Abbaji

You know sometimes when I'm writing, I think as to why I write in the first place. And no matter how much I tell myself that I write because I want to, somewhere deep within, there is a part in me which tells me that I write not just because I want to write or want to be read but because sometime very late in my life, I might want to look back to these pieces and reflect nostalgically; Though more often than not my saner self behaves and tells me that there is no such thing as looking back in time. For one, I neither believe in the linearity of time nor in the dimensions of space. And two, I believe memories are as fanciful as dreams, we do not look back and see the life we have lived as much as look back and see the life we want ourselves to believe we lived. Garcia Marquez put it succinctly at the beginning of Living to Tell the Tale when he said, Life is not what one lived, but what one remembers and how one remembers it in order to recount it. Now, those are the words of a master, the sign of a great writer. Somebody who realises that more can be comprehended through silence than through sound and that words are just road maps for one's journey in search of his soul and that the real journey begins after the book has been closed shut. Time. Its an amazing idea. What would time have meant to us if there was no deadline, if we weren't always in a hurry to get things done, if we didn't quantify life into the number of breaths a man's taken. As far as I can see the world, life and everything they constitute, time is at a standstill. Neither does it move forward or backward but only as much as we want it to move. I have spent a lot of time with my grandparents, seeing their lives which has been mostly spent in the confines of this house and I see that apart from a few major events in their lives, their last ten years have basically been in a standstill. Everyday has been but a repetition of the previous one. Their world is confined to this house, their reality is the memories of lives they once lived, people they once knew and every time I see them distracted, looking into the empty skies, I understand that they are away, briefly visiting the worlds they once lived in. And art does just that for us. It shows us all life in a single instance, and here again the duration of single instance can be very relative. A painting may do that in a second, music in minutes, a movie in hours and a book in days. But art creates worlds right in front of us, uses our memories as the elixir upon which it survives and then takes away with it a part of our existence so that the next time we look back upon the same piece of art, we are looking at a very different piece. I have been telling Sravani for the past two days that I was feeling very low, restless, confused and helpless. I told her I hadn't been able to read or write. And now as I write this, I feel elated already. Words are our fingerprints we leave on the surface of time and that is what makes them so important. We have left our marks there, and now in a weird way it belongs to us. I might have had a very hectic day yesterday but unless I had something to show for it, I wouldn't remember anything of it. And whatever a man is capable of leaving to reclaim it years later, is art.

Its actually pretty funny, why this piece got started and what's in it. I think I really do believe that there is no one absolute world, the world exists how you want it, and only as long as you want it. And that erases the need for envy, greed and loathing. But I started writing this because after hearing about some people, listening to various musicians, I wondered if there is really something as prodigious talent. Again, it wasn't envy as much as disgust. Because I don't like comparing myself with others as much as I love comparing myself with somebody I could have been. If I had gone to guitar classes regularly two years ago, I'd have been a great player by now too. Now, I see that there is no point comparing and worrying about it. I didn't do it back then and that is all that that matters. And if I want to play the guitar now, I take it out and start strumming it. That's how you live life, not by wondering what life would have been but by realizing that there are no would haves. If we had a redo button in life, all we'd be doing was press it all the time because we're never really happy with our past. But that is what makes it so wonderful. The moment I am happy with my past, I'd grow into a pompous idiot and forget that present is a lot more than learning from the past. It is also about applying it. I know I'm digressing like crazy but I want all this to flow out. I want to write, not because I want to look back at it in some point in the future but because this moment in my life, right now, I don't want to do anything than write this.

Yea, that's about it then.
Later.

Chuck's lane

I've seen Peter Sarsgaard only play Chuck Lane and I've turned into a huge fan of his. From what I understand of people, their characters, actors, and performance, Sarsgaard is every bit himself to cinema what Lane is to journalism. He fits perfectly into the role of the editor of a magazine which takes itself very seriously; he is not charming like his predecessor, does what he thinks is right for the magazine and does not care to explain himself to people who do not bother to understand him.

Sarsgaard, in his portrayal of Lane, has turned the tenacious, dogged, dry, unassuming and highly principled family man into somebody who is to be admired and respected. One thing that is certain of Lane is the immense respect he has for his profession, the holy way in which he treats it and his high moral standards which expects himself and those around him to follow. One of the movie's finest moments is the conversation between the two editors where Lane swallows his self-respect to save the face of the kid. Another poignant scene is the one where he walks home after a long, arduous day at work and sleeps in the lap of his wife, betraying his true emotions only to his closest confidant.

I've always been inspired, awed and invigorated by highly talented people, those who are the star kids, who've been pampered all their lives and change rules as per their bidding. But now I realize the importance of people like Lane and Dravid, those who respect their profession, who see themselves only as a minuscule part of a greater heritage and those who can do anything just to keep the torch aflame, even if that means to sacrifice themselves. Like I was reading a wonderful Roebeck piece yesterday about Sangakkara, sometimes character, principle, idealism and humility can do things that even immense talent cannot.

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.

Lamakaan among other things

Long since I posted something up here. Sounds of Isha playing in my ears, I came here for a quick jot of what all's been happening. My confidence's screwed up, my work ethic's nuts, and my reading's a total mess. I don't seem to be getting past 10 pages of any book before the other interests me. Starting a book is a lot about passion, ending it is tougher; it's about patience and principle. I seem to be lacking them. Anyway, I don't want to be ranting over and over again.

We shot my Snooker idea the other day, finally and we'll have to sit down and edit it. The footage looks rather sad, having shot it with Ani's phone but then we're working on converting it into HD. Went to Lamakaan today and heard a talk about Rumi. Super lecture and a really nice place. I really wish I wasn't this messed up and did more in life than talk about achieving that elusive thing. Bid adieu to Net.Orange, which left me sad for they were really nice but then I'm far too confused to be promising them anything now. It's pathetic, talking every post about how confused I am. I'm attending an interview the day after tomorrow for a Certificate Program in Rural Management. I don't know, but I feel depressed. I so want to do something, stick to one thing and I have a feeling I'm going right in the opposite direction. Least of all I don't want to hurt people which I'm so good at. No, I'm done talking this shit.

Watching Physics lecture at MIT's OpenCourseWare. Reading the first edition of Out of Print magazine and ofcourse, dreaming about getting published in it. Well, no harm dreaming because either way they're taking me nowhere.

By the way, I just learnt Lamakaan means 'the abode of the homeless'.

just thought of Jeeves

the last time I gave a shit about what people thought or tried deciphering somebody else's thought process, I realised I couldn't have been more wrong. the whole point of all those intellectual discussions (in quotes), of all those I'm the next scorsese/rand/whatshisname cool hand luke conventions, of trying to rub shoulders with the best of them hoping i'd be hailed as somebody cool enough makes me laugh. but yea, maybe all of them were needed for me to be what I am today. because, seriously, at the end of the day, all that matters is are you good enough, and are you not scared to love. this is a fucking paradox I'm stating fully knowing that I shouldn't be writing all this but reading a few conversations people have on fb comments makes me shudder at the thought that at one point of time in my life, not long ago, I was very similar to them. rude, cynical, doped and beneath a veil of false prestige lay the real me who was capable of nothing but wanting to be happy. single point agenda. that's all everybody looks for. recently, i read a arundhati roy quote, "kids look for approval. we are adults, we don't need it." if you really think you are right, then there's no need to prove it is there. the most profound of people I've truly met are people who do not take themselves seriously, who've learnt enough through instinct or experience that there is no harm being wrong and there's no crime being happy. to all those everyday, unassuming folks, it's been an honour learning from you.

