff, theones that melt heavy gear, pound the shock absorbers, and burn the rubber heavily. these would be the ones we imagine as we take the next streetfight....
smoke time and the saga continues..... BRING IT ONNNNNN
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
After gulping down a bottle of beer decently (i drink beer as if it is going to be out of fashion tomorrow) one corex (I Tull you it is so soothing) and a joint, it was time to treat ourselves a list of cinemascopic delights. The location was Varun Cobain's office and the mood, Sunday coupled with October sunshine. could there be a better time to retrieve the expressions that once came out of pure love for the silver screen and have taken a back seat thanks to my work. So here i go.....
1. Night on Earth by Jim Jarmusch
Now Jarmusch was an unknown identity till I saw the philosophical Dead Man starring Johnny Depp. Gary Farmer was outstanding in the movie as NOBODY. It is painful to sit through Jarmusch's creations as they really move as per their own pace. To few it might seem boring but if you love cinema, and the beauty that goes behind it, this director will always impress you. Secondly, if every movie is fast-paced as Ocean's Eleven, then the passion will be missing. Just as Soderbergh lost it in Ocean's Twelve.
So this is about night, trademark Jarmusch stuff, where in he tells the stories of five cab drivers in different cities - Los Angeles, New York, Paris, Rome, Helsinki in that order. Ryder is the first chapter as the constantly smoking and driving a fucked up cab. Gena Rowlands is a telent agent, rich woman who is missing something or something is missing in her life. She reluctantly ends up offering Ryder the chance to be a movie star that the latter confidently yet with some hesitation refuses as she wants to be a mechanic.
Next stop, the big apple has this black trying to go to Brooklyn in chilling winters but unable to finda cab. To his rescues comes this migrant driver who cant drive and was a clown. His name is the ice breaker for the two, Helmut. Esposito who is now driving the cab as Lampshade Helmet can not is making fun pf the name while he picks up his girl friend. Armin Stahler gives a charming performance as the tourist cum migrant who is spellbound by New York and though confused tries to smile in a different culture. It is about brotherhood and the bonding two stranger males share on a small journey.
Third is another migrant cabbie from Ivory Coast who is hired by a blind girl in Paris. Here comes one of the funny and profound lines in the movie - "Dont blind people usually wear sunglasses?" "How would i know, i never seeen one." The conversation is philosophical yet simple in tone. and for a viewer who does not know french, the language is not a hinderance.
Fourth and the funniest story has Roberto Benigni as the gregarious Gino who picks up an ailing man. He talks too much and all of it is really funny. i died laughing hearing the confessions benigni makes. And so did the man, who couldnt tolerate Gino;s words. Benigni is over the top, loud, blabbermouth and a laugh-riot. That my friend is the amazing mixture of humour and
comedy. You see humour is what Frasier would be and comedy is what Friends is. Comedy makes you laugh there and then and thats about it. Humour keeps tickling you till the end and then even after you saw the movie. I am laughing as i recount the story of Gino fucking a sheep and then his sister in law. and how he plays on the roundabout as the 'Bishop' is confused.
Last stop, Helsinki. An industrial worker gets laid off and he and his compatriots discuss the bleakness and unfairness of love and life and death. Another funny piece - Hey, Aki, wake up!
Who the fuck are you? And where the fuck am I?
You're in a fucking taxi, fucking close to your home, and you owe me for the fucking ride!
It is sad but worth watching.
The movie begins with a song that is a sung by a lunatic, or so it seems in a gruffy voice that is pissing off and a kind of song that cant be classified. But it is good - the singer is shot at the end of the title sequence. I liked the piece that plays before and after every story. and the wacth sequence that displays time in all these places one by one.
Jarmusch loves playing with human psyche, and weaves a story that is not plot-based but situation-based. this is the stuff that makes westerns, you will not miss much as there is a situation and not a plot. So if the black migrant cab driver is flummoxed it is because he is surpirsed the ease with which the blind girl lives. If there is brotherhood between Helmut and YoYo, that is because unknowingly they both need each other. And so the story rises from the day to day happenings.
This is what happened with Depp in Dead Man.
The original title of the film was (all small characters) "lanewyorkparisromehelsinki" and I was surprised to read that Jarmusch wrote this script in 8 days flat. Isnt that phenomenal!
It is and so is the movie.... Check it out.
