THE WORLD IS SQUARE

2012-01-29T22:50:00.000+05:30

A wonderful thing it is, to live enough, and love enough,
to run down countless roads, and rush past all the milestones,
to see all these splendid sights, and read all those beautiful words,
to have enough, and lose enough, for several lifetimes. Perhaps more.
The further I go, the more I feel, the more I see, and the more I know, but
bittersweet irony, now the thoughts come fast, and the words... not nearly enough.

Of all the words I have to say...

2012-01-24T00:02:00.000+05:30

2012-01-23T23:49:00.000+05:30

Never slow down, my love... lest someday we catch up with ourselves.

2012-01-15T00:20:00.000+05:30

Life's moving fast enough to be just slightly out of control. New places, new people, exhilarating uncertainty and the delightful lack of familiarity. I have a fantastic job, a world of challenges and opportunities, and almost everything I could possibly need to be happy. In all honesty, I'm having a whole lot of fun. Something must be terribly wrong.

Lazarus : Sign

2012-01-01T15:02:00.000+05:30

flaws held to bait,
and yet
crippled remain
our minds
and hearts under
the unbearable weight
of all our loves and hate

The Bipolarity Paradox.

2011-10-31T10:09:00.001+05:30

If one voluntarily chooses a life of manic depression, where the highs are extra high, and the lows are particularly low, citing the unnatural and overwhelming vividity of all human experience as the motivating factor, and the act of choosing that heightened quality of all emotion over plain old convenience as the guiding rational thought, the following catch-22 situation is fairly inevitable. The erratic behaviour that is a direct result of this disposition will eventually drive away all the people and things that make one happy. However, if it were not for this same disposition, those things would not make one happy enough to want them in the first place.

Assay,

2011-10-25T23:19:00.000+05:30

My problem is that I keep looking for reasons. I always keep asking "Why?". And then I ask "What if?". And then, "What not if?. "Is?", "Isn't?", "Was?", "Could be?", "Could have been?", "Could not have been?", "Can be?", "Can never be?", and so on. For everything that happens, (good, bad or anywhere in the between), for the things that people do or don't do, I keep scouting around, taking things apart, putting them back together in every single permutation and combination, looking for answers. Not just any answers, but good ones. Valid ones, rational ones, fair ones, and logical ones. Because I believe that the world it based on those things, or that at least, it should be. And that being fatalistic is yet another form of the mind's corruption. And that if one is more or less fair in one's own dealings and actions, he can have just the right and equal amount of it back. And that if one always has a justifiable reason for his actions, most actions made towards him must also be justifiable. But as it goes, there might not be a justifiable cause for everything. People are not always rational, logical, or fair, and constancy of purpose is so very rare a virtue, it is disconcerting. Living in a world where it is so unusual and inconvenient to not be frivolous with one's loyalties, is so taxing on everything I hold sacred. I just keep looking for the right answers, when there just might not be any. Because I want so desperately to believe that in the grand scheme of things, everything is fair. So I haunt my problems, instead of it being the other way around. All the world's worth of philosophy tells me that one must stick to their ideals and their premises. My own tells me that it is of paramount importance to place the truth, and the capacity to assess it, above all else. But it now seems to me that the only people who ever survive this life are the ones who learn to evolve. And not just evolve, but do it most rapidly, smoothly, and efficiently. I'm afraid that I've wandered off so far out in search of these answers, that I'm about to fall off the edge of this world that still remains so very square. And yet, there are still no answers to be found.

Tales of Gain and Loss.

2011-10-07T00:50:00.000+05:30

September 1, 2010

10:00 PM

How wonderful a thing it is, to have nothing to lose. Care about nothing. Have nothing, Own nothing. Keep nothing. Only want. And let the "want" define you, in entirety. I miss it.

............................................................

September 1, 2011

1:00 AM

The best thing about my life at the moment, is that it is absolutely unscripted. I have nothing holding me back or keeping me in one place. People, places, jobs, the several institutions you are a part of... they hold you down. Everything you love, holds you down. I love nothing. Thus, I am free.

............................................................

2011-10-03T20:32:00.000+05:30

Never attempt to cure an addiction through abstinence. Do it through control.
Control is the only thing potent enough to make anything lose its charm.

Clickety-Click.

2011-10-02T06:06:00.004+05:30

I feel like this cold has crawled into my head, buried a warm hole for itself, and decided to nest in there for the winters.

In other news: Blackberry, Apple and now... Mango?

And flipping the bird at subtlety: This is both amusing, and an inside joke that 66.666% of me hopes, isn't understood.

As an aside: I fear that this blog has started to make too much sense, of late. Here you go. Problem fixed.

If that wasn't enough: I'm starting to believe that this man understood "all things macabre" better than any person who's ever lived.

But then: There was this.

Etchings by Goya

Instituto Cervantes.