57

My second post in an hour. Let me see if I can pull of writing without thinking. Or, rather write-think as I deem myself to be. Shit, this is scary. But what can I do, I can't pause. This is scary as shit. Makes me more alert, more, what's the word, pause pause typing pause typing pause Barsenge amber se I can't get it. Anyway, plugged into my ears is Swarathma. I should have been sleeping by now, reading Mystic River but then there was an incessant need to write. So, here I arrive.

Kneading knuckles. The ultimate paradox. I can't write about writing because I'd always be one word late. Shit, wtf is even wrong with me. Okay, why am I even here. One is that that conversation I had with Vikranth the other day at Basik. Interesting. Got my grey cells active. And two, is about the art of writing. Before I began this, I had a lot thinking but now I can't seem to type anything. For one, I write quite a lot. Atleast in my head. Even when I'm doing something else, the whole process of thinking for me is writing. Both of them are irrevocably related. That when I'm trying to think, which is very unusual, I'm typing it. Or in a very few cases, I draw trees and other visual aids in my head to construct a clear picture. The act of thinking basically doesn't exist. It juxtaposes itself into some other action form and all I'm left with are shards of words that slowly evaporate into thin air, or maybe are forever lost in the depths of my mind. I pause for words. Funny, knowing that I'm either typing or thinking, for me telling people that I do both. I do not believe in the whole concept of multi tasking, it doesn't exist. If I was thinking when I am typing, all that it means is that, there's the minutest of time differences between both acts and for all practical reasons and purposes, both can be considered to be simultaneous acts. Hang on, let me change the track.

Ok, I go back to Barsenge. I love this song. So, what was the conversation about. Now, this itself shows that I've been bullshitting all along. If I really think as I type, or rather, hang on, I didn't say I type what I see. See, visually. I type all that's happening in my head. I see what's running on my mind. And that doesn't have to be what is happening now. If I'm reliving a conversation with Vikranth, for me, I'm still there. I maybe here, in my house, typing away at 12.47 AM but another part of me is still there, thinking about all that we spoke. Bull shit again. We're delving into deeper mines of shittiness. Hofstadter would be proud of me. Okay, let's decipher this step by step. I'm listening to a song now, I'm typing, I'm thinking about that conversation, I'm thinking about what to type now. How can there be so many nows. So, the whole purpose of doing this, wtf! am I even saying. God, and I can't pause. If all that I'm writing now is a testimony of my thoughts, then sure boy I am messed up. But if I was really messed up, would I realise I was messed up. Pause. And ofcourse I know a birds eye clear cut view of me is impossible by me because that would be me again, blah blah. We've heard Godel being quoted over and over again. Give me a break.

That's me talking to myself. I believe thinking is a conversation, of the various people in your head, each of whom is given a chance to express and you more often than not accept a compromise. And talking of compromise brings me back to that conversation. It all began because we began talking about patriotism and how I thought the whole concept of group, We, social being and all that was crap. At the end of the day everyman was for himself. Because group was generally people who were supporting an idea and no two people can have the same idea. So, group is basically people who compromise their ideas to be part of the group. Shit, I just remembered why I began this piece and I forgot it. Ok, saw Dhobi Ghat trailer today, awesome. OK, but then I realised (track changed) even that everyman was a culmination of billions of tiny particles (cells?) and all of them had to reach a compromise for my to be me. But then, thinking now, all of them ain't doing all that for me. They're doing that shit for themselves and I'm a byproduct of their quest for survival. Hang on, let me think. I ain't being able to do both. Think and write. The act of writing is taking up all my energies and leaving me with nothing to think of.

Hang on. It's on the tips of my fingers, just can't come out. It's clinging on tightly to the darker areas of my brain, and one slip by me will have them lost for a long time. I like that comparision. All this is fake. The act of writing and talking about your writing, is for me too surreal a concept to properly understand and implement. I plug the earphones out. Let me think. Give me some space. Some time. Some quiet. Wait. Writing about writing was one of my favourite topics but now I realise how it's impossible. Because like that, you're never ending. That spiral I was talking about. And before I began this piece, I thought I'd mention it in the end that I'm not going to name this piece but give it a number title. Like Pollock's abstract titles. Will I mention this again in the end? This is not what I've been meaning but I just realised what Hofstadter means by intelligence. All that he's been trying to prove in GEB. If I was a computer, I could write about the whole concept of writing. I'd say I'm writing of what's happening now, or if I was a computer, would I be writing what happened a moment ago(then I would be contradicting myself) and if I wasn't typing of what I had been thinking a moment ago, what would I be typing about. Hang on, I just realized, we are not part of a formal system. We are not machines. We can have a birds eye view of ourselves, agreed that that would still be a part of a larger system, I realise I'm onto something big but I just can't get to it. Wait. What if I went to a bigger system, right till infinity. But I can't go to infinity, because wherever I went, I would be left with more. Like Euclid's Prime Number Theorem. I don't understand. I really don't. Am I in quest of truth, and if so, can I handle the circumstances. I scratch my head.

See, I'm bullshitting about writing all that I can think of. Because there's a bigger process running over thinking which tells me to write about it. Yea, because I cannot tell myself to write within my thinking capabilities. Where does this lead to? And I still don't remember why I started this piece. I wonder how big this post is going to be. It's just beyond me. I can't remember.

And yea, I'm naming this a number after Pollock. If this creates a sense of Deja Vu, I have succeeded. If not, no harm done, because I'm talking about it.

I'm never editing this. Not even the spelling mistakes nothing. If this has happened, it's supposed to be intended. Or is correcting the mistake intended? (All crap, I just edited this.) When people say they're not looking for patterns, or trying to find a higher truth, they're lying. Ofcourse, they're looking for meanings, and answers.

I just brushed my teeth and I remembered why I started this post early this morning. It started off because I said man could live an isolated life and then Kaushik said something. He said if a hundred people liked a movie and recommended it to you, you'd either like it because so many people liked it, that feeling seeped in, or the expectations would rise so high and no matter how good the film, you could not appreciate it. What I'm saying is, like I already mentioned before, we are a mixture of both controllable and uncontrollable factors and having been in a society so long, having been born to people who've been lasting for thousands of generations, like it or not, I is my own self+ everything around me which I have not been able to control. Soon enough, both the parameters become one and you get used to be a part of the fabric. This does not necessarily reveal anything but is just an observation into the nature of the human psyche.

aaaargh!

Mark wasn't wrong. I've read Accidental Billionaires, seen The Social Network and have read quite something about Zuckerberg and about all those people who say he's cheated or stolen them their due. Sorkin provides an excellent answer in the movie, "If you guys were the inventors of facebook, you would have invented facebook." Bingo. Mark reminds me a lot of Steve and that is probably why I envy and worship him. Its not just intellect or luck that's made them successful. More importantly, its their single minded devotion to the love of their lives. Zuckerberg lives and breathes Facebook just like at one point of time Jobs lived Apple. That vision is so powerful that nothing else has the ability to lure them away from that path to achieve it. Not friends, not foes, not girls and definitely not money. And that I believe is very important for anyone. I know, instead of preaching shit, I should be doing it myself. Genius. Like nothing else matters. And that portrayal as a mean asshole is just a shield to protect himself from the various temptations life around him has to offer.

