Friday, June 10, 2011

ashok and them.

I have a obsession mentality disorder. Whatever that means, I intend to convey that give me something and chances are I get obsessed with it in a jiffy. Ask me to listen to a song, and if I live it, chances are two days from now, I'd have heard all those songs from the album, read all the history of the band and am unabashedly publicizing about them wherever I go. Infact, this post is also one of my side-effects in the ashok obsession syndrome. Sucks. This is what stories do to you; they have you believe in fiction, they have you jump into the abyss fully knowing that you ain't ever coming out of it. Stories are far too good to be real, far too romantic to be love, its heroes far too heroic to be able to exist and leave you craving for that dose of utopia where you'd give all that is yours to be a part of it. For quite sometime now, ashok has been one of those stories. It is predominantly Deekshith who pushes me off the cliff in this case and here again, he is the mentor. Why the fuck am I using words I'm having to look up dictionaries to know what they mean. Is this the ashok effect too? Deekshith introduced me to an alternate world of writers-smokers where all you would do all day was wait for inspiration and have a paper and pen ready when it arrived. Sowmya Sen and ashok. These might not be real reflections of the lives they live, to hell I don't even care about the lives they live. For me they are characters in these stories Deekshith's told me, people who are generously gifted, know it and don't give a fuck about it. I can't believe I'm turning into a person I've never wanted to be. The fiction is overwhelming me. Do I want to be like them, like ashok, my version of ashok; to hell, yeah. Silent, knowledgeable, restless, insomniac, confident, aishwarya, and everything else. Is this the real ashok, I have no idea. Deekshith is a powerful narrator. Every time we part, he leaves me drooling for more. His stories, his heroes are the elixir I survive on. No wonder I got rather screwed up when I wasn't having those conversations. -This is the door. -Which goes over the cliff. I so want to be like that, like that being me, in an original way. This is getting insane, devotional; I don't want to lose being me but the urge to be ashok is far too much. Isn't that also a part of me that wants to be ashok. How does somebody stay quiet in a conversation, smile, let people talk, be worshiped. Genius. The one word which will either make me or break me. Unkempt, complete, confident, desolate by choice, above all, beyond everything. If 'them.' really exists, I can't wait to get my hands on it. The artist is turning more enigmatic than the art. Damn, I haven't even ever seen anything but glimpses of ashok's art. I don't want to write like him, I want to be like him. my version of him. I'm falling, stooping, fighting myself to be ashok. To be mythical. heroic. god.

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