Los Desastres de la Guerra

I shall not praise the exhibit. Instead, let me just say that what you would have read about, had you read the piece to be found at the above link, I came unbearably close to experiencing.

Alas! 'tis true. I defiled it by clicking pictures with a cellphone camera.

Strangely, I read that story after the exhibit, completely by accident. That very day. The Universe has been pulling an awful lot of tricks lately. Sometimes, I wonder. If a "god" did exist, he/she/it would probably be tinkering around with his/hers/its doll house (The Universe), playing out moments like these(and more elaborate ones) with his/hers/its little plastic dolls(us), just to get kicks out of the sheer mind****ing potential of it all.

And if that still wasn't enough for you: Then you, my friend, are exactly the kind of reader this blogger is proud to have had (and hopefully, kept). Drop a hello, and feast your mind on this piece of work.

P.S. If you seek an explanation: I don't do cliffhangers. I lure with trails of candy and throw 'em right over. Trippy, yes.

2011-09-27T20:40:00.000+05:30

All these years, and I'm still the kind of person who writes 2000-word emails, and hovers over the send button about a hundred times before deciding to let them rot as drafts. On the upside, in case of recourse I'll soon have an eloquently worded, impeccably punctuated, and obscenely dramatic epistolery novel ready. That is, of course, if apocalypse/terminal illness doesn't strike first. In which case, it would be just a whole lot of histrionics wasted, on a significantly lesser quantity of it.

2011-09-24T00:57:00.000+05:30

R.E.M. disbanded. Such utter travesty.

2011 is, indeed, the year of much heartache.

Let me. Not be. That obvious.

2011-09-22T01:33:00.000+05:30

From crest to dale (back around)
Wound, is interminable dearth
To the conflict of extravagance
To the dispute of mirth.

Measured out in quints
Would be remnants of fear
The marked need for something
To make my tragedies more sincere.

2011-09-20T17:05:00.000+05:30

Quid pro quo, will also end up making the whole world blind.

An Observation (Updated)

2011-09-19T00:54:00.001+05:30

SRK is the new Rajinikanth.
Edit all references accordingly.

give me a week or two to || go absolutely cuckoo || and when you see your error || then you can flee in terror

2011-09-18T14:57:00.000+05:30

Atalanta in Calydon

2011-09-16T21:27:00.000+05:30

"Before the beginning of years,
There came to the making of man
Time, with the gift of tears,
Grief, with a glass that ran;
Pleasure, with pain for leaven;
Summer, with flowers that fell;
Remembrance fallen from heaven,
And madness risen from hell;
Strength without hands to smite;
Love that endures for a breath;
Night, the shadow of light,
And life, the shadow of death."

-Algernon Charles Swinburne

2011-09-15T13:25:00.000+05:30

We drink copious amounts of coffee and debate the Rastafari movement; talk art and Balzac and new world order (if we're feeling particularly zany, of course), all while the world keeps turning and the sun keeps shining. But the fact that we can never entirely be sure that we're not figments of someone else's imagination just continues to blow my mind on a regular basis. And then it's Plato's cave, all over again.

rock and roll, complete control.

2011-09-13T23:30:00.000+05:30

2011-09-12T13:01:00.000+05:30

The air has been heavy. Heavy with poignance. It's been making it much too easy to float away, and far too difficult to breathe in. So I hole up in a room with endless spools of yarn and the comforting sound of two needles clicking away. The meditative nature of a repetitive exercise is grossly underestimated. Nimble fingers in constant motion, winding strands of wool in intricate patterns, creating more of something new with each move. Knit, purl. Knit, purl. Knit, purl. Weave it all in. The sounds, the thoughts, the dissonance. Bind it in the knots and weave it in, create something pretty, and let that be it. Years worth of grief will hang in your cupboard someday.

And whenever too much is wrong with the world, I will knit.

2011-09-06T00:25:00.000+05:30

Dear 21st century,

What's with the crap music? Please bring the 90s back. Also, the reality of living in a world where Youtube comments exist, serves up a freshly brewed philosophical crisis with the daily morning coffee.

Yours truly,

Among other things, a dedicated Aerosmith junkie

2011-08-29T23:29:00.001+05:30

"At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where.
And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time."

-T.S. Eliot
"Burnt Norton"

Synchrony.

2011-08-24T04:33:00.001+05:30

As we will never belong again.

Once is also a promise, you see.

Move to the sound. We're trapped in boxes. Mine is glass, and the other is concrete. It's loud, and the sky is exploding. So don't stop. Too soon to say, and too late to do. Let's keep it all for later. Later, if there will be one. The summer never ended, and the flowers have all melted. I saved some but the bees are dead. There is water, and the sky is in it. So is the grass, and so is our world. There's quicksand, and I buried it with my own hands. So open your eyes and dream it all away, for we can still catch the rainbow in time. But we'll stay in our boxes, filled to the brim. With snatches of an old song, an awkward pause...