Out for a smoke and then another flick
Friday, September 29, 2006
the first time it was an old woman who ended up calling the fucking cops because as per her some 'MAYN' (man) stole 25,000 rupees from her wallet that she forgot in the loo. i was surprised to see her as the lady was in her late 40s and was in an attire and mood that I thought she had lost her way back home. she went upto Roman and asked him to play hindi numbers. never heard Sonu nigam crooning to the strumming of a fender but this lady believed she could hear this in morrison. next she asks for punjabi numbers. worse, she says dont you even have OMKARA. Roman was like looking at me puzzled. so was i, especially when i saw her do a Rakhi Sawant jhatka-matka on Robert Miles. already i was bugged as miles was playing after rammstein, and then this. could not have been more. like that would happen.
anyway, i saw her emptying her big bag on the bar table. a bead rolled upto me and so i was like aunty this belongs to you. next thing, aunty is complaining to me as if i am her agony aunt. compalining softly about the steal, she asks me to help her. are you crazy, i am high by that time (guesss 6 beers down). BOOM. She shouts at the top of her voice and the music stops. Morrison was telling about the Indians scattered and dawn's highway bleeding. there was a group of five and two guys (one yours truly) who had to wake up to the howling. the hour goes by. another one.....
when i came out all pissed coz the woman also pointed her finger at me and all that beer was lost in a fit of anger. PHEW
Last night was no good. being an open jamming night, there was Mohit from this PR agency jamming withthis band that seemed really neat. to my left was a fuchcha group to the other, there was a school kids' gang. and i knew one out of each. so was introduced with these monikers only. what pissed me off was that i saw this HT Sports guy with his girl and three more friends. the idiot was busy looking into the air, onthe ground, at the wall poems, evrything except me who was standing two feet away from him, facing the doofus.
i remember when i was at QBA, the last HT party where iwas taken home coz i really took too much, i had asked nandini a question - Why the fuck is HT so disjoint and why dothey need a beer to say hey hi how are you. i never knew this girl Anuradha, but we were having shots in the group and so i came to know her. till the next day i was asking sush who was that girl in white.
what nandini gave an answer went over my head as i was high and it was noisy. had a joint with pirate, few drinks down and just lost. it sort of sucks when you discover this kind of strange behaviour. i mean how hard was it for that guy to say a hello at morrison. and the very chut sais a hi to me when i walked inthe office. i was like fucker!!!
now you see i dont have a problem; i have fuckin problems, plural.
as i finish typing this, i learn that the two bottles of beer and one corex i gulped down in the afternoon has also vanished from the head. ...
saari ki s
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
A lot of people find this picture of mine "quite nice" when i tell them this was my last performance ever. at least before the sabbatical happened.
the story was that of a young boy who in an accident loses vision, just before he gets the good news about his IIt entrance.
i play John, a painter, who is jovial and embraces life in his own way, who shifts in the boy's neighbourhood. Riyaz saahab, one of my muses inspires me to help the kid. and then the miracle worker kinda thing happened.
shortly, in an accident i lose my legs and the spirit of living. a la black the boy saves me and dies due to asthma. he had asthma since childhood.
so it is he who is the miracle worker and not me inthe story. hats off to nitin for penning, what i thought, really strong dialogues for people at our level. they still are strong except the performance didnt turn out that good.
those were DAYS!!! i remember shaking like anything when sachin asked me to act. i joined him as a writer for his group Chilsag Chillies. somehow i ended up being an actor.
If i were to go back to my old school days, i recall the severe flak i drew from everyone. they said, Kirit do anything, just dont act. you are great as a director or as a writer but acting, dont even think about it. my first role was that of a darbaan in a court. i had to come thump a danda, say hoshiyaar, judge sahiba aa rahi hain and then go and stand. HAA!!
i enjoyed it but to say i loved it would be a big lie.
then came another bad spree of acting. in my college, when we organised the first annual day, we came up with this script that Sujoy from MCA wrote and directed. he was damn funny and i was a damp squib.
but that was the past, i somehow couldnt give up even when i wanted to. i dont know whether in december i would be able to do it muc better than last year. but i am going to work hard or at least make an honest attempt. this time, the character is tougher than nails and expectations would be sky high. lets see how it turns out.
off for a smoke and jerry, i loved reading your blog this time.
see you people in few hours
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Problem number 2. My heart keeps going backto theatre. There are offers from my old group to rejoin them and start working on new plays. Gauri Mehta called after a long time and the first thing she asked me was Kirit are you still acting. I said no, since a year and three months. The deal is she is looking for some one for her next two productions, one of them being Death of a salesman - one of my all time favourite plays. She is not the only one who is asking me for scripts or acting. The problem here is not the feeling to get back on the stage, it is my work that largely sucks.