10/11/2010

Got unplugged yesterday. I'm getting addicted to it. I've seen the movie again today and boy, was I inspired by it again. I mean, that Zen like quality Zuckerberg has, that narrow vision(sometimes interpreted as focus) is irreproachable. I believe any successful man, anybody who's really done something, has had it. All I can think of now is Jobs, yeah, but then if you want to do something so novel and at such an age, when you have nothing to show for yourself, that steel willed belief and focus are essential. To say no to friends, to social life, to girls, and to everything else that'll make you normal. That is the fucking prerequisite. If I sound jealous, that's because I am. How does somebody earn that? That Dravid-ian ability to bend down, do what you are supposed to, not give a shit if the rest of the world is partying, not give a shit what people think about you. All that matters, when you're done with your work and look up, is that you show the world what they've never seen before.

That's all I can think of about now. Till next time, watch The Social Network.

Elementary, my dear Watson.

Right there, at the end of the film, Watson summarizes everything about Holmes- He's far too fond of himself. That is Sherlock Holmes for you in a nutshell. Eccentric, egoistic, arrogant, showman, brilliant, observant, loner and the god of logical deduction. Just finished watching Ritchie's Sherlock Holmes. I have to admit I grew fond of Downey's Holmes. Wacky, messy and a genius in disguise, Downey's Holmes had a kind of likability to it which is hard to find in a character who outsmarts everybody else around him. That's how you and I are, aren't we. If somebody is better than us in any respect, we either worship him or detest him; in case of the former, we overlook the defects and in case of the latter, we purposefully avoid confronting the true nature of acumen.

I first came across a Sherlock Holmes story when I was about 12 and Thatha gifted me this huge book with all the original stories of Sherlock Holmes. It stayed in my cupboard for a long time until I somehow got interested with in and tried giving that book a chance. But even now, though I know quite a lot about him, I still haven't finished that book. Jinxed, I presume. That apart, Holmes, like a lot of my other fictional idols has always spurred me into imitating him, or rather, imbibing him. When I came across Holden Caulifield, I detested the whole purpose of material existence and grew cynical about everything around me. Then came along Shantaram who taught me to try everything I come across because good story tellers are always the ones who've seen more of the world than anybody else. I cannot think of anybody else now but there has always been the large looming influence of Jobs and there's a long list of things which sub consciously have been transferred onto me from him, though with no knowledge of his.

Back to Holmes. His traits, his habits, his methods and his quirks are far too much not to be impressed with. He does really hail from Bohemia. An extremely gifted observer who is that pitch perfect blend of a street smart worker, a self-obsessed practitioner, a saint who is uninterested in the ways of the world and a fanatic who's practised his mind into being a keen one. To put it straight, Holmes has nothing more than just those traits which we see in people everyday. But what is extraordinary about him is the fact that he is a lot of people rolled into one. His confidence borders on the edge of arrogance, his methods are radically different from what conventional wisdom suggests, he's addicted to tobacco, cocaine and himself and for him, it is trivial that matters the most. Cynically, there's nothing really great attached to his work. All he does is keep his eyes, ears and mind open enough and instead of existing in a dazed state everyday, he's far too proactive and does what, ideally, every human is capable of doing.

Contrary to popular belief, it is not any of those traits mentioned above which make him gifted or blessed. If Holmes was ever blessed with something, it is with a keen mind which is not afraid to ask questions and make note of the answers, impartially. Not accepting orthodox answers and questioning authority with a mind courageous, or is that ignorant, enough not to rest until a solution has been conceived is all that requires to be Holmes. If you lived properly, that moment, with your mind and body aligned. Living, taking note of every moment, every blink, every breathe, every note and every puff. Nobody can teach it, all you can do is learn it.

lingering in

Ages since I posted something. Lots of drafts, lots of theories and lots of life waiting to be published. I haven't been feeling week since a couple of days and though I thought I'd post something yesterday, I couldn't, so here I arrive today. I have no clue what I'm going to write about but I think it'll be long. Anyway.

There's something about Shiva(Bhagwan Shiva). I saw a copy of The Immortals of Meluha last week, came home Googled it and read the first chapter. Alright, before that, I was returning from college yesterday and was plugged to the iPod after a long long time. So, I heard Shambho Shiva Shambho and started thinking about how much friendship matters and the price you are ready to pay to remain friends forever. All the Anirudh episodes, Shanky episode and that highway thing came into mind. I think I'm beginning to shift from being a out and out Roarkian to someone with a more normal way of viewing and living.

That apart, I hadn't read The Immortals of Meluha then yet and was really captivated by the cover photograph. And then started thinking about how Shiva is a normal human being, ascetic enough and yet Mahadev, the God of Gods. By the way, Dhruti tells me I think a lot. I don't know. Dreaming is the only solace I find when I think I'm incomprehensible. That sometimes, you don't have to make sense, even to yourself. Being a little immodest, am I? I don't know.

The most used phrase used today, "I don't know". I think I've already spoken about it but then I'm cutting down on its usage. As long as you have an 'I don't know' ready, you are trying to escape. Running away from life, instead of confronting it. Ohon! I reek of stupid theories and phiilosophies.

Alright, back to real(we'll talk about 'real' later) life now. I've always been scared of dogs. Shit scared. But the whole of yesterday, I played with Tuffy(Kaushik's temporary pet), carried it around in a box and tickled it. That's not much of an achievement though, Tuffy's(a cross breed of a a German Shephard and a Labrador) about 2 months old, toothless and cannot bark. But I hope I graduate soon and handle big dogs.

Varun came down home today in evening and we spoke about a lot of stuff. Like about the Education System, the importance of talking aloud and getting your voice heard and about Simon Singh's The Big Bang. Its a beautiful book and Varun too fell in love with it. We spoke about Hoyle, Einstein and Eddington. He walked me to the doctor and then we spoke about revamping the education system. Fun it was. Now, its time to talk. Soon, it'll be time to act.

She's behaving weirdly. Sometimes she wants to talk, wants to stay close, other times, she doesn't care. She's busy, I know. But still yaar. And there's still her.

Anyway, time to go and watch Balibo.
And yeah, Indian Ocean is the greatest band in the world.