... and our own tragic flaws.

This Day's Blurb.

2011-08-18T23:41:00.000+05:30

Bathos in a Bottle

General Observations: Jan Lokpal Bill Protests.

2011-08-17T02:40:00.001+05:30

For years I've been saying that nearly every public scandal rolled out by the dozen is further proof that we're actually living in a totalitarian state masquerading as a democracy. For years, I have also been saying that our classes and masses are so ridden with misanthropy and apathy that if there is ever a need for another freedom struggle, there is no way that the people would rise to the occasion and justify what they gained the last time around. In the course of merely 24 hours, I've found myself proved right and wrong. The best part being, that the evidence is indubitable. Our government, by way of dishing out absolute nonsense, expecting it to be gobbled up by flaccid minds, calling the previously much-lauded Gandhian manner of protest "unconstitutional", and launching illegal arrests and mud-slinging campaigns, has stirred up such great sentiment and rage among the people, that pro-Gandhian ideology or not, they are united in their anti-corruption motivations and outrage towards the appalling behavior of the government. One can't help but compare the state of things with the recent riots a few thousand kilometres away, partly a result of the same social apathy and misanthropy, but the addition of decadent moral values. How differently things pan out, in a "developed" nation as opposed to a stagnated "developing" one. United in anarchy or united in rage, the masses can indeed make things happen. And after a very long time, they know it.

Work In Progress.

2011-08-14T18:02:00.000+05:30

I could say that it's sudden abdication. And that it's a cruel thing to do to someone with enough abandonment issues to build a monument out of. I could do the flip and tell you that it's not renunciation, but abject fear in flagrant masquerade. Argue, I can, and you know it. But if I'm going to be honest, I might as well take the world down with me. My mind has been sick before, and so has my heart. And if we're fated to turn into each other eventually, then the promises you made are mine to deliver. Conviction is that simple, and sometimes I wish mine had enough to hold on to.

2011-08-13T15:50:00.000+05:30

"Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,

Old Time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles today,

Tomorrow will be dying."

-Robert Herrick

(To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time)

Cage III - Free Show

2011-08-12T03:17:00.000+05:30

"The figure of Death presides over the front entrance of a carnival sideshow whose spectators watch performers undergo unspeakable degradations so grotesquely compelling that the spectators’ eyes become larger and larger until the spectators themselves are transformed into gigantic eyeballs in chairs, while on the other side of the sideshow tent the figure of Life uses a megaphone to invite fairgoers to an exhibition in which, if the fairgoers consent to undergo unspeakable degradations, they can witness ordinary persons gradually turn into gigantic eyeballs."

Carrion.

2011-08-07T01:06:00.000+05:30

We humans are quite capable of exhibiting behaviour guided by nothing in the vicinity of reason or rationale. For a person in possession of the faculty of logic, what is it that drives such an insatiable urge to go against all better knowledge? Impulse is the means, though often mistaken for the cause. So the real cause, being influential enough to supercede all logic, must be a greater force. If so, is it really wrong to succumb to the victor in the power play, as opposed to the defeated adversary. Can logic possibly be defeated? Or does defeat by an absence of things not count?

What a mad world it is, when it goes against rationale to expect constancy out of anything. Even out of perfection. Does fleeting perfection, for it is all that anything can be, even qualify? Why do we choose to run around, setting ourselves up for failure? It's not perpetual equilibrium one desires, it's merely one stationary reference point to put the rest of the chaos and wild spinning world into perspective. Every attempt to do so seems to be an act of deluding oneself. If logic really bends in favour of chaos and whim, it really is a mad,crazy world indeed.

2011-07-27T01:16:00.000+05:30

I write like
David Foster Wallace

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

So, I write like a manic depressive genius, who ruminated obsessively about the dark side of things, brew up insurmountably beautiful pieces of prose, and then proceeded to hang himself to death. Not surprising at all.

I want to read Infinite Jest. I really REALLY do. But that's probably the only book I've ever chanced upon that I am truly afraid of. Something tells me it's more darkness than I can handle at the moment. Precarious times, these. The balancing act is hard to keep up as it is. Infinite Jest = the machete to my tightrope. Sadomasochism, shall have to wait.

This Day's Blurb.

2011-07-22T21:20:00.000+05:30

The Daily Facebook Fail

Note: I have, indeed, attempted to make this fine gentleman look like The Amazing Exploding Angry Bird. My list of acquaintances spews such gems on a depressingly regular basis, right on to my Facebook homepage.

2011-07-19T01:07:00.000+05:30

Twenty-two today.
...and floating on metaphors.

2011-07-10T13:00:00.000+05:30

We're all born with death-wishes. It is our prerogative to live with them. And when pain is this satisfying, it only stands to reason that we give in to the impulse of desire. Desire that nurtures us, and the same desire that is fated to destroy us.

