Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

I just can’t help myself.

Posted: September 26, 2013 in Uncategorized
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I’m not the self help type. The reason is that I can’t depend upon the ‘self’ part of the term. It’s not that I don’t want to help myself (without sounding wrong). It’s just that I know myself enough to not see something through. Simply put, I lose interest.

There are various things that have captured my attention over the past many years. But almost none have retained said attention. I shift from one to another, lost in the whirlwind borne off it. Why? I can’t be sure. But I draw an inference – I can’t maintain focus.

Since I was a kid, I was told to focus and be the best. It was always about perfection, not about enjoying. A perpetual scenario. And somewhere along the line I developed a phobia for that focus. I ran away from it. What was expected, made me cringe. It was all about “expectations”, even if they were my own. I became a victim of my own aversion. I formed a thought process in my head, wherein I would constantly be on the run from one thing to the other. If I stopped on one thing, I would be weighed and judged against what I’ve learnt. Or what I haven’t. And we wouldn’t want that now, would we?!

From playing the tabla, to the keyboard, to classical singing, to tennis, to playing the guitar, to playing basketball, to giving a competitive exam, to learning the djembe, to working for love, to working for money. Bleh. I just couldn’t slow myself down enough to actually finish one of those. I never wanted to stop. I just couldn’t. I jumped, so as to get the all-seeing eye of judgement off my back. I would cut myself short, rather than allow anyone else to do it.

But what if I diverted my energies onto someone else or some other cause? Then would I be judged on myself, or on what I do for others? Maybe it would be on the basis of what others gain, not what I do. And that would give me the shady bower I’ve always needed to avoid the glare that’s burning me from inside. Maybe it’s a sly escapist philosophy, but who cares? At the end of the day, we’re all selfish when it comes to ourselves. Maybe by doing right to others, I’d finally be able to do right to myself. Maybe.

It always fits.

Posted: April 17, 2013 in Uncategorized

Patterns. The rulers of our life. We run from one to the other. Even breaking a pattern, leads to another. It’s just how it is.

I travel. I travel to break my pattern. Because I didn’t like it. I felt claustrophobic in mine. It felt stifling. It wasn’t that I wanted change for the sake of not being bored. I simply wanted more out of life. So, I travelled to change my internal patterns.

And it did change. It was gradual. Quite gradual. Not ground breaking. Quite slow. Very slow. Really slow. But it was there. And I felt it stronger on my last excursion into the unknown interiors of my vast country. I felt fresh. Alive. Kicking with joy. Riding the waves of simplicity. But then I came home.

Peg it in.I wholeheartedly believed that home would be a different place, for I would see it through new eyes.

And it was.

For a while.

And then slowly it changed.

It’s only been a few days since I’ve come back. And I already feel the pull. The pull of my previous being. My hope was to come back an evolved version of my earlier self. The modified me. And that was the vital part. My hope was not to fall back into myself. Fall back into my well established pattern. But that’s what I sense now.

It’s not a conscious act, it just happens. We find ourselves doing the same things, thinking the same things. Feeling the same emotions, feeling the same lack of emotions. Feeling the dregs of society sucking you back in. And you aren’t aware of this until it’s too late.

And that’s the thing. We aren’t aware nor conscious. Our mind is riddled with so many minuscule things, that we forget to be aware of our every action. We keep ourselves distracted and it’s easy to be so. We slowly lose our evolution. We devolve back into our earlier self. What was gained, is lost. We change, to revert. We rediscover the pattern that we fit into. We have for so long. And slowly, unknowingly, we fit back in, to slowly dissolve into an infinite phantasm.

Being social.

Posted: February 12, 2013 in Uncategorized

What has social media come down to?

To get random invites for stupid games on facebook? To read the public displays of affection by overtly and sickly romantic couples? To hear the constant bickering and comparisons of women and men who come close to that? To see tinted pictures of what people are eventually going to shit out the next day? To hear desperate cries for attention by those who claim to have befriended the world? To know where a person is, what he/she is doing, who he/she is doing, hobbies, life goals. Why should I be aware of these inane facts that serve no purpose but to destroy my peace of mind. How is this information helping me in anyway except giving me the tools to be an expert stalker?

So why do we spend our time stuck to these tools?

Maybe the fear of having nothing to do for 5 minutes drives us to wonder what the hell somebody else is up to.  That constant barrage of incessant noise has become a permanent fixture in our daily dealings. It’s something we can’t get away from. It would feel wrong and disconnected.