Off i go ranting again

23:07
Sun May 9
gedit-ubuntu
linux terminal

the lord of rants is back. do i really think i'm a cross-breed of narayan, russell and tolstoy. born to change the world, alter the basis of human thoughts and be remembered forever as the greatest man who ever walked the face of the earth? and if i do, holy shit, hats off to my guts. i was watching something about rajnikanth today- superstar, the demigod of indian cinema and arguably a man with the most devoted of followers, and what i like the most about him is the ease with which he's accepted kamla haasan's genius and admits he himself being a fan of the nayagan. that is very hard to do. that truly is the sign of genius. the ability to acknowledge, respect and work over one's limitations. see, there i go generalizing again. this is what the world does to you. they either make you look upto yourself in which case you start believing all the hoopla surrounding yourself leading to downfall or they call you worthless with so much conviction in their voices that you will lose the ability to believe in yourself. when half a dozen people saw my blog and told me i was good, i became this. i started generalizing stuff, forgetting my negative points and rejecting criticism from the same people who in the first place told me i was good. it really got into my head. nope chinnu, you aren't as good as you think you are. you are just a little gifted and lucky enough to have people who tell you what you are good at and what you are not good at. to be hailed the next tolstoy, or scorsese or picassa, you have to prove your mettle. nope, not to the world but to yourself. ofcourse, people will always tell you what they think about you and your work, no matter you like it or not but then taking it and working on it is very important. so, instead of focusing on the goal, focus on the path. because that's what matters and probably someday, you'll be worth a little of the earth you've eaten. buck up, bend down and rock n' roll.

am i growing up then?

Talking about Into the Wild, Roger Ebert says, "Certain young men, of which I was one, lecture patient girl friends about how such a life of purity and denial makes perfect sense." That is just one instance of how boys grow out of being boys and turn into what can be safely defined as men. More matured, more subtle, more responsible, more conscious, less mad and having a sense of duty. That is how I define a man. Someone I never wanted to be. But sadly, I seem to be turning into one.

All my role models right from childhood have been men who refused to grow up. Who refused to act sane and never wanted to be a part of the society. Somehow I like only those people who don't care what everyone around them think about them. All those characteristics have been etched into me so deep that I see myself like that forever. Julius Caesar says, referring to Cassius, "Never trust a man who is thin, does not comb his hair, looks around suspiciously and does not sleep properly." Shakespeare beautifully portrays that men who do not have time for any social courtesies, nor for food and struggle even in their sleep are the ones who actually do something worthwhile. Even Chris Mccandless refused to get into the norm and went away in search of something more divine, more pure and more rewarding than repeating days. There is something about mad men. Men who are born for a purpose. Their restlessness. They realise early in life that their lives are meant to bring some change in the orthodox world and for the rest of their living moments, nothing else matters. Except that one thing. Everything else seems so trivial. John Nash, Ramanujan or Einstein walked in dreamlike states because all they had time for was that soul pursuit(pun intended).

I always saw myself like that. I think every teenager does. Like you are the protagonist of every movie, the nice guy thrashing the bad guys, bringing some change in the world and being remembered forever. It always happens. Probably growing up means having the ability to differentiate between the real and the celluloid. To accept that you are just another entity. Just another being. But is that growing up? And if that is growing up, I'd rather never grow up. I always considered myself a nerd. Mad, excited, brainy, wild and intuitive. In his beautiful book, Hackers and Painters, Paul Graham says, "Nerds cannot take being dumb. They'd rather be outcats all their lives, unpopular and scrawny and never have a girlfriend but looking down to themselves as stupids is something they can never digest." I like being defined like that. All that matters to me is what a man is worth, what he has it in him rather than how he looks like or what he wears. Maybe I'm conveniently saying this because in the last few years I've been hailed popular and intelligent. No, that isn't no immodesty or arrogance. Its just that I know why I do a few things. When I was a kid, my mum told me that your best judge are yourself. Till now, it has stayed true.

Because of the image of all those guys I admire, most of them being nerds, I've carried myself in those terms all along. Consciously or not, I've been a resident of Nerdville. Loose faded tees, shorts, slippers, long hair, unkempt beard, a book in hand, oblivious to the surroundings and the ability to talk about anything in the world. Infact, like people are fanatic about looking good, wearing branded clothes and costly watches, this has been my idea of looking good. Paradoxically, I dress up to look badly dressed. Maybe I was never a nerd. Never meant to be one. Just pretending to be one. That is why now I can see my true colours. I am making an effort to look good, be called sexy, be hailed as a genius. If I was really a nerd, I'd never have thought about all this.

But if there's something which might make me a nerd, it is my thirst for knowledge. Yes, I like looking like a nerd, being called one but really more than all that, I can't be heard calling myself dumb. If someone talks about anything I don't know, the first thing I do is come back home and learn everything about it. But slowly its fading away. The thirst for knowledge, that curiosity, that inquisition and that urge to learn things is slowly turning into complacency. But maybe this is a sign to set things right. To pursue only those things which matter. To learn. To know. And to feel.

Writing is a very rewarding process. If I didn't know any better, I'd compare it to Bungee Jumping. You want the prize, in this case, to remove the burden and that feel for clarity and lightness but the process of actually doing it is rather scary. You are scared of how to proceed. So all you can do is empty your mind of other things, believe that everything is going to be fine and just do it. Believe me, nothing ever feels as good as when you write your heart out and then take in that breathe of free air at the end of it.

I feel really good now. This time around I didn't know what I wanted to write. So after ages, I feel really unburdened. Getting back to being a nerd again. Nerd or not, my curiosity, my enthusiasm and that need to know are still there and I'm doing everything I've always wanted to do. Now, probably, I'll get back to my roots, think about the world less, yearn to know and to find out the best time complexity of all routing algorithms.

--

After having read this, Kishore just told me something, "Admitted that you feel free after writing it but unless you actually make a point to change, all this goes in vain. You'll remain the same and a few days later, will write again to free yourself. Some kind of a drug. One kind of an escape route." That's probably the best piece of advice I've ever heard. Thanks mama. I want to be something, I don't write about being that thing. Instead, I change to be that. I'm implementing it straight away.

Love all. And God Bless.

Boy, am I bored.

Rule 1: Do not read this.
Rule 2: Follow Rule 1 and thank me.
Rule 3: Stop reading on and leave.

I watched Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi today. For the third time. And I loved it. Let me finish off with the movie first and then I'll start saying all that I want to say. The first time I watched it, about a year ago with Sid, DC and Kruthika, I hated it. Not just because I was bored but because I thought it was really phony. What's wrong with AD Chopra?, was what I though back then. I mean, look at DDLJ and now 13 years later, at RNBDJ. But I watched it on TV with Amma about two months ago, and surprisingly I liked it. Least to say, it wasn't so boring this time around. And I watch it again today and I fall in love with it. Have I changed so much? Don't worry folks, this isn't one of those long soliloquy's where I blabber about myself endlessly.

Chopra is so sublime it took me 3 viewings to understand properly what he was trying to convey. With SRK at his bloody best, the movie is everything which on the surface it denies. Its got song-dance sequences, its got amazing comedy, its got the dimple-smile SRK. The only thing different from other Bollywood masala movies is that, its intelligent and bold. I loved the movie this time around. And it has a lot of memorable, intelligent scenes like the 'Pyaar ki na zaroorat na aadat' one, the scene where Raj talks to a statue dressed as Suri and my personal favourite, the breakfast-Red Rose scene. Oh! I just love it.

Alright. Enough. This piece isn't about any of it. This is about the oldest question of 'em all. Yes, folks! This is about Love. The biggest Force(or Fraud) beneath all of human existence. I'm so confused. Some tell me Love is selfless. That I can love a person without expecting anything in return. Some tell me, Love thrives on itself and it needs the other person's love to survive. Some tell me, it happens in one moment with that Special Person. That Special Moment. Some tell me, like everything else, it grows over a period of time. Some tell me, a Broken Heart can never be mended. Some tell me, Time heals everything. And yet some tell me, its all a myth. There's nothing as love to the other person as much as love to oneself. And that 'I Love You' is the Biggest Lie of 'em all.