On the Comfort of Doubt.

2011-07-05T23:32:00.001+05:30

All my recreational distortions of reality, dramatic visualizations, and convoluted syllogisms aside, the truth is that when push comes to shove, I'm simply too decisive for my own good. Always certain, always sure, and very nearly incapable of experiencing doubt. I think part of that comes from a habit of stripping everything down to bare facts, and mostly from keeping it all very black-and-white in the head. But as it goes, the value of things is only known best to one bereft of them. Sometimes, I wish I could just loll around in a comforting stupor of perplexity before having to deal with the reality of things. Alas, as it goes with most of life, I skip ahead. Far ahead of myself, out past the forks in the road, choosing much too fast, much too easily. The decisions I make are never wrong. They just tread upon each other's heels and sometimes, just sometimes, they are meant to bring half my world crashing down. As I continue to skip ahead, I feel like I'm barely escaping the collapse. I'm going way too fast and I'm afraid that soon, in my dazed frenzy, I'll push the big red button intending to charge ahead. And then something would hold me back.

green

2011-07-01T02:51:00.000+05:30

Pictures taken on a recent trip to Manali.

2011-06-30T01:41:00.000+05:30

Fully appreciating the irony of this statement, I'm fairly certain that there will not be a single experience in life that I will enjoy as much as I relish the feeling of being underwater. Given a bathtub, swimming pool, pond, lake, sea or ocean, all I want to do is swim to the bottom, perch myself there, and let my senses explode. The calm that comes with being surrounded by vast expanses of water and nothing else, is a rare and inexplicable delight. It's not calm bound by limits. It's the calm of being suspended in time, space, gravity and countless dimensions. Not the kind of calm that you touch and draw from, but the one that engulfs you in a cocoon and holds you still. Everything is blue, and green, and it paints you into itself. The muffled sounds, the rays of light barely piercing the water and the glimmering surface seen from below make it seem like a whole different world. A disturbingly beautiful one. So beautiful, that every moment I've spent under water, has haunted the years I've spent above it. Thus, the new blogger template. Because what I truly need at the moment, is something to remind me of the existence of that particular variety of calm. The one that holds you still and pervades the senses. I cannot wait to break the surface and dive right in.

The First in a Series of Irrelevant, Unnecessary, and Thoroughly Mundane Posts.

2011-06-29T23:07:00.000+05:30

1. Torrential rains
2. Google+
3. Being locked up in a room with more books than I can count

As opposed to:

1. Nagging uncertainty
2. Comfort food
3. Getting a job

Hmm...

2011-06-28T00:51:00.002+05:30

 "Every night and every morn
  Some to misery are born,
  Every morn and every night
  Some are born to sweet delight.
  Some are born to sweet delight,
  Some are born to endless night."

2011-06-23T17:57:00.000+05:30

The end of college has been anticlimactic, at best. A goodbye has no real meaning if you have nothing to say it to.

Things have not been great. But that's a bit of a secret. A secret, because I'm no longer selfish and self-indulgent enough to not scoff at myself. Not all has changed though. I still grieve the loss of selfishness more than the fact that things have not been great. And then, there's this. There's more of a loss of things than anything else. The occasional presence, and perpetual lack of everything. Except for the writing on the wall, which is clearer than ever. Unfortunately, so are the claw marks.

So, there's also guilty-pleasure-music. Here's a band called Dark Dark Dark, because I'm that obvious with my tastes. Guilt should be made of sterner stuff.

And this is rather brilliant.

Grey Noise.

2011-04-23T23:23:00.000+05:30

As much as a double-edged sword aspiration may be, it works well to have a few of those painted on you in indelible ink. But as far as all wonderful things go, we will hit the plateau sooner or later. So what if the stakes are high, and you now have things to lose, and risks to take, and the world to conquer and turn into your own personal TV room. It works well to stand by and reaffirm a love placed only in unattainable things. For all the countless things that you stand to win over, it works well to make note of the ones you lose. The balance tips much too easily, you see. Our beginnings never really know our ends.

This Month's Misadventures, Part 1 - Phuket and Koh Phi Phi.

2011-04-15T23:46:00.000+05:30

The much-awaited holiday finally happened. I got to tour the islands and various beaches of Southern Thailand. And since there are a few experiences in life that you just cannot hope to draw into, explicate, or approximate in words, I'll just have to go with "AMAZING", and be done with it. Or, I could try this:

Phi Phi Don

A decision has been made. I was born to live by a beach. No, really. Never am I happier than when I'm either underwater, or over it. And recently, I did both within in a span of 3 hours. More about that later.

