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.

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Cut to Sunday.

Posted: June 24, 2012 in experience
Tags: , , , , ,

Scene opens on  a Monday morning. Work happens. Work happens over and over again. Scene closes on a tired person entering his house, and crashing asleep.

Repeat scene for Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.

Repeat start of scene for Friday, but add tinge of happiness for an upcoming weekend. Scene closes on the same. Only it closes about 6-7 hours later than usual, with a lot of alcohol and a lot of chaos.

Cut to Saturday morning, or maybe afternoon. Open to massive hangover. Cut to repercussions of massive hangover. Headaches brought on by stupid noises, body pains and general lethargy. But add to that, a long list of chores. Paying bills, depositing cheques, general shopping for the house, and other mundane activities you don’t have enough time to do in the week.

Fast forward to Saturday night (or at least try to fast forward). The scene opens to bright lights, colourful people, laughing and dancing, musical merriment, and a lot more alcohol to drown out the week gone by and the day of chores. Scene closes on a black out.

Cut to Sunday afternoon. There is no Sunday morning. Waking up. Finally waking up. Letting the activities of the previous night, wash over you. Just lying there in bed, looking out the window. Just basking in the glory of having absolutely nothing to do. That is what Sundays are for. Just doing nothing. Do nothing, but with yourself. Walk the streets, listen to random music, sit at a bar in the afternoon. Alone. Completely alone, except for your thoughts. I like the sitting at the bar part. Sit at that bar with your words pouring out. Stare out, into the rain. Feel the rain washing away the filth of the city, of the week, of the previous binging nights. Become clean of everything. All commitments, all headaches and all worries. Listen to the music that plays, feel the music, get lost in that music and learn to love it. Learn to love again. Learn to think of something bigger than yourself. Learn to find yourself again. The person who got lost somewhere down the road, into the abyss of always doing something. Find that person, and forget what the next day brings. Cut to peace.

And repeat all over again.

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.

Home is where the heart is..

Posted: June 13, 2012 in Uncategorized

I guess it was all the chaos that let me forget about it. Shifting into the new house, getting all the remaining stuff ready so that my mom can throw housewarming parties, work.. Oh so much work, and a few other assorted items. But me sitting here, clearing out the remainder of my room, is when it hits me. This is not going to be my house anymore.

I’ve spent 24 great years here. And my dad almost close to 40. It has seen the best of times and the worst of times. The arguments, the fights, the laughs and the tears. It was the place I was brought to when I was born, the place my parents came to as a newly married couple. It was the place I learnt my first steps, my first words. I remember coming home, tired after school, just wanting to turn on the cartoons while waiting expectantly for some food from my mother. It was the place I came to, after I got my first cut, bleeding all over the place. This was the place I used to play dark room and hide-n-seek with my elder sister. It was the place my sister taught me the value of life. It was where I heard lectures for being irresponsible towards my studies. It was the place where I finally sat down to study. On my desk. With the swivel chair with one wheel broken. It always made you sit at an angle. I sit on it as I write this, slightly tilted just like my thoughts.

I remember looking out of the window on rainy days, taking in the green freshness of the trees that swayed with the wind. It was where my friends became brothers. It was the place where I brought my first girlfriend over. We sat, lost in each other, in my room. My room. Which used to be my grandmothers room. I saw her live here. I saw her die here. I remember sitting with her as a kid, while she prayed to the Gods for giving her such a grandson. I remember ignoring her when I grew up, when her ideals became too old fashioned for me. I remember the guilt I felt for not having told her once that I truly did love her.

I remember this place where I saw my father cry, the only time I’ve seen him cry. This was the place where my actions hurt my mother into a pain, I could never repair. I remember learning warmth and hate here. More importantly, I remember learning how to never hate. I remember the place where I grew up in memory of a grandfather, taken before I could remember the touch of his hand. This is the place is where I learnt how to be a man. This is the place I learnt how to love. This is the place I will always call Home.

When you’re in a profession that needs you to constantly think, what happens when you no longer want to think? I don’t want to think. I want a break from thinking. I’m tired of it. A constant barrage of thoughts weakens my will to think. It just gets too much.

But then you wonder, is it the process of thinking or everything else around? If you just had to sit and think, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. But it’s the other things around. Because before you can finish one thought, your world interrupts you. Some work, some noise, some girl, some calamity. The world interrupts. And there goes that chain of thought.