I just mentioned this to my colleagues, the two people i am close to, that walking into office is like walking into a graveyard. it is true. more than the department, it is the whole place which is so damn disjoint. And then the work, that largely suffers due to people around who are lazy, gossipy or just not interested in this newspaper that our new editor in chief calls a great product. Some one should go and tell him that gora dude, even the people inside the office do not read our HT Next. At times, even the ones in our own department. So what is the point of doing good work. So when i see few of these colleagues, i feel bad for them more than being angry at them. I can go on and on about office - the least interesting place on the planet.
Problem number 3. No matter how hard i try, the thought of studying further really disappoints me. I have not had a great academic background. I was a good scorer, blah blah but the places sucked. No wonder my hatred for academics is so much to handle. I wish to study Media, policies, international relations, crisis reporting, film studies...
Dont know where to start and being the doubting thomas i am, it really gets on my nerves. My Sweety Aditi has a lot of faith in me, so does my family. it is only ME who does not. and i certainly dont wish to work any more at least not in this place. but are the other places any different. guess not
new problem is varun's idea. big, bigger and biggerer. if this idea of ours is conceived and implemented properly, we are going to big. but till the time doubts loom large, let my thoughts take the shape with the smoke i exhale.
let there be light (now that is some pun)
moonstruck as always
Monday, August 21, 2006
isnt this one happy moment for me now? you bet, it so is! After a week long battle, it seems the warring parties have finally signed the peace accord with a lot of kisses and hugs.
I had actually given up all the hope to get back with Aditi. The three people who knew about it Kris, Reet and Ashi had all expressed their sadness over the same issue. I love these people man. The best thing about a fight between two people who are in love with each other is that no one is the winner or loser. There is no such classification at all. And why would there be?
Finally on Wednesday when we met, there was a hint that it might work.
Now let me define that crucial moment.
So, i wrapped up my work fast, had a word with Ashi. She said that it is not over so dont the two of you say it. Kris had called up in the evening asking me why i did not tell him about this big a fight. I mean it was all over, it seemed so true at that manner that it is not even funny. I asked my boss to give me the next day off so that i can spend the day with her even if it means the last day for both of us.
After driving with a plethora of thoughts in my head as to what my future holds for me after Aditi, I was too zonged when i reached IIT. She had asked me not to pick her up and meet her at coffee corner. THWACK!!! That was the first blow. Then after waiting impatiently for say fifteen minutes, it seemed like an hour, i saw her shadow with a poly pack in her hand. THWACK 2!!!
Jesus, she had got all my stuff!
Hmmm, okie, she handed me over the bag as if it was some kind of excess baggage for her. And the began, a fiery interlude. I was still calm, coz if i also were to be shouting she won't hear me at all. Which is why i was there, to sort out things. There she was, shouting and me also shouting in slightly less volume. The thing with my cutie Aditi is, when she is angry 95 per cent of what she utters is coming from somewhere that she is not aware of. This means, none of it is true and should be ignored. She on the curb, and i on the road did not have any strength left to fight. When she took out her wallet to pay me for the roses I had sent on our 6 month anniversary, hee hee mills and boon stuff naa but i love it, i was in tears.
THWACCCCCCCKKKKKK!!!!!! This one was loud and i just could not control it. So i sat down like an old man, crying very silently. I got up, left and sat at one of our favourite hot spots. Called up ashi was sobbing, messaged Kris was sobbing, messaged reeeti was sobbing. After ten minutes i decided i should leave and got up.
Suddenly i heard a troubled voice saying 'STOP'. There she stood crying like a baby who had just lost her favourite toy. I had to give her a tight hug. ANd then i cried for a brief moment, while she just cried cried and cried. I so love this moment that it is difficult for me to define it. We both know we are so much in love with each other. and no matter what happens, we ensure that feeling doesnt diminish by even an iota.
I had told Ashi that i dont want an apology, if she just walks upto me and i have the chance to give her a tight hug, that would be all. No more troubles.
It is so amazing to be in love, that i wish this lasts forever. With Aditi, i am so much attached to her, like a child at times, the fondness keeps growing day after day. Though it has been four days since this all happened, it wil be etched in our hearts forever. For we have grown individually and together. No hard feelings at all, we have just got closer and real close to each other.
To think this all has happened in just six months is phenomenal.
All's well that ends well.
I love Aditi soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo much.
And i love Kris and Ashi too man.
I'm just floating on a cloud.