So, fully capitalizing upon a fateful escape from the traps of doom(college) and the supreme awesomeness of my parents, the most blissful, hedonistic, mind-numbingly sensational holiday was had. Braving the edifice that is the T3 terminal, over-familiar immigration officers, and the various aforementioned perils that come with air travel(the least of which is a plane crash), my flight descended on the island of Phuket, in the land of smiles and flagrant transgression. Now, most people who know me, are aware of my obsessive love for the country. What's not to love? The warm tropical weather, the beautiful untouched beaches, the extremely friendly people, the good life. But if I had to put a finger on the one thing I love most about Thailand, it would be that that it feels like the entire country is in a perpetual state of revelry and indulgence- bacchanalian, spiritual or otherwise. Thus, Phuket welcomed with sun, sand, surf, and this:

Of course, it was rather amazing that my hotel was a 5-minute walk from Patong beach, which treats ones sore eyes to the sights as refreshing as this:

And this:

Where there were tiny, white crabs darting around everywhere in the sand. Pretty little things, those.

...and nightlife that no pictures will ever do justice to.But any seasoned travel-glutton will vouch for the fact that the best thing about a good hotel is the breakfast buffet. Which I was too busy wolfing down to take pictures of. Just let it be said that danish waffles will be the death of me someday.

Then came the Phi-Phi Islands. But before that, there came the ferry to Phi-Phi Islands.

...and even before that, came the storm. (Notice ominous clouds).

For the uninitiated:

Storm + Sea = Rough Sea

Rough Sea + Ferry = Not-a-good-idea

Also, owing to the peculiar strain of irrational bravado that runs in my family, I found myself on the unsheltered top deck. Hanging on for dear life(literally). Without a life-jacket. The waves hitting the ship were so high, that they crashed ON us. On the 3rd deck. Now as exciting and once-in-a-lifetime an experience that may be, yours truly did little more with it than puke her way to glory, all the way to Phi Phi Don. I'll leave out the gory details. But on arriving, it was clear that it was well worth it. I'd do it a thousand times over. Why?

Here's why:

Blue-green water. White sand. And because of the peculiar alignment on the hills and the island, the waves never reach the beach. All you have are soft ripples on the surface of what looks like a crystal-clear lagoon. Imagine that!

I may have known beauty of several kinds, but it's hard to beat one that you can dive headfirst into.

Then there was Phuket again. And the Chalong temple. And Patong by night. Not to mention, the photogenic cat!

Chalong Temple, Phuket

With that ended, the first leg of the tour. Coming soon: Pattaya and Koh Lam.

Exam-Day Blah.

2011-04-13T01:42:00.000+05:30

Every time I'm on an airplane, I pray to the forces that be, not to be seated anywhere close to any tiny human below the age of 10. Also, I try to understand why kids aren't sedated and shipped in cages, like pets are. I fail every time.

Every time I'm on an airplane, and it taxis on the tarmac, I feel like I'm sitting on the back of an ostrich. An ostrich that just keeps running around, refusing to accept the fact that it would never take flight. And then, it does.

Every time I'm on an airplane, I look out the window and stare at the ground below, and make special note of the moment when I can no longer spot vehicles moving on highways. In that moment, I feel very tiny indeed.

Every time I'm on an airplane, I imagine what it would be like if all the engines fail and the plane crashes. Which one of the people sitting around me would be the first to lose it, the ensuing chaos. And who looks like they're most likely to live, who look like they're most likely to die. Then I start thinking about karma, and thoughts like those are always interrupted by things of greater importance. Like crappy airline food, refreshment towels, and the stewardess with over-tweezed, painful-looking eyebrows.

Every time I'm on an airplane, I make it a point to browse through every mode of in-flight entertainment, scroll through every movie available, pick the one that interests me most, and then proceed to not watch it.

Every time I'm on an airplane, and am about to deboard, I am overcome with a very pleasant feeling that I don't really care to describe in words. It makes me want to never go back to where I came from, because I want nothing more than to fly so fast, that I can leave this life behind.

A Little Bit of India. Everywhere.

2011-03-19T04:21:00.001+05:30

Batu Caves, Malaysia

February 2010

The Current.

2011-03-19T04:03:00.000+05:30

Bach. Wodehouse. Suspension in time.
Also, 8 days to Phuket.

Disconnected inferences are back.

2011-02-19T16:51:00.001+05:30

Ever-mundane urban life lulls us into a false sense of security, where we never expect much to ever happen. So complete is the illusion in its surreptitiousness, that one fine day we're all just walking around with blind spots the size of football stadiums. And then we blame the butterfly for the hurricane.

Clarity.

2011-02-17T20:38:00.001+05:30

Having spent most days of the past raised to eternity fumbling around for probable cause, or hoping to accidentally chance upon sporadic reasons to justify that which is bound by four cycles of the clock, it feels like a brand new set of your senses have been awakened when dreams are separated by dreams alone, and reality isn't just a desperate attempt to imitate imagination. Reality, after all this time, is imagination. Not through the blurring of lines that separate the two, but as a consequence of absolute clarity. When you view the world through a microscope, everything begins to look like everything else. In the end, it is only when you look very closely that you start to lose your differences.