A broken chain is not easy to fix. Once you lose that line, you are left trying to grapple onto the last threads of that fading thought. And you scrape and scramble to regain it. It’s within your grasp, but just slips through. So you sit, lost and alone, because even your thoughts have left you.

That is what tires me. Yes, it’s not the thinking part. It’s the task of losing a clear thought and finding it again, but not anytime soon. I’d be a happier man, if I could sit in peace, just think and finish my thinking. Well there isn’t really anything like finish thinking, but still.

There is a lot that is jumbled in my head. I need to think them through. I feel saddened when I can’t clearly recall my thoughts. It’s because of this confusion that surrounds us. The chaos filters into our mind. There is a reason why the monks chose the mountains, removing themselves from the everyday world. They went for the sole purpose of finding a higher self within their thoughts. Maybe that’s what I need.

I want to think clear, lucid and straight. The world should become oblivious to me and me to it. I want to be either in the world or floating in the clouds of my thoughts. Mainly, I want to stop wanting to stop thinking.

I never thought such a day would ever come. A day when there would be an excess of time. Oh, so much time. But still not enough. Not enough to read all the books I want to. Yes, the day when there would be too many books to read them all.

It’s a bittersweet moment. On one hand I rejoice at having so much to read, and on the other I curse myself for not being able to read them. I conveniently blamed it on time. But the real culprits are the books themselves. Why? Because there are so many. When you finish one, you just pick up the next one that brushes your fingertips. But in that interim period a bevy of titles are thrown at you, leaving you flabbergasted at such a joyful moment. “Ah more the merrier..” is what your mind is fooled into believing. Until you start making plans to read, said books, at a future date. “I will read this as soon as I finish these other two!” And it doesn’t happen. Because by the time you pick up the second book, there are five more to choose from.

And now what?

Pick and choose and read just a select number of books? No way. How could you do such a thing? It’s a monstrous act. Books are meant to be soaked up, whatever they are. It doesn’t mean you read random books you would have no interest in. It comes from honing your interests to suit a wider range. Cause there is nothing like widening your horizons with the words of intellectuals and fools alike. They put it down on paper, and a humble request from them is for you to read their thoughts. And I shall. Or so I make the plans. Well, it doesn’t work.

It just feels insulting to pass on a new idea in the form of pages. So I currently have thirteen books waiting for me in my study. And it’s even worse when you try reading a fourteen book series. I finished seven and literally had to take a break so as to read some other authors. It’s like an addiction. But the good kind. The really good kind. The kind that gives you more than you want. Quantitatively and qualitatively. It’s our job to imbibe it all. And that’s just what I plan on doing, however long the list of books might extend. The world is full of books undiscovered. It’s a hidden treasure, never meant to be hidden.

Compare me with thee?

Posted: May 17, 2012 in self discovery
Tags: ,

It’s a feeling. Or maybe the lack of one. The lack, of feeling that you’ve accomplished something. You sit and wonder what great shakes you’ve done. “Oh yes, I have just cured cancer”. Okay maybe, “Yes, I just wrote a bestseller”. Or maybe “Yes, I just wrote a piece which I will treasure for years to come”. Yes, the lack of that feeling.

It’s sad but that void comes only from one place. The world. Comparisons drawn in the world. Comparisons not drawn against one’s self. Because if you’re just starting off, you don’t even know how to compare with yourself. So your subconscious compares. Regularly with many updates.

You compare with the people of the world. The actions of those people. The achievements of those people. The levels reached. The comparisons can be monetary as well. It happens. We compare because we can’t help it. And how does that make you feel? Lacking in worth. And that is an endless abyss. Once you enter that black hole, it’s not easy clambering back out. It sucks you in deeper and deeper, until the bleak reality of a failed life hits you.

So what do we do?

I don’t know. Because there is nothing specific to do. There is no set rule to come back to yourself. You try and try. Experiment. “Work hard and have your goals in order”, is all hoopla over nothing. Everyone works hard, at something or the other. The point is to find what works for you. Try whatever the hell fancies you. Try, scrape, beg, borrow, smash. But don’t stop trying. Come back to yourself. Become yourself. Someday. Someday, when your attempt is successful.

That’s my plan. As of now, I’m going to go and compare my words with some others, cursing myself for having done so.