Right now not moonstruck but in a trance for sure...
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Now, that is something more disturbing than what is happening since the past three days. I have broken up with Aditi, or she has broken up with me. As per her, things have been screwed to a point of no return. Now she wants to return all of my stuff - madagascar soft toy, books, the see saw toy, i dont know what stuff and yeah even my birds. They are no longer my birds, since i had gifted them to her long time back.
It is painful to listen all of this. Not that i am admonishing her over here but just that if it had to end why did it even start? People make umpteen efforts to make everything a reality and so have the two of us. But now it seems that all of it was a dream that could never be realised.
Now the torturous confusion. Even after all that she has said, including choicest of expletives, and all of my mistakes, i still have the hope burning that it will turn out to be good. I have been, and will always be, a foolish romantic. Which is why after the fiasco with Prajakta, I can never let go off the word love.
Aditi is a strange woman in my life. I can not say that she was, coz even if we do end it all, in this murderous manner, i will continue to love her. There have been a lot of changes, mostly good, for which i will always credit her. I admire her as much as I love her. I respect her as much as she used to respect me. And though the two of us might not even see each other for i dont know how long, these feelings for her will never die.
Reason - very honestly this has been one woman i have been in love with, kinda head over heels. Alliances have a funny thing. If you put too much efforts, it turns out you have added a lot of sugar. Result is that it freezes one day and stinks. The other way or less efforts mean that it is arid. So what does one do!?!
I dont have much to say Inquisitor, but the fact that end marks a beginning that I am scared of. Have always been, maybe i would go back to the child in one of the precious posts. That is a good situation for that has hope.
The other, the very thought is intimidating for tomorrow has not come. I just hope i dont turn out to be one of those alter egos that i have created and scared of.
Lastly, it is just that relation is over, the feelings are there. They would be there. As far as the future is concerned, I can only hope, with tears filling my eyes...........
Now she has a very peculiar relationship with me. One thing i like about her is her professionalism amidst cows and bulls. Yet she is soft spoken. And no matter what i hear from her, and it is because i never give my work on time to her, i just like hearing that, somehow.
And I share a nice working rapport with her. So, when this happened, i was happy to hear that.
Now, i was wondering what made me write that and the entire gamut of events that has been taking its toll on me for the past so many weeks.
Part of it was mentioned in the previous post, but most of it is stil left. Now these musings, rantings etc etc are nothing more than the mind talking endlessly, mostly without direction.
I lack patience, big time. Especially when it comes to words like success, ambition, fame et al.
I went back to my words, and discovered that no matter how much time it took for these people to get where they are, it is an achievement.
For I am one individual and they too are in their own right. And for them the definitions that are relevant to me might be kiddish, or totally impertinent to them.
My father too is a man who has struggled for over so many years. and where he is right now that , according to me, falls short of an achievement. But then, I have realised what a noble soul he is. Even if he wants to he can not think or speak evil of the people because of whom he has suffered so much. Cowardice is one word, submissive is another, but for him that is his biggest virtue.
It is actually quite interesting - discovering people.
And i take that as a part of me growing up. Right now, I just look at the moon and go blind. It is shining so amazing these days.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Like my diary Jenny, this too is now a world i consider a territory inhabited by just one person and thats me.
Often people have noticed me talking to myself. That is such a great relief, it is not possible to define. Conversations that are open ended, mostly, are just rantings probably. but most of the times, it is just daydreaming. long before i wrote an article about the 20 somethings. and the last line was an extension of something i read long time back.
"Daydreamers are dangerous people - they dream with their eyes open. Remarkably they possess the invincible attitude to make them a reality."
Now that it has been almost three years i wrote this line - i was 21 at that time - the question arises, is it true?
Could it be just one of those umpteen things said in a fit? A fit of youth, hot blood etc etc.
I cant call this mid-life crisis as this is not mid life.
I started working early, well atleast a little earlier than my peers. By 20 i was earning, enough for my ciggarettes, daaru, magazine and books.
So that is a time when i shouldnt have joined the industry of journalism and that too print. It seems that the ladder of success has steps so far that it takes losing out a handful of hair to reach there. one of my colleagues was just promoted to the grade of a senior reporter. that did not seem like any achievement at all. reason, the person slogged for almost 6 years in the same damn office and three years in the same department.
another one got promoted because it was high time.
i dont wish to live like that or grow like that. had that been in the head, wont have i done something else. Ambition is the key word that drives me. But then, i think i am so much grounded to earth, that these things dont matter and do matter.