But what do I think? To be honest, I conveniently jump from one view to another. If you ask me, none of them are true. Just situational escape routes.(My Darkest Best). Or if I'm in a bright, happy mood, I might say, "Whatever makes you find God". Ok. But that gives us more complications. What is God? I would define God to be something, anything that gives you infinite bliss. I know that sounds cliched but its kinda true. And what gives us a lot of happiness. Its either Truth or Beauty. Truth because it liberates us. And Beauty because it transforms us. Forget it. What were we talking about? Yeah, Love.

I write because (I like being read, ofcourse) it helps me think. To find answers. My question here is, Can a person Love someone else without expecting anything in return? I have this feeling that I've already written quite a lot about this(Post Breakup Syndrome) but seriously, Can I love a girl though I know she loves someone else and that her heart would never be mine.(Fuck you people who invented English. You have the same work for both Gunde and Manasu). Dictionary.com defines love as thus. Diplomatic arses. Look at the number of definitions.


Where did I start off and where am I heading. Infact I'm writing all this because its been ages since I've written a long post. Where were we, yeah Love. I'm 19. I'm a Guy. So far whenever I think about Love, I connect it to women. A pretty girl who was born for me, a place up there in a country in France, just the both of us in a wooden cottage overlooking a brook and a rocking chair. I sound Guy De Maupassant like don't I?. What am I saying. Sorry to confuse you folks but I'm searching for answers here. Or maybe I'm not supposed to find them. Maybe Love is so beautiful because its just a myth. An illusion. Something to be accepted. Never to be questioned. And if you've noticed, all along the post I've always typed Love with a capital L. Maybe involuntarily I'm giving it a lot of respect.

Wouldn't this World be a better place without Love? Or would it? I see a little kid being beaten up on the road and I flinch. Is it Love? I see a hungry dog searching for food in a garbage can and I feel for it. Is that Love? Mother Teresa(I'm not even eligible to talk about her) adopted thousands of children and cared for them. Is that Love? A fireman sees a kid stuck in a flaming building and he runs to rescue him risking is own life. Love, eh? There's a psycho killer who'd kill his girl rather than see her happy with someone else. Is that Love too? Aah, I'm such a cynical _______.

I just quoted some personal experience here but I though better of it and deleted it. I don't want to know all of this. Deal. But how'd I know if I am in Love or if I've convinced myself into it. Does Love at First Sight exist? And if we are talking soul mates, do they come pre-arranged in pairs? Its 1.17 in the morning and I'm barking away to glory. Watcha you guys doing? Why you reading this waste of digital space? And what am I saying?

I'm not confused. I'm just plain bored. And my wild, fucked up imagination is my only source of entertainment. Tell you what, I really don't want to know all this. I mean I do but I wish I could stop asking all this and just take life as it comes. As they(who?) say, Life always unravels itself. I hope it does. But till then, I pray to have a sane mind and do what I'm supposed to. Sorry guys if you've wasted all your energies reading this. I'm fucked up, lazy, sleepy, dumb. And loved. That's why I'm doing all this. Now I get it.

Just now. I write all this, all this shit about the world, about changing it and all that because I'm loved. I've been so lucky all my life being pampered and loved that I have the luxury to indulge myself into all this. But how can I be so sure that I'm loved if I don't know what it exactly means. I don't know. Listen to me, close the damn window. I'll go too. I'm sleepy. Adios.

P.S- This post wasn't meant to be like this. I don't know what I wanted to write but definitely not this. Sorry for wasting your time. To hell with it. I'm not sorry. I pre-warned you.

A lot of life and a little of me

Been ages since I've blogged. Been ages since I've actually put my bum to work and started thinking. Not that I think with my ass but my greatest ideas come in the loo. Anyway, probably for the first time in ages I'm neither writing about my girl nor about how screwed up my life is. Infact, I don't know what I'm writing about. Yeah, the blogger's back. The same old ass who once wrote because he wanted to and who never told people that his blog was updated. Deekshith's right about this. Is been ages since I've written just for myself and didn't really care if someone really ever reads it.

Does that mean I don't want people to read my stuff? Ofcourse, I want to. I like people to know what I've written and their feedback as to what they think about it. But then the basic essence of my blog was for me to read it sometime later and reflect on how much of an ass I was 6 months ago. Holy crap, what am I writing about? Guys, if you are bored, I don't really blame you. I suggest you don't read further. Nothing much is going to happen down there. Shit! Here I go talking to all my readers again. (To myself: Saale! Grow out of it. No one really wants to read all the shit you write. About how you think you are a cool guy and how much you love life. No one's really bothered. Everyone's busy living. So, its high time you realise that and get back to being yourself.)

This is about a lot of things. A lot of trivial things which I thought were too short to be written about. But then isn't life about all those little, precious things- that loving glance from your girl, that stub of cigarette, that honest hug, that line you read which never left you. So, I decide I write about them. Not much. Just a little. Or maybe this isn't even about those things. Alright, I'll stop telling what I'm writing about and just write it straight away.

--

I pity Ricky Ponting. I mean the guy's played under one of the finest captains, Allan Border and Steve Waugh. He himself has been a very succssful captain of a lethal team. And now he has to play with this bunch of little kids like Hilfenhaus, Marsh and McCauy. Nothing against those guys but if you are used to the likes of Gilchrist, Hayden, McGrath and Warne at your disposal, summoning these new guys to perform is not really easy. And yet he's a doing a really good job in the ongoing series and no matter how much I detest the guy, I really appreciate that.

I haven't been to the guitar class for last 2 months and I kinda miss it. Not that I'm a great player nor that I played it a good deal but I feel let down by myself. I'll get back to it. And pretty soon. That place holds a lot of my memories and that's put me down whenever I go there. But that's more the reason I want to go back. The fact that I feel sad is a testimony of all those sweet memories I've had.

My girl's got amazing eyes. Niv would be really pissed off if I still call her my girl but I nevertheless will. Damn man, she was my girl and she is. Those eyes. They just kill me. Probably, the first reason why I was so attracted to her the first time we spoke. Those big, beautiful eyes with that hint of Kajol and the way she looks at me. She has to look upto my face when she's really close and when she lifts her eyes, boy I wish I could be taken into the abyss of her black eyeballs. Its been 6 months since I last saw her and even now when I first think of Her, the first image I get is of those eyes. I told her this a lot of times but she always laughed it off. And yeah, I even sang her "Aankhe Teri Kitni Haseen" once.

The Little Master's gone past 17000 ODI runs today and what a way to get past that record. 175 magnificent runs. But sadly, India lost and I'd blame him for that cheeky shot. I've never really been a big fan of his, having always loved Dravid and Laxman, but the first time I took notice of his genius was in the 2003 Qorld Cup. He was magnificent. But the most I like about him is his relentless passion for the game and his pride in wearing that Blue Uniform(thank you Nagesh Kukunoor). Its a awesome sight watching this tiny figure walk out of the pavillion with millions of eyes hooked onto him, carrying the immense pressure of keeping a Billion people satisfied.