2011-02-15T16:19:00.001+05:30

Few things in life disappoint more than a drizzle, when what you really need is for the heavens to pour forth and wash everything familiar away.

The Unbearable Vexation of Being.

2011-01-29T01:42:00.000+05:30

A day in this city means running into about 5 complete strangers that I want to yell at for their appalling behavior, utter lack of common sense, and/or general misconduct. It takes a lot of restraint and a good portion of one's strength to suppress that urge, because it is irrational to complain about such things in this country. When being unreasonable, ignorant, and ill-behaved is socially acceptable, what can one do? And the suppression is exhausting. One must not have to live like this. A life of being in a constant state of anger and the need to scream one's lungs out. Delhi, I love you. But you're wearing me down.

On Reality.

2011-01-26T18:17:00.001+05:30

"What is meant by 'reality'? It would seem to be something very erratic, very undependable - now to be found in a dusty road, now in a scrap of newspaper in the street, now a daffodil in the sun. It lights up a group in a room and stamps some casual saying. It overwhelms one walking home beneath the stars and makes the silent world more real than the world of speech - and then there it is again in an omnibus in the uproar of Piccadilly. Sometimes, too, it seems to dwell in the shapes too far away for us to discern what their nature is. But whatever it touches, it fixes and makes permanent. This is what remains over when the skin of the day has been cast into the hedge; that is what is left of past time and of our loves and hates."

-Virginia Woolf

(A Room of One's Own)

Guilt.

2011-01-10T00:41:00.000+05:30

Possibly the only distressing emotion that doesn't leave me feeling hollow. Definitely the only one that has me wishing that it did.

Dear Yesterday,

I will forever thank the universe for the fact that you went exactly the way you did.

Dear Today,

I wish I had been more considerate, more prudent, and less given to base self-indulgence(the crazy, demented, destructive, sick-and-twisted kind).

Dear Tomorrow,

Be kind. Guilt alone is excruciating.

...and I cannot believe it's been 11 years since the turn of the millenium. can you?

2011-01-01T20:52:00.000+05:30

Rung in the new year in the absolutely best way possible. Family + barbeque night + dad's cooking = silly-happy overfed me. Ate so much, I can't walk. A better strategy would be to roll around the house from room to room. Die, ongoing-exams, die!

2010 was quite something. It was the year of unexpected events. Of uncertainty, and doubt, and change, and rediscovery, and faith, and thrill, and euphoria, and love, and belief, and hope and things far more ~~scary~~ crucial in the grand scheme of things. Even for the sheer number of things let go of, and those gained. I don't remember being this happy. I don't remember ever being this glad.

Wishing you all a very happy new year, and hoping that the days ahead bring you whatever it is that you want from it. On that note, I leave you with one of the best songs I've heard all year. Goodnight.

Repentance.

2010-12-31T02:46:00.000+05:30

An anthology of small crimes,
lost and found in bits of rhyme.
From pitch to throw,
a little desperation, a bit of woe.

So thinly spreads,
irony or dread,
and brutal allay,
on easy prey.

This Day's Blurb.

2010-12-31T01:51:00.001+05:30

Providential Direction.

(Sign pointing to Mecca)

Spotted, on a hotel room ceiling in Malaysia.

*No offense intended. I find the concept quite beautiful. Millions of men and women all over the world, united by the same faith, facing the same direction, doing exactly the same thing, at exactly the same point in time. Poetic, in so many ways.

Midnight musings and other exotic fruits.

2010-12-11T02:50:00.000+05:30

It's almost horrifying how good I am at keeping secrets. Interrogate, investigate, poke or pry. Move mountains and oceans, shoot bullets through the sky. Yet I can lie, with not a blink of the eye. However, there is a catch. Aware as I am of its utility, I am finding my capacity for furtiveness to be more than a little disconcerting. Reason being, that I am the one person I know, least equipped to use it. Given to inflated (almost flatulent) concepts of righteousness and honestly, I have no use for this particular talent. Nevermind, I digress. The doubts that I've been tossing around in my head are about something else. What if the secret in consideration is not yours to tell? Does morality follow the law of association? Transitive dependency?

On a related note, I make a great addition to any kind and sort of reunion. Owing to the aforesaid capacity for secrecy, I am made the confidante in more personal/semi-personal equations than one could hope to count. I always have the dirt on everyone's deep, dark secrets. And I get to be the one to spill them when the time is right. Scandals makes an evening, if not life, far more interesting.

In other news, I have begun to attribute the unfortunate state of my social life to reading too much Freud. One can only go so far, classifying people as anally retentive/anally expulsive, and launching into immediate conjecture. The perils of over-educating yourself with things that have nothing to do with your line of ~~misery~~ work.