So what is it that I fianlly wish to do.
At times, studying, but what.
working, but what, where and how
my first love writing, just what do i do with that
theatre, dont even get me started on that.
it just sucks man
Right now i am a very happy person. (Touchwood)
My best friend Krishna has reinstated contact with me. and it feels phenomenal to hear from him, and that too, happily.
i always said that if a person can find just two people who understand him and love him for what he is, that is it.
My soulmate Reeti, she is the best friend that i could have ever asked for. Amazingly we share a bond that is more than platonic and is still platonic.
So that is reet and Kris.
ANd finally the love of my life Aditi. After i met her and then the turbulent phases, we fell for each other and now we are just so inseparable. I can not believe at times that once again I am in love. it is scary but then age has taught me something too. So we are working at it, as soulmates.
to top it all, my family is also happy. which is just so superb.
But, back to square one. I am still living in darknesss. I do not know what do i do with that.
guess a beer and a ciggarette will do it for now. and a kiss from my cutie.
moonstruck as always
Friday, July 07, 2006
THE WORD IS LOST
Something is wrong with the world today. Woes and worries, bias, prejudices and discrimination is not just limited to the vast lands within which we were neither born nor would be take it with us when we depart from the physical being.
Our race was titled ‘Superior.’ Maybe we took it way too seriously. Hence the noun had a new name, the rat race.
My question is not to you who is reading the article because it sounds rebellious, rhetorical or even truthful. Or perhaps the title was intriguing. Men have come in millions and spoke words and gone. But where is the word today?
For every Krishna’s death there came a Vivekananda. Every Lenin was followed by a Gandhi or Bhagat Singh. One Lincoln gave way to a Martin Luther King Jr.
Remember those iconic words, “I have a dream.” Sir it seems the dream just fizzled into an illusion.
Still, despite the continuous flow of these ideas, there is a profound and conspicuous absence of the word. Bhagat Singh said, “Kill a man, try killing his beliefs and thoughts.” I still don’t see the word.
Camaraderie in today’s times has acquired a new definition. It is this proverbial truth of the birds of the same feathers. Respect has been replaced by utmost disgrace. And to think that all of us began our journey together from one place sends my doubts soaring high to an endless horizon reaching an apogee that my neck breaks at the very first attempt.
It is not that I’m not a part of this civilisation or that I think of myself as one in a separate league. But after centuries and decades of pathetic silence I’ve no other option left but to SHOUT.
I’m not sure of my voice reaching every ear or knocking every mind and triggering that thought process that I see missing. But I’m here with a hope that floats like a feather even in this torrential war-torn weather of our planet that I shall hear the resound.
The echo will have a new voice.
While the sun shines brightest and the frame is pretty lightened, the blank exists. The colours are plenty and vivid enough to paint a picture so utterly beautiful that a Rembrandt or a Vinci would fall short of words, yet the BLANk exists. Subjects are numerous and so are the curators, yet it exists.
Yes, there is a blank everywhere in everyone, each one of us. Not dependent on the factor of life or any weird anthropological classification of humans or the species. There is a SOMEBODY or SOMETHING in everyone waiting to be SOMEBODY OR SOMETHING.
Quite often we’ve seen and heard of those capricious voices which come from the inside and outside stating our nature as extrovert or introvert whichever turns the minds on. The tussle is with the first you who awaits to be understood and the other which is suspicious of the outcome, always.
Deep down there your cry dry tears in order to let the significant other know the deepest emotions yet your surface is conspicuously and mysteriously devoid of those expressions.
The force is on both the sides, the gravity pulling you down and the throttle from down under.
He who strikes the equilibrium reaches a level of mental consciousness only known to the real self. He does not even need the mirror which is presumed to show the right angle. But at this specific stroke of the clock, neither of us can draw some sense out of this extremely pertinent issue that is eating us daily.
Because the BLANK exists.
The muse awaits the imperfect artist……
Reserved! No thank you
A particular traffic signal on my way back home is worth giving a look. It has now become somewhat of a habit to stop at the crossing and look around for little kids selling gajras, small garlands of jasmine.
One night, as I stopped, a bright-eyed boy glanced at me from the dirty pavement he was sitting on. The obvious thought crossed his mind, finally a buyer. It is difficult to ignore a smile, so he too received a controlled one.
All this while, the mind was occupied with the scene of today, how this nation is right now witnessing a nationwide agitation on the issues of reservations in educational institutions. Mandal, V P Singh, Arjun Singh, SC/ST and OBCs were the play of vocabulary in the head.