Its been ages since I posted something. I could call it the Writer's Block but then I'd be insulting all writers. I've been using a lot of 'anyway' these days and I hope I break that pattern with this post.

I've been meeting a lot of new, interesting people these days, talking a lot of weird but very fascinating stuff and finally opening up myself to the world around me. And I'm loving it. Its a lot of fun talking to people like Deekshit, Sandeep and JaiSimha not to mention Ani.

Dhruti's been really sweet for a few days now. Something has to wrong with her then. She's been helping me get back to my girl and she even did the unthinkable. I can't write about it now but will soon, I mean if everything goes fine.

Holden Caulifield. Probably, one of the few books I've read which I love so much- The Catcher in the Rye. The day Dhruti gave it to me and said it was a very depressing book was a very fateful day. I want to re-read it but the book is with my girl and I can't dare ask her. So, I keep myself contended reading the quotes.

Ashok Gorrepati. This mythical creature I've been hearing a lot about. Sandeep's brother and everyone who's known him says he is a freaking genius and has an aura around him. I loved reading parts of his blog, Miles and Miles before we sleep together. Having heard all about his larger than life picture, I'm looking forward to meet the man. Hopefully, I will soon.

That's about it I guess. All I've wanted to write about. I have alot of pending posts. Maybe, I'll finish a couple of them now. Check out my updates folks. (To myself again: Thu! Self-Conceited moron. Talk to people again and you are screwed).

why am I such a coward?

High time to be rude to myself. Just finished reading 2 States, Chetan Bhagat's latest and the question I've been cowering to answer all these years hits me back with vengeance. Why am I such a coward? Or am I so freaking lazy that I don't really care? I suppose a bit of both but predominantly the latter.

Before we actually broke up, my girl wanted me to meet her, to solve things out. I knew then that things would be worse if I didn't talk to her then but for one, I really didn't care and was too lazy to move my ass and two, I didn't even bother telling her that I wouldn't be there at the appointed time. That got her super pissed-off and hurt as she was, that formed a lethal combination.

That week I learned the gravity of my mistakes and I did stop procrastinating and go meet her but I was far too lazy to wait for her for more 15 minutes. Luckily as I was leaving, she came down and we had a 5 minute chat with what went wrong. It wasn't a chat really. She wanted to hear it all. She wanted an earned apology, a reassurance that I really loved her and a promise that I'd really change. That's it. Something every girl wants. And unsurprisingly, I couldn't deliver the goods. I'm a bad marketer but that's no excuse not being able to convince your girlfriend for more than two years.

Anyway, she's really angry and I can't make a point. So, I decide to meet her in a few days but instead I'm happy home telling people that I've earned this and sporting the unshaven drug addict look. Finally I go to her office a fortnight later and she tells me something I'd known all along, "I'm glad you are here but you should've been here earlier. Sorry, too late". Holy crap, that blew me away. One thing to know you are a moron. But when someone else calls you that, it makes you feel worse. And if that someone is your girlfriend who's been through your thick and thin for more than two years, that hurts as hell.

So, I return home and switch to the depressed mode which is always on-off. Initially, I called her quite a lot but soon I started calling her infrequently, only when I remembered her a lot and that too half-heartedly. I know this sounds strange but I'm not really prone to emotion for a long time. I mean I'm kind of numb to emotions. Not James Bond type but its like I get bored being happy, or sad, or angry or whatever for a long time. I wouldn't even say bored. It just happens somehow. Instinctively. I suppose initially it was voluntary because I wanted to be different from other people or something like that. You know, kind of psychotic, like when everyone's happy, I grow cynical and when they are sad, I try cheering them up. Anything for them to acknowledge me being different. But I suppose I was more like that, from the beginning. My brain tends to find differences from the general, the conventional. Now looking back, I'm really ashamed at those moments when she had to cry when I ruined her special days like birthdays and anniversaries. And for someone who valued special days so much, I think whatever I did has left a lasting impact. Fuck me.

Honestly, I didn't even know I loved her so much until she stopped loving me. And trust me, that's big. I know how much she loved me. And I suppose she still does though that has now been deeply covered under layers of hatred and disgust. I still believe that she can never cease to love me. Not my girl. She is the best. Someone so good you'll never find. She's smart, gorgeous, loving, caring, social and a true sweetheart. I know, the acknowledgement of the truth came a tad too late. No, honestly. Staying with a bugger like me for more than 2 years is in itself a huge test of her character. Managing me, atleast those two years, was no mean task. I was a filthy concoction of Jack Kerouac, Rabbi Shergill, Steve Jobs, Farhan Akhtar and I suppose atleast a dozen other people. I yelled at people, got pissed off at them, mocked them, mind you all those people who loved me because I was too lazy to be doing what I was supposed to. I wanted to be a lot of things but I was too lazy to work to be those things.

Anyway, my calls to her start thinning away but my thoughts go back to her more often. Coming over a breakup is no mean task, even for insensitive assholes like me. And then one day she calls me out of the blue to return something that belongs to me and then I ask her if we could be friends again. She says yes, I message her twice about her brother's marriage and she replies but whenever I try talking about her or us, she doesn't reply. And then she writes about how I broke her heart in her blog and I comment saying maybe I deserve another chance. That's it. She gets frenzied up again and shuns all contact from me and messages me to stop in interfering her life.

Why am I saying you folks all this, all of you who are expecting a confession from me? Because only after all this happened, did I start realising all the stuff I just wrote about. After all those deep and insightful conversations with Dhruti-Sid, Ani, Varun, Sravani, Deekshit and loads of others, I've learned quite a lot of things. Have I changed, then, you ask? I think I have. Obviously, every incident in your life affects you somehow but I guess this can safely fall into the category of life-changing. I'm still as lazy and impractical but now I care for people, respect their opinions, give them their space, listen to negative criticisms about me and well, a lot of little things here and there. Thanks to all my friends. But I haven't confronted her all these months, after May. Some people told me to give her sometime, some space. Some told me to cash in early. And some, now tell me that its too late now, I should have reacted sooner.

Tell you what, I'm not much of a coward. I mean I run away from a lot of things but mostly its not because I cannot confront them but because I'm very lazy to be bothered about them. I procrastinate solving my life's problems so much, probably in hope that they'd be solved by divine intervention. You know what's still worse, I know I need to act and that too I postpone. Ptch! Never thought being lazy could screw your life up so badly. I should have gone and met her personally. But I found sitting home and mourning easier. So, I did that.

I'm a nice guy and all that, really sweet and charming too not to mention intelligent(sorry for the immodesty folks) but I'm all that when I'm home. Pity I didn't marry my girl the day I saw her. Then she'd be home and I could be sweet, loving, caring, charming and all that I mentioned above. But honestly, one chance to redeem all that I've lost and I'll be the best guy ever. I've learnt my lesson sweetheart.

But only if God gives me that chance when I'm home. Rofl! Not really. But I'm hoping to get back to you. Honestly. Meanwhile, I'm undergoing the change to be that Perfect Guy. Caring, Loving, Affectionate, Charming, Witty, Loyal, Intelligent, Courageous and most importantly, not-so-lazy.

Those moments of deep contemplation.