Also, I was recently discouraged against using any italics in formatting my minor project dissertation. Apparently, it is probable cause to ascertain that the matter is plagiarized or lifted off an external source. *proceeds to bang head into nearest available wall/desk/mallet.* Because I enjoy mallets.

The second of my natural talents is also getting me into trouble these days. By virtue of being the most sarcastic person around, I stand the risk of having everything I say be lost in translation. Have lost count of the times I ended up offending people by paying them a genuine, heartfelt compliment. C'est la vie, I suppose.

There is no dearth of things that I hate with the very core of my black, black heart. But there are few things that I hate more than winter. And winter is baring its fangs most viciously these days. Sadly, the second most important examinations of my life are just around the corner, and hibernation is not an option. Neither is active vandalism, it seems. Well, at least something has changed in 3 years. At this point, the only things keeping me sane are hot chocolate, my love of overcoats and badass leather boots, and the faint possibility of a post-exam holiday in a tropical country. Yes, more tropical than India.

If there is one difference that I had to point out in teenaged-me and 21-year-old-me, it would most certainly be that I am no longer angry. Anger is a strange thing. Though it often consumes, it also gives you a certain drive that is irreplaceable. When there's too much of it, it begins to define the person it proliferates in. But when the anger has dissipated, it isn't quite rebirth as much as rediscovery. A lot of things in life take courage, I reckon. It also takes a fair deal to see yourself stripped down to bones, and learn to accept and appreciate what's left. The line between what you will always be and all that you can become, is a thin one. Perhaps that's a good thing, but it is well to know exactly where it lies. The innate capacity to out-reason ourselves into believing anything we want, is and always will be a double-edged sword.

Book Review: Never Let Me Go

2010-12-06T23:34:00.001+05:30

Author : Kazuo Ishiguro

Genre : Dystopian Fiction

Rating : 7.5/10

"I keep thinking about this river somewhere, with the water moving really fast. And these two people in the water, trying to hold on to each other, holding on as fast as they can, but in the end it’s just too much. The current’s too strong. They’ve got to let go, drift apart. That’s how I think it is with us. It’s a shame, because we’ve loved each other all our lives. But in the end, we can’t stay together forever."

When you pick up a book that's been called one of the best of the decade, loved by critics and readers alike, and been praised to high heavens, there are only two ways to go about it. You either read it with a detached sense of skepticism, or with the uncritical acceptance that seeks only to experience, and not to judge. Whichever be the case, Ishiguro does not disappoint.

Based in mid-90's England, Never Let Me Go is the story of three students studying at a sheltered boarding school called Hailsham. Narrated by one of them, the novel describes their lives right from their childhood, to the fate that they came to meet eventually, as adults. Most of the story is bound through a series of flashbacks, chronologically depicting specific incidents in the said timeline. The narrative meticulously details the lives of Kathy, Ruth and Tommy at Hailsham, during their formative years, as teenagers, and thereon.

Given my fascination for all things dystopian, I had some very good reasons to give this one a try. However, by the time I read through half of it, I found countless more. Ishiguro is exactly the kind of literary talent that leaves you with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, for days to come. The narrative unfolds bit by bit, layer by layer... gradually uncovering the horrifying truth that lies beneath. The subtle, understated manner of writing is almost conspicuous in its simplicity. The tone of it is actually more disconcerting than the content itself.

Reading through the book, I found myself continually drawing parallels with Murakami's Norwegian Wood. Considering the ethnic background both authors share, I don't know if it's entirely coincidental that I found them to have a similar style of writing. The same understated elegance, simplicity that is noticeable only by virtue of its severity, and even the manner of character-development. Most of all, I was struck by how both books leave you with an overpowering sense of helplessness. It's like the story winds itself around you, pulling you in so deep that you become a part of it. Then, through its equally subtle twists and turns, leaves you positively devastated. And somewhere between the disturbing truth and the false hopes, the reader just might chance upon what the book truly is about - the realization of everything that is not what it could have been.

What You Want / What You Need

2010-12-04T18:14:00.001+05:30

Assuming that they're two different things, you can have both. Just not at the same time.Though that's usually beside the point, isn't it?

The gradual depersonalization of this blog has been on for quite some time. Not because I have writer's block, or thinker's block, or any other unimpressive spin I could put on it, but because things changed. Things changed, circumstances changed, and most importantly, I changed. Life pulled Le Olde Switcheroo on me, and it takes time to get a strong foothold back. Reinvention and transmogrification come to signify my checkpoints in life. This year has marked a very pivotal one, and I am glad for that fact. But I'm not the same person I used to be. I'm not the person who started this blog, and have decided not to be the one to finish it. So this is me, back to doing what I love most, in the way that I can do it best.

A farewell to those who have left, and smile and nod of appreciation to those who have stayed, and a warm welcome to those who are new.