Until, the boy came in front of the eyes.
“Four for 10 Rs bhaiyya,” he said. Now that is one deal that requires no bargaining. Here is a young boy who should be happily playing and studying, but he is busy selling gajras at midnight. Being an avid talker, I felt the sudden irrepressible urge to engage in a conversation.
“My name is Mohit and I came here two years ago with my father,” he said with a confused look on his face as to why is this person interested in me.
When asked about studying, I was taken aback by the blunt answer of ‘NO’. Books, he showed total disinterest. There was a storybook in Hindi, collection of short stories that I just happen to buy from the National Book Trust.
When showed, he looked at it as if it is an old movie ticket, first with a glow in his eyes and then sheer indifference. “What will I do with this? No use, if something matters in this world, it is money. That is the reason you are in a car and I do not even have a bicycle,” came the answer as a lightning on my head.
Mustering my courage and pretending to be still cool, I said that it is because of my education that has empowered me to reach this level. “So if I study, I will have the power to work hard and earn money. So what exactly am I doing right now?”
Ok, how about reservation. I knew he was of a lower cast, couldn’t make out though, which category. Mohit got introduced to the concept, minus the political game play. “So if a seat is reserved for you in a school or college, wont you still grab the chance.”
With a sarcastic smile, “No! I would lose out on all the money during this time. And I will still be called a lower caste. My other brothers and sisters in the village do not know what is a school nor do they wish to. That is because no proper building, no books, no teachers, nothing is present there. What is the point of studying?”
After twenty minutes of an interlude, I lose. Not to a young boy’s rhetoric but to his lack of education and basic amenities that has made his view so blinkered.
The keyword that has been missed out on, deliberately and unknowingly, amidst all of this agitation, protests, political brouhaha and regular media coverage, is empowerment.
It is so misused much to the chagrin of Mr Arjun Singh and his motives that a young Mohit has forgotten to dream at such a tender age.
If you really need to empower these people Mr Singh, kindly go to this little kid’s village and open a proper school. Let there be a basic education programme throughout the country that is reaching a deserted village in Jaisalmer to Arunachal, from Sivan in Bihar to backwater village in Kerala. Then will this country be empowered, or shining or incredible.
Since I had wasted so much time, I ended up buying all the gajras. That’s what I did to empower Mohit, a kid of this country for one night.
Delhi Belly/Saadi Dilli Rocks
My tryst with this city dates back to 1998. The ‘vivid’ memories still exist fresh - like the roasted kabab nearby. Red sausages on a long seekh plunged into the tandoor sending wafts of masala to the waiting drunk Punjabi mouthing expletives at a lean, vest-clad dark fellow is what made the first picturesque scene I ever saw in Delhi.
Whether that is an apt introduction might be argued by the ever-shaking rules of journalistic writing and the likes of my fellow beings. Rules? Of all the things, for tandoori chicken and punjus? Heck no!
Fans of absurdity and victims of Delhi Belly virus may continue reading this but for the uninitiated and even disinterested, here is a bit of introduction.
A recent survey had put Mumbai on top of the charts of rude behaviour with the national Capital coming second. As per the high IQ people who conducted the survey, that would have generated so much of employment, people living in the “business capital” just do not know how to behave.
Though women feel safer there, rickshaw drivers charge by the meters, we have complete non-interference in other peoples’ lives and, life despite being troublesome ends with a smile, yet “saadi dilli rocks” and they are downright rude.
Of course they are! I strongly agree your honour.
Look here in this city. Probably the highest consumption of alcohol happens here, but do we create a ruckus in our homes. No, we take it out on the roads. Simple solution. Eight gang up against two who were not even there in the first place and boom bang piff pow, they are biting dust. That is bravery!
In walks a policeman. Show me the people who call these khaki-clad gentleman corrupt, brash and the most dangerous people on the roads. They come, they take, and they leave.
Shame on you people who disgrace Police.
Mumbaikars tell you on the face ‘Keep away man, no boot-licking with me and only hard work.”
Oh my god, what attitude dude!
Dilliwallahs say, “Hiii! How you doing man? You are one amazing chap and I can see you scaling the ladder of success at greased lightning speed.”
The real words only come out in front of every other person except the one in talks. See, so considerate. Also, we make sure that everybody knows our real, honest feelings by talking to every and any person we meet, at the pub, bar, chicken dhaba, kitty parties, page 3 parties etc etc.