Is it You Are Here? Is it the Splitsvilla Agnee theme being played over and over again? Is it all that I've been doing in the past fortnight? Or is it just me discovering a bit more of myself?

This last fortnight, since I've started hanging out with Deekshit, has been very eventful. I've been doing a lot of new things, talking about a lot of old things and discovering another dimension of myself. But isn't life all about that? New people, Old people. New things, Old things. New relationships, Old relationships. But is life just that?

Well I've been thinking a lot about the very essence of life after I've started reading Meenakshi Reddy's You Are Here. Ani gave it to me 4 days back and I finished it yesterday. Did I like it? I don't know. But I suppose I enjoyed reading it. I generally like reading Depressing books. Why would I like it if it is a depressing book? Well, for one, having loved reading The Catcher in the Rye and Bicycle Days, which no one else I know really liked, I realised that those books were categorised as Depressing books. I know there isn't a lot of story in either of them but that is why I liked them. I found them liberating. The protagonists in both of them are good-for-nothing whiners, losers who have problems with the world around them. But they made me think. They stimulated me into a mode of contemplation. And ditto, You Are Here.

Is life just that? School->College->Job->Marriage->Kids->Retirement Plans and ... ? Ok. Then, what after that?. And if life ain't all those things, what is it exactly? I don't know. See, the most comfortable answer given by all of us. I don't know. But then how would you know the answer to that question? Why was I born? What is the world around me? Is there a God? And wait a second, what exactly am 'I'? I suppose none of us have answers to those questions.

As Deepak Chopra, Richard Bach, Robin Sharma and Paulo Coelho, to name a few, would put it, life is all about finding all those answers. But how do you proceed? By following your heart? I have no idea what that actually means. We live in a fragile system of people, money and egos. The worst part is all of us know we are being victimized by the system we have created but can do nothing about it. Probably, the most I loved about You Are Here is the way the author got us back to that recurring situation where life's moving ahead of you even before you have a chance to live. Why are we never ready to live life? And, what exactly is Life? Is it the moment right now, is it the past you are re-living or the future which you hope to fulfill?

Holy crap! And the phrase which we use the highest number of times everyday is , I don't know. We have an I don't know ready for everything. So, if you throw back an I don't know to life whenever she is giving you a choice, does that mean you are living or denying to live? I know this piece started off somewhere and it is going to end somewhere else(where to is the question even I cannot answer).

Am I doing the right thing trying to dissect life and know the plan even before I've lived my life? I don't think so. Stop reading all those psychology books which you thought would teach you how to live. The only way to learn to live, is by actually living. Stop trying to be someone else, how much you idolise or like them because then that would be a waste of the person you are.

I suppose the only way to live life(whatever that means) is to stop thinking and start living. Take every moment by itself. Do what you are supposed to right now. When you are watching a movie, watch it with a free mind. Don't think about your impending assignment. When you are driving on a highway, look at the greenery around you, take in the smell of pure air. Don't look at the goddamn speedometer and try to reach a 140. When you are kissing the love of your life, savor every moment of it. Don't think about how you would end up 6 months down the line.

And finally, when you are Living, live your heart out because it is well and truly your only chance to Live.

P.S: You don't even have to read this Bulls**t written by some loser guy who thinks he has a right to preach to other people how to live. Its your life, go grab it.

Real Happiness

I have been thinking over this aspect of man being a social animal for quite some time but watching 'Into the Wild' provoked me into writing this. If you know about Chris Mccandless, you would know that he was a combination of a modern-age Tolstoy who left all his riches, a free thinking rebel like Che Guevera who wanted to break away from the shackles and see the real world and a true saint who wanted bliss over material possessions. That's pretty much it.

So after taking over the pseudonym of Supertramp, he travels to Alaska despite the warnings of his loved ones, never to return again. What is so striking about his story is the paradigm shift in his opinions of how to achieve ultimate happiness. Initially, he is an adventurer who likes living alone, burns all his identification and goes Into the Wild to live a life of self-denial. But in the end, he realises that happiness is real only when shared.

Which is the way to go then? Chris drops even his real name to go away as far from the civilization only to realise that true happiness lies in living together and loving others. So, why should a man live with others when he is a loner in the two most important phases of his life, birth and death. I just don't get it.

Why are you supposed to be selfless, why are you supposed to sacrifice and why are you supposed to keep others happy when the basic instinct of humans is selfishness? Shankaracharya lived alone, Buddha lived alone and Vivekandanda lived alone. Martin Luther King Jr. lived for others, Gandhi lived for others and Nelson Mandela lived for others. And we worship all of them.

I do not know. Paulo Coelho talks about soul mates and at the same time he talks about realising your dreams. Khalil Gibran says fight for justice, live for the society but he also says stay untouched. So, is being selfish a bad thing? I'm not talking about selfishness in hurting others, that ability to stay oblivious to other people's feelings. You have no right to make other people suffer for your mistakes, as I have learnt. But selfish in a way of being alone, being a loner, what is wrong with it?

Or should a man be a right mixture of being a social animal as well as a loner deep inside him. A man is inevitably born alone, forsaken to die alone but why should he share his happiness, his joys, his sorrows with others? If the world is an illusion, then why should you even bother getting into relationships, forming bonds and sharing feelings? And if the world is just an illusion, what is the point staying alone and denying yourself all those joys than staying together and keeping others happy?

And if the world is truly an illusion, does it matter either way?

Intoxicated by love

People say love is selfless. They say you love for your partner, not for yourself. They say if you really love a person and they don't want to see you anymore, its your duty as a lover to give more importance to their happiness and never meet them again. But when you are really in love, you'll know that nothing is more selfish than love and that when you see the love of your life leaving you and going away with another person, its probably the worst feeling in the world. Trust me.

Love is a really strange feeling. It liberates you from everything else in the world. But at the same time it makes you a prisoner of the heart where you are trapped in love itself. Love is so selfless to the extreme that you are ready to do anything for your lover. But at the same time it is so selfish that you grow so possessive about your lover that they will hate you for it. And love is a traitor. It doesn't reveal itself until all your chances to get your love have slipped past and when you have broken your lover's heart, at that moment, you realise that you loved them like nothing else.

People talk about broken hearts. I never believed in it. I always thought if you could bring back all the good memories, you could redeem your love. People talk about end of love. I never believed in it too. I always thought love is something 'forever'. Or as lovers would put it, 'till eternity'. But fate or destiny and mostly myself proved that I was wrong. Your love's going to take you as long as you hurt them but there comes a point in any relationship where there is not turning back. You cannot fix the broken pieces. And love is not something forever. True it stays forever but its magnitude depends upon how it is treated. Love thrives on love. When you really want someone to love you or you know someone loves you, then never take it for granted. Make sure that you tell them every moment how much you mean to them.

But most importantly, understand that love or any relationship is a two way business(I use the word for the lack of a better term). The moment you take your lover for granted, they will take it for sometime, no matter how eccentric you are but don't expect them to take it on forever. Because they, at times, want some support too. Its not always you who cries on your love's shoulder. They would want to wail out too in your arms. And I thought you need to be loved for what you are. But when someone loves you so much and wants to see a little change in you, you should. I mean if you big, fat, lousy ego would allow that.