Even on vacations. People take vacations to get away from the world. All we end up doing is fighting with ourselves and eventually succumbing to the withdrawal symptoms of social media. We need to tell people where we are vacationing, why we feel “happy and at peace”, what we ate for breakfast and how we have suddenly taken to photography. Our lives have become social media.

I really wish there was an off button for everything. And like Snake Plissken at the end of Escape from LA (I recently caught it on TV), zap all the electronics in the world, smoke a cigarette and say “Welcome to the human race.”

 

The commercialisation of shanti.

Posted: December 15, 2012 in Uncategorized
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It’s ironic, or maybe idiocy, how some preach “shanti” and are the ones who love a hectic life. I feel it’s become more of a fad to talk about peace and shanti, nowadays.

“Yea, I’ve been in a state of shanti for the past few months. Oh man, did I tell you the other day I did a fuck load of coke and hooked up with this really cute gu.. blah blah.”

I’ve heard this so much, it’s a bit tiring to the ears. Some women I know (Men come under the same; I’ve just heard it a lot more from women) preach the concept of being peaceful, but live the life of hectic sycophants. They thrive on the deformities of a regular life. They create facades for every facet of their life. One of the facades is that of being peaceful within. It’s projected with an air of superiority. One of convulsing high-handedness that starts to prick on the shreds of intelligence in most people.

I’ve realised one thing. Those who are at peace, don’t feel the need to assert it. Being at peace or shanti, is to do with you and yourself. How are you suppose to quantify peace to anyone else? If someone asks you how peaceful you are, how are you suppose to respond to that? You can’t, according to me. It’s a personal experience. It’s not meant to be dissected and calibrated. Staking a false claim gets relegated as a common cry for attention. It might fool others. But it’s time you stopped fooling yourself.

Fade out.

Posted: November 9, 2012 in Uncategorized

It’s dark. With spots of less darkness.

It’s still dark.

The dark shapes surround me. Light reflects off the shadows of the wild. A light here. A light there. The struggle to not be consumed. It’s a ray of hope. To become, within these overpowering forms, a lighthouse to nature. They are reflections of reflections. A trick of the dark. A companion to the silent waters that flow under your crossing. Those that try to capture and contain the light. It’s the subconscious of your beacon. The hazy, unknown, tempting lights of the midnight flow.

But it’s night. It’s dark. An abyss in the making.

And then we turn. The light of the night shines bright. The cratered glow that bristles on your neck. The white that softens the dark; that makes it welcoming. It shies away here and there. Vanishing behind those monstrous shapes, it reappears indistinct. The dark allows it to walk untouched, as always. It pierces the harshness of a black night. One that brings different hues of the black alive. It lets a slow mist linger over the clear gurgle that comes to our ears. It speaks aloud, “Why the hurry? Take your time. Explore when you return! And to guarantee your return, I gift you this view.”

I stop. I need to stop. It’s dark. It always is. Shadows dance; toy and play with my bearings. The warm reflections invite me into their depths. The shudder inducing shapes bend to my view. The silence of the noise leaps at me. And the midnight sun compels me to follow this route back.

Someday.

Soon.

Wordlessly..

Posted: August 7, 2012 in Uncategorized

It hurts to see notifications from WordPress. Not the ones that say you have someone following you, or someone commented on your post. I’m talking about the ones that give you updates on blogs that you follow.

It hurts for one reason – There are people writing, when I am not.

I’m not suffering from writers block. I could write about some obscure thing which I saw on the net, which really “moved” me. Or some random thing that happened to me on the roads of Bombay. I just don’t feel like writing. Plain simple, do not want to write.

And that hurt. I’ve given up a lot to pursue writing. I am not saying I am a proficient writer or a literary genius. I just wanted to express my thoughts in written prose. And now I have sudden moments when the last thing I want, is to have anything to do with words.

Is it lack of focus? Or a creatively-bludgeoning profession called advertising? I think it’s the lack of focus created by a sharp axe, wielded by creative directors. It’s as if every time the cold of the blade touches you, your head grows back up for the chopping block. But with it, what doesn’t grow back is that thread of a connect to the previous head. It’s gone. A part of you is gone.

That’s what’s killing me now. To have had my head chopped off so many times, that I cringe at the sight of words written by me. And I’m searching for a solution, which will hopefully present itself soon. And ironically, the best way to express my new found dislike for words is by using words.

You mad bro?

