Hard Times

Dear readers, this space will witness a quiet, lazy, and insipid existence for some weeks to come. The reasons though fully known to the owner of the space will not be stated for its sheer futility. The owner needs to settle certain scores and chances have to be taken if the owner wants to return to this space as a healthier being. Besides, too much teaching may disagree with the reader. It is apt to harden the heart, wearying the attention, and mortifying the self-love. Such disturbances of the system interfere with the digestion of the truth. In the mean time I’ve just one word for everybody connected with this space: Prosper.
Asha, chalo sing me a song now, this could be my last…


Now Playing:: Jaane kya baat hai………….Asha

p.s. the previous template did not go well with Frisson, hence its back in the old fashion.

Its Getting Vulgar!!

Its amazing how human beings have made use of “pain” to create that aura around themselves. Whatever they do gives us a slight shock- not the thrill which proceeds from a living being, but a jolt of disillusionment. Not the pain felt when the eyes have been pulled out and one is left with bleeding sockets. The pain I’m referring to is much sophisticated ( well people have made it so.) Precisely, the one following heart breaks, and the pain I’m talking about, is strictly limited to this category, not even the pain originating from the death of a loved one.


Its only human to feel pain but emotions when sufficiently repeated, become vulgar. I’ve been reading a very popular blog off late, you know, the one which attracts at least forty comments within minutes of posting. Now what makes this blogger so popular? Its obvious. Like Narayan, who once discovered his fictional town, stayed with it for life, so it is with this guy as well. Once he found his “pain”, he fell in love with it, and continues to drudge his muse to generate more of it!! Don’t even ask me to break the cherry on the URL, coz I wont. I may do that on gunpoint, however:)


The problem probably lies within me and in my curious antipathy to objects which are so pleasant to fellow beings. I wonder whether these are tendencies of a growing insensibility and a failure to respond to general impressions. Of course, its none of my business to comment on what people do in their personal spaces, but its too disheartening to see subtle things of life being converted into social habits. Slander me as a hypocrite, I wont mind, coz to a large extent I am one.


I, too have written about things which I highly despise now. Besides, facts themselves should disclose their own virtues. A person who is able to benefit by a lesson will, no doubt, discover it, under any husk or disguise, before it is stripped and laid bare-to the kernel. But does love, pain, and contentment need to be circumscribed by dress and fashion?


On a lighter note, if you wanta make it big in the virtual world, you know what to spend your thoughts on. You’ll be a magnet and people will be drawn to you like flies to a pig.

Now Playing:: Kya hua tera vaada…………..Rafi

A Few Good Men & A Mockingbird

Ever wondered what is it that makes a man fight? Fighting, not for desires selfish, but altruistic. Fighting for causes that he believes to be just, fighting for that lost order of humanity, fighting for everything else except himself!! A man, I suppose fights when he hopes, when he believes that he has a vision; a vision of order; a vision of harmony. When he feels strongly that he’s not on this earth by coincidence, and there is some connexion between himself and the earth that he treads upon.





It is a weighty matter for discussion, and one that can never end, and most will believe that it all turns upon an individual whim. Freud would’ve been able to throw some light on it but he’s dead and gone, so just settle with my interpretation. And why am I breathing this fudge of mine into your minds? I think things tend to get a bit idealistic after seeing A Few Good Men save a Mocking-bird.

Vatic in themes and men donning the black raiment to portray the loss of individual voices in the sea of human avarice and folly in its violence confused, do leave enough food for thought for both the viewers and readers respectively.



Now both the pieces are exceptionally well knitted courtroom dramas but “ To kill a Mockingbird ” does not abound with high sounding ciceronian phrases as A Few Good Men does, but both of them equally manage to strike the chord. Atticus Finch and Danielle Kaffee ( Tom Cruise ) become heroes of the legal profession; the former fighting for a colored man and the latter trying to live up to the expectations of a dead father.


Here’s a piece which was nominated by UN as the best Poem of 2006 - Written by an African Kid

When I born, I black
When I grow up, I black
When I go in Sun, I black
When I scared, I black
When I sick, I black
And when I die, I still black

And you white fellow
When you born, you pink
When you grow up, you white
When you go in sun, you red
When you cold, you blue
When you scared, you yellow
When you sick, you green
And when you die, you grey
And you calling me colored??







And do watch this.















And all the time I wanted to be among people with greater fears, but how could I negotiate about something whose value I didn’t know, and until then…



Now Playing:: Ek ajnabi haseena……………..Kishore Kumar

The Verso Beings

I gave them names and sex, even assigned them plausible gestures and made them act and behave as inconsistently as was possible. I even made them speak by the use of inverted commas and other punctuations, and I tried every possible trick in the trade to animate their existence in print. They did not come coldly to my mind. Neither were they mere products of a delirious excitement. They were clearly my alterego; a phase of life that I had left behind but occasionally re-visited for an estimate of amelioration.


We believe we can write our own stories, and every time we think “ this ” is the end, life makes us chase some of its glorious vicissitudes. In real life we cannot understand each other, except in a rough and ready way; neither complete clairvoyance nor complete confessional exists. We cannot reveal ourselves, even when we want to. Intimacy, the word spells horror. Period.


In this direction fiction is truer than reality, and homo fictus a lot better than homo sapiens. They become reflections of an inner self; offering instant indemnity to the dimness of certain moments and giving us an illusion of power over our thoughts.


This blog is largely functional because of that illusion and I prefer it that way. Believe me it feels great to pull the strings of somebody else’s life, no matter how fictional they might be. To be able to post people as babies, making them flinch, and making them find happiness amidst ruins is far better than self indulgence and it’s a known fact that there’s enough evidence beyond our experiences.


Such word masses as Stella, Maaya, Woh Chokri, and many other conversations became my verso beings!!


Now Playing:: Cloud 9…………..Bryan Adams

La Belle Dame Sans Merci

I was a component of the air,

I had never set my foot on the ground.

He pulled me down.

Revenge was inevitable.

I smiled.

A curl of sardonic humor hung on my lips.

I knew I was approaching amusement.

Into his eyes with what passion I looked!

A fleeting moment!

I lulled him into sleep.

Moments later he woke up,

And stared into my eyes.

Oh! He was looking for it!

I smirked.

And it was over.

Cold were my lips,

And even colder was my kiss.

Ask me, how it feels to look deep

Into the eyes of one who loves you,

And say, “ I don’t ”.

It feels like……..“ power. ”

Now playing:: Kahin to hogi...............Jaane Tu

Peeking Out of Our Wells

Relationships end. Stories end. The world ends. The pursuit continues. Then there’s the judgment day. Life comes a full circle, but alas it comes without any displacement. The pursuit begins again. We continue our entanglement in the gossamer ties of life; trying to give ourselves a raise out of our delicious sloth until a day when we go soggy at our knees and collapse with remorse. Crying for things “gained”. Weeping for a past that’s beyond correction and polishing our minds with the warmth of our ambitions for a future, which ironically works in installments!! And before we realize, folks around us begin to fall off like leaves fall off from trees in the first chill wind of autumn. We still cling to life; sweet and sticky on the outside, but all white, messy and disgusting on the inside. Life becomes a moment that gets extended and extended and extended.


Now Playing:: Doorie……………..Atif


p.s:: No reasons attached.
I wish to be among people with greater fears. Its always good to see like minded people peeking out of their wells and sharing their miseries in equal amounts.