A report published on the front page of a glossy supplement said that the Delhi male could rape a woman by his eyes. Such respect for the feminine form, odes of praise for the glowing (and growing) beauties of this city could only from here. We don’t even use proper words as we are awed by the grace. Mumbai, learn some lessons.
And of course, we believe in community, brotherhood by taking an avid interest in everybody’s lives. So Mr Sharma has started to come home late because of tensions with his wife is something known throughout. Wow, what camaraderie!
And a certain self-confessed ad guru still writes a column called Yeh Dilli to paagal hai. Bury him!
A day at denouncing demolition drive
Despite being a journalist, or so I may take the liberty to call myself, the encounters for reporting have never reached a demonstration. The imagination has been there, but in reality it never happened. I thought that, I would leave this aspect of life untouched.
Until one day…
I am not a morning person, but this ante meridiem was different. My mother informed me that a part of our residential area comes under the guillotine ‘UNAUTHORISED’. The deal is, that all the residents of Freedom Fighter’s A block (Oops, that is my address) are raising their voice against the MCD’s demolition drive. The ‘request’ is not to destroy the houses but seal.
Ok, so I am out and join my comrades. All the gates have been chained, and ‘we’ protestors, are on the main road. I am gearing up just give it to the MCD guys.
Alas! That is not quite the scene. Men and women are passing the time discussing, with everybody trying to prove their intellect over ‘sensitive’ issues. Some other unwanted specimens are trying to catch a glimpse of the roaring bulldozers. (Why are they called bulldozers, there is nothing bullish or dozing about it?)
The news gets us, ‘They are one kilometre ahead’ and the guillotine drops on this under construction house on the third gate.
Comrades! Gate number three.
The police is all there and they are smiling, don’t know at what. I’ll fight you today, grrrr! Someone musters the courage to shout, ‘MCD, waapas jao’. Yeah, jao jao, I am all excited. And before I could use my vocal chords, it all cools down.
The discussions start happening all over again. I was constantly looking out for the bulldozer or the officials, or just about anyone. But no, they are absent.
The MCD people arrived, you can make out by their bellies sticking out, white attires and that gutka smile. Waapas Jao, waapas jao, I say in my head.
They talk and speak something.
Then the SHO arrives, shakes hand, they talk and speak something.
All this while, everybody is talking to everybody except me. Because I want to shout! It is my first day at a demonstration, would anybody realise that, please. No.
The best part is when the MLA arrives, that typical grin, khadi dress, tambakoo and cigarette teeth, and the jhataak Roy Bon sunglasses.
Anyway, now I have to shout. Of all the things, the man comes, waves hand as though he is some PM and we are some rural school children who will go euphoric over it. Same routine as others. I started pinching myself; tell me this is a dream.
Finally I get to hear the MLA, he says that you all are together and that has forced the MCD to stop the deconstruction, and just seal the properties.
YAY! Everybody is happy and start shouting hurrah. And it is time to retreat. What? It is over! All smiles, shaking hands again and the next meeting is scheduled. One of the seasoned people in my apartment block tells me that we are successful and lets get back home on that note. So much for a demonstration!
And I still don’t know why it is called a bulldozer? Actually that is the least disturbing and upsetting things I did at denouncing a demolition drive. DAMN!
Friday, May 12, 2006
Continuing from my last post.....
Finding and fighting our demons of silence in my solitude has crippled me. I really wonder over why i have outgrown my age. the endless list of compliments from peers and elder specimens of species has not made me happy. the feeling is not registered in my brain.
I am swamped by the triviality of life that satiates my contemporaries who are gleefully accepting it and moving on. Disoriented images throught crystals strolling down on my cheek dry up taking the tears with them..... and leaving a mark..
Is the problem with my vision or the ones outside the cocooned aura of my physical presence? If it is on us to choose happiness or view it then why does my smille not reach my eyes?
You must be curious to paint my picture, aren't you? Humans love other in pain?
Ever seen a kid, whose eyes spell innocence with tears clogging his vision and not dropping down, stretching out his arms to whosoever looks at him?
Now, imagine him inside a dark room, captured within the monstrous facets of life, lighting the shades of blakc. he is crying, fighting the demons away, shooting arrows of anguish in a failed attempt to shun them away!
Please enclose withinthose warm arms of yours. I need a shoulder to cry on, someone who makes me smile, that is the pained emotione humble request.
But does anybody listen? Those who do cant help him, for all us are confined within our cubicles.