I realised all this too late. I took my girl to be there for me forever. In our relationship, there was no we, it was only me. And now I'm repenting. I was never the same person who she initially loved. She waited. She took it on. She was calm. But she couldn't stand up to my madness, my disgusting behaviour and my indifference anymore. She did a lot of things for me. She lied, she made excuses, she left her social life to be with me. I? If I had atleast been half as good as her, I wouldn't have been crying today. I broke her heart. And now she's left me. I don't know if I'll ever get her back. Or maybe I do and I don't want to admit it. But if she ever reads this I want her to know that I really love her but I didn't know she meant so much to me until she left me. I love you.

Finding Neverland

Disclaimer Attention: This post is not based on the film of the same name.

I don't know if you call this Spirituality, Philosophy, Scientology, whatever? But of late, I've been thinking a lot over The Alchemist(yeah, Paulo Coelho's masterpiece). And watching Happy Feet today, sort of got me going in that direction. Is it really true that people are actually born to do one specific thing? I mean every soul born is born to satisfy one specific purpose? Is it also true that a person's karma is already pre-destined but it is his duty to find it out and find himself true moksha(a state so powerful that anything else in the entire universe appears trivial)?

I don't know. But I want to believe in it. I want to believe that I've been created to achieve something and the moment I find what that is, I will find infinite happiness, capabilities and belief in myself in achieving it. Maybe you think I'm a good-for-nothing loser(I can't blame you either, my previous writing have portrayed that kind of an attitude) but to be honest, I have never found out something so powerful and so enchanting that from the moment I know it, nothing else ever existed. No, I've never had that kind of a feeling so far and I'm in search of it. That is why I try my hand in so many fields but quit so quickly. Because, I know that the moment I touch something I was born for, I'll already have known it. This attitude and extreme laziness have made me good for nothing in all the past years of my life.

A couple of days ago, I contemplated on how I've been a loser all my life, giving lame excuses for being one. But I'm in a dilemma right now. Some sort of crossroads where I don't know if I should wait for the in-born ability to break free or bend myself and do whatever I want to. Yeah, there are some things which I love doing. I really like writing but only when I'm in the mood for it. There have been instances where I wrote about 10k words one day and maybe never wrote down one original thought for 3 months straight. I'm not talking about this ability. I'm talking about that One thing so powerful that the moment I start doing it, I should feel that nothing else matters anymore(Yeah, a mixture of many books and many movies can be sometimes really filmy ;)).

I want to feel like Tendulkar, the moment he held a bat for the first time, like Van Gogh, the moment he took a brush for the first time and like Ramanujan, the moment he discovered the beauty of zero(I mean I don't know what they must have felt then but I want to feel what I think they felt then (what? wateva!)).

I want to see God while doing That thing. I want to reach closer to the Truth everytime I start doing That thing. I want to feel infinite pleasure, a sense of freedom and the belief of leaving everything Else behind. I want to reach the Higher Truth by the work I do and that is, I think, only possible if I was born to achieve that One thing.

Its about finding neverland...

am I a wannabe?

I don't know. I really don't know if I'm a wannabe. I have this habit of identifying myself with the protagonist of any movie or a book I like. Its like I want to imbibe all those characters and turn out to be somebody I get inspired with. But the problem is that mania lasts only till I'm done with that story. Once I move onto another book or a movie, my idealogies change and I aspire to be a different person all together.

And if this sort of experience happens often, at one point of time you don't realise the difference between the Real You and the Wannabe You. And not just fictious characters, I connect a lot with real-life people I've read about or those people I know. And another problem that crops up is that as long as I'm reading this book, I decide that I'm going to be like this all my life. I stereotype myself into that mould. But once I move on, I'm done with that guy or I hybrid more than one people and I try being that.

And I'll tell you what, this looks really trivial but its etched very deep. And I shift positions so fast according to my will that I've been running away all my life, from myself. Lets say I really like Tiger Woods, the way he plays, so I enroll myself in a Golf class. The basics are pretty easy and I dream about being the next big thing on the Course. But as the going gets tougher, as it is bound to be, I realise Michael Jordan is cooler than Woods and I drop-out of Golf classes and enroll myself in BasketBall classes. And that doesn't stop there, I read about MJ as much as I can and now my room is full with BasketBall merchandise. Now one day I'm flipping channels on the tv and I come across someone playing awesome tennis. Gone! MJ's gone out of my head. Now, its a crossbreed of Rafa and Roger that I want to be. And trust me folks, that is a Huge, Huge problem- This kind of attitude.

I've been doing this over and over again for the past 5-6 years and now I stand in a position where I don't know what I am and I don't know what I want to be. Initially, I thought I was just a kid trying to find something he loves. Then as I realised the problems got deeper, I convinced myself that I'm a wannabe and being a wannabe upto certain extent is fine. But now I realise, I'm not even a wannabe. I thought this was Identity Crisis. No, I have an Attitude Disorder. In my madness to convince myself that I'm a genius, 'I' got lost somewhere in the way. I also know how to help myself but I just can't. I know I'm speaking like a loser but that is what I think I have been all my life. I'll give you a few instances of my life.

I came across Steve Jobs and that struck me. I wanted to have his kind of mad beard, drop-out of college, go in search of spiritual masters and then probably...(no idea). Then came The Alchemist and I wanted to drop-out and go in search of my destiny. I should have. Nothing could have stopped me if I really wanted to. But then I find myself an excuse for not being able to do that. Then I read about Da Vinci and for the next 3 days, I'm mad drawing my own Vitruvian Man. But then I realise this is tough, so I find for other means to escape from this. This time its the pattern of Prime Numbers. A week later, Snookers. And then, a Writer-a Filmmaker-an AIESEC volunteer-get into MIT...and the list goes on.

I realized what my problem was sometime ago but I still can't(or won't) cure it. I have my list of priorities but I'm far too lazy to work on them and so I find lame excuses telling people about destiny, will and wish. Screw me. I know I need to get good marks to keep amma happy, and in that process I'll learn something myself. But I'm so very lazy to bend my back and toil. I convince myself that if I can't do something instantaneously, I wasn't born for it. I have never ever known, what people call, the Sweet Taste of Success. Of giving more than 100% and then lie down exhausted but happy because you know you have made it. Damn, I don't even know what people mean by Success.

I've been running away all my life because whenever something seems tough, I just can't do it. I preach people about the ability of mind, doing whatever you want to and stuff, but heck, I never applied it myself. Its high time I bend my back, work hard, give more than 100% and then experience what till now I thought I new, Satisfaction. I see successful people and identify myself with them I see where they started, and where they end up. But I ignore all that work they had to put in to be whatever they are now. Its like I see Rafael Nadal as a skinny 14-year old skinny teenager then in the next moment he is that super-successful amazing tennis star. That is why it is so tough for me to realise the huge amount of hardwork put in by him where he was forced to beat his luck, karma or whatever, to believe in himself and be whatever he is right now. As Dhruti puts it, I can't be Steve and I don't want to be myself. That is where I dangle.

I don't think I'm a wannabe. I really like doing a lot many things, I really like believing that I'm a real polymath but in the face of a challenge, I run. I've been running so much that now I can't believe that I have it in me, the courage to Fight. The courage to Toil hard. And the courage to believe in the face of adversary that come what may, I'm not Running away anymore.

playing with shadows