Posted: June 15, 2012 in Uncategorized

I am going mad. Insane. I am on the brink of losing it. The mental asylum looks quite inviting. Maybe over there, one can actually find peace (Apart from the regular screams from the lobotomy section). Why?

Well the story began 4 years back. It was a sunny monsoon day, where the clouds hung back to allow the sun to smile upon us. Oh yes, it truly was a beautiful day. A day when a family decided it was the natural progression of life to buy a larger house and shift the joyous, and the sad moments there. And thus was purchased the next segment of a “future”. And that is when the dark clouds covered my smiling friend.

For 2.5 years, the family waited patiently. Ah yes, good guess. It is my family I speak off. Oh, we waited. Quietly, talking of the days of joy to come. And we waited, for that construction to get over. And we waited. Might I add, we waited. But not sitting idle. The mother handled the mantle of trustee and president of a woman’s NGO. Quite an impressive role. The father was nominated to be the governor of a multinational NGO. Yes, quite impressive. And I got myself a job. Not too impressive. So our wait wasn’t that bad. And then we got the house. Completely bare.

So began our quest to conquer all evil in middle earth. Or basically furnish the house. An interior designer was selected, to lead us over rough terrain and treacherous waters. The first of our many mistakes. A man who loved putting one thing in every house. Crystal figurines. Like really?? But I digress. Our valiant leader is selected. And we await creative and mindboggling ideas for completing this quest. What we get is some rotten bread and some crystal figurines (I’m sorry, but I really fucking hate crystal figurines).

Not to be disheartened by such a pathetic leader, we take it upon ourselves to see this house ready. And that is when the father’s role as governor, mother’s role as trustee, daughter’s work and son’s (moi) slave work gets really intense.

But no! The fear that chills the bones of most, or at least the people with osteoporosis, does not affect us. We labour through, making up for creativity lacking in our “leader”. But what happens with all leaderless groups, also happens with us. We bicker and fight over small things like the hall layout, and big things like crystal figurines. Things selected by daughter and son, gets vetoed by senior Security Council members (Well, they do control the overall GDP of the household). Things selected my mother and father, are squashed by the junior rebel group, being termed as old fashioned and not “funky”. And thus we divide and get conquered.

While this goes on, never forget the rest of the world. Work. Bloody work. It drives a nail into your body like coffin, every single breath. Ah, the agony. And the NGO heads aren’t dealing easy either. Big posts mean big work. And a lot of it. Add to that, more work. Funnnnn times. So the Governor and the Trustee are busy with their NGOs and the employees (me) are busy scraping together a meagre salary.

Well, we do get around through the initial painful fights. And come to a few unanimous decisions (might I stress on the word “few”). But we do get through the basic work. So now the house is shaping up. Wooohooo. Not so fast. The leader is waking up from his hibernation, with shit still inside him. And that leads us to another problem. He’s trying to bring individual family members over to the dark side. But sense prevails, and good does triumph. “Leader, go back to sleep, we got this.” And we do. So the house is looking more like a home. Much more. Oh, quite a few delays. Quite a lot, actually. When everyone is busy, there is not much one can do. But so we get to the final touch ups.

That is when the small things start coming out. What we thought was just about 10-15 odd jobs left, turned out to be about 100-150 odd jobs left. I did try hitting my head on the wall. It hurts. Do not try.

We carried on, excitement all drained out. This became another part of regular work. “When is this bloody thing going to be ready, baaahhh” was on our mind and sometime on the lips (albeit with a few abuses thrown in). So what ended up happening for me was that I worked a job Monday through Friday. And then I did my job as part time interior decorator on Saturday and Sunday. So I basically worked 24/7. And pay was still dirt.

Even changing ad agencies did not affect anything. Sure better work, but still shit timings. So I get done by 10-11 in the week. And weekends I don’t think I ever stop. Except for the times I’m lying in a drunken stupor. So what has been going on for the past one year, is that I have been working 7 days a week. Without a break. And it’s the same with the entire family. So what does that leave you with? A drain on mental capabilities. A dulling of your senses. Fuck Sparta, this is madness.

Madness has become a norm. Even after we shifted, there were few jobs at “home”, left to be completed. And that is a list that shall never be sated. It’s a reverse bucket list. Completing all these WILL kill you.

So I’m going mad. I will be soon making my madness official by posting naked pictures of myself on facebook. But right now, I need to go and finish some more jobs pending in my beautiful new home. There are some crystal figurines I need to break.