The high density atoms travelling in chaos within the dome of the brain, are now faster than light.
the moment the feeble soul captures them, time will stop with fear for the outburst will be extremely uncontrollable. it will know no boundaries, the so called codes will be shattered and the dome will be set ablaze and ashed down with the explosive rage. Great balls of fire shall circumambulate the boisterous glowing oozing with energy.
But when will that happen is something that is the argument.
The child weeps, his arms still stretched out, crying tears of pain, the voicesof which do not knock on the lobes and drums. Help him before his innocence dries outand the demons take over. PLEASE!!!!!
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
The New Look
Yes, doesn't it look nice now!
I was toying with the idea of making my blog look new, maybe colours or just a look that i would love to see on my blog.
This republished cyber diary has a bigger picture behind it.
For quite some time. I have been doing the thing that defines my identity and the header on the navigation window - Inquisitor.
I had stopped thinking. I dont know, i dont have a reason.
Then, I did something this saturday that made me look like the laughing stock of everybody. Though it was something that everyone does, especially nowadays, I did not quite like it.
Not because of the word moral or my fight with folks the next morning when the hangover was still strong, but i felt disgusted because that wasnt me.
Inquisitor was back in the body.
I have had some thoughts in the mind that at times took the shapes of noises. One of my escapades included hitting the bar at Cafe Morrison, everyday.
Another one, after i asked Aditi out, was to spend time with her. In a way i was avoiding morrison and spending some moments. But the noises were there.
While my conversations with Aditi revolved around day to to day stuff, in few moments of solitude i willingly told her about my past. In episodes, i started revealing things that happened at a certain point and i did not care to note them down. OR DEAL WITH THEM.
And that is where the whole thing accentuated.
With every day, i started questioning more and more. My past, people, parents, incidents, days, mistakes, catastrophies and so on and so forth. And then the present, the diffcult to predict future. It was getting tougher day after day.
Finally the saturday blown away incident happened. I could not muster the courage to get up and think. I was just too lost.
Yesterday i discussed this with my soulmate, reeti and she told me what i had told her few weeks back.
Deal with it. It is about time. There have been things in the past that are simply spoiling your life. Try to convert that into a learning experience.
And it starts with thinking and talking.
The new leaf, the new look.
I just hope i come out to be a better, changed and to some extent a new individual. One who can find what he is looking for.
Moonstruck as always
Kirit’s Klaustrophobic Korner 9/5/2005
Kirit’s Klaustrophobic Korner
To be read by:
· The Perpetually Insane
· Moonstruck Maniacs
· Divine Mockerers of words
The rest can stay away as they are just out of their mama’s laps and think that they are some kind of arrogant bums who can just act pricey in this world full of priced up commodities, including life.
This place is Quixotic, divine. The ones who think they have done something on mythology and having finished an academic thesis (Just what the hell is that), proclaim philosophy to their skin as if they were born with it can just, READ THIS, can just stay away.
Lest they might be subjected to some haberdasher of my insults and let me tell you I am damn good at it.
Beginning today Kirit and I will write something that needs to be deplored in order to understand. Not between the lines, just the words, like Kirit said, divine mockerers of words.
Watch this space.
Kirit is just leaving a quote for me for this day. Tomorrow, he’ll explore another territory.
“TO DO IS TO BE;
TO BE IS TO DO;
DO BE DO BE DO”
for the past few days i was wondering that why is it that people living in the concrete jungles here are not bothered to welcome the winter rain that splashed so beautifully yesterday. the stars that appear so clear these days. we are swamped by the idiot box and the triviality that the absence of sun is night, hence moon and stars don't matter. it is a teenage wasteland, where the soul becomes a zombie. and treads the path like a robot. thoughts die as you grow old. questions sublime by the time you can search for the answers. In between i look for my distorted reflections in these drops of Jupiter, just to catch myself encapsulated within illusions umpteen and interpretations numerous.
gotta make an entry as the mind's off and is squirming like the toad as jim said. dished out the ideas today completely and workin on these two plays as of now. first has a line of good actors and one pathetic actress who cant act. second has 2 of them and still is missing the punch guess screwed up the screenplay. no fuckin clue how would it come up this sunday as it is the first screeening. workin hard and crazier. My friend Shreya has just joined me and talks of being crazier than me. I'd say girl u still gotta see whats happenin. Met a beautiful girl sitting on the curb of coffee day and smokin in the air till the guy from in came out and said please dont do it. the fuckin cops are gonna be around any minute. couldnt talk to her much. hmmm thinkin to hit the stone chairs tomorrow in the garden of five senses. and then go to the ithaca styled pillars and write another piece of mindlesss fiction. Goddamit.