Why Amanda Palmer is Brilliant - Part 2

2010-12-02T17:00:00.000+05:30

You MUST watch the video through to "The End".

2010-12-02T16:56:00.000+05:30

The day before the minor project presentation, two of my team-mates simultaneously join a facebook community called "Chal yaar, jo hoga dekha jayega!".

Should I be worried, or amused?

Why Amanda Palmer is Brilliant - Part 1

2010-11-30T02:30:00.001+05:30

My Alcoholic Friends - The Dresden Dolls

You know life is unnecessarily complicated when..

2010-11-28T03:25:00.000+05:30

...you need Venn diagrams to sort out your facebook privacy settings.

Early-Morning Epiphany.

2010-11-28T03:14:00.001+05:30

Someone to love,
and something to loathe.

The twin pillars of an urban-dweller's fulfilled life.

The Decision.

2010-11-19T00:29:00.000+05:30

Religion is a utilitarian concept.
In reality, we always forge our gods and demons out of ourselves.

Thwack!

2010-11-19T00:25:00.001+05:30

'Tis not rare, for the past to flash right back to your mind. As commendable as the human race is for its capacity to persuade itself of, and argue itself into virtually anything, it comes with the natural disposition of tracing it's path back in the most inopportune and unfortunate of times. A forgotten memory can be much like an epiphany, capable of inducing anything from from a preposterously wide spectrum of emotions. Alas! What does one do, when it comes to haunt in the form of a certain Katy Perry song?

Thus went discretion, right down the rabbit hole.

2010-11-19T00:25:00.000+05:30

The present is never static.
It moves with time itself.

It must, after all
hold on to today
for the fear of tomorrow.

2010-11-07T02:29:00.000+05:30

As hard as it gets to see
the little flaws in redemption,
That brittle prudence can be,
not entirely unlike gumption.

I think your bruise was understated.

2010-10-31T17:57:00.000+05:30

As unlikely as I am to listen to a band that calls itself Death Cab for Cutie(or anything in the immediate vicinity), this song just stirs me up in a way that doesn't happen often enough these days. Not that I'm one of the classic rock/metal elitists, but this particular band usually sounds more than a little pansy-ish to me. And there are a lot of questionable things I may be into, but my tolerance for all-things-emo is far too low to be convenient.

This piece however, is different. It's the opening notes, I think, that brew-up the piping hot nostalgia.

"But you’re so farsighted that you can’t place trust
In what or who you recognize."

Yep, Nostalgia is always a dish best served hot.

Don't Whiz on a 'Lectric Fence.

2010-10-25T22:59:00.000+05:30

From the author of "When I am an Old Coot".

An anthology of such gems of wisdom as:

And,

Indeed, inanity is BACK.

Under The Table and Dreaming.

2010-10-22T00:59:00.000+05:30

It’s the persistent din that keeps bringing it back. The sound of too many voices speaking too many languages at exactly the same time. Usually, they have the same thing to say. Often, not one of them matter. But it is exactly that, and the silent humming sound coming from the front that is to be blamed for distorted nostalgia. It comes in waves, more often than not. One treads upon the others' heel. Washing ashore a fair number of lost and abandoned things, leaving behind the odd shell or two, and taking down a few sand castles along the way. The city that calls itself the heart of the country, beats at its own pace. It’s the only thing it has to call its own. After all, there is nothing about Delhi that isn’t borrowed. Not even the weather.

But sometimes I get lucky and it’s night. I’m on a bus, it’s raining and it’s a dark night. Except for the gaudy light bulbs that keep shady little shacks in business. I can’t see the lights though, because all I see are the raindrops on the windowpane. And through the raindrops, all I see are a zillion hexagonal orange disks of light, floating over the busy streets, and people who are nothing if not that. But then the bus starts to move, and things whir past. Faster in the mind than on the road.

Three months later, I’m on the same bus, en route to the same destination - home. Only it’s evening, and the sky is a lighter shade of blue. There are no lights, but the din seems louder. It gets louder by the second. Part of me wishes it would grow loud enough to drown out the crackling radio and the horrid music it blares out to the benefit of no one in particular, and especially to my annoyance, but that could just as well be because of how crowded it is in here. There are three times as many people as there should be, and my limbs are contorted to fill up the little space they have to negotiate with. I’m bent at unnatural angles and feel like a broken doll, in more ways than one. But that’s just half an hour of the day spent avoiding stepping on people’s toes or having yours trampled on and cursing quietly under your breath, which is a small victory by any estimate. And once you’re walking home from the bus stop, you’ll forget. Early autumn evenings do that to you. The slight chill in the wind is a subtle reminder of the months behind you, and heralds those to come. But to me, nothing quite spells autumn in the city like the scent of cardamom. Every year, October brings life into my neighborhood, as the dozens of trees that line the pavements burst forth to present a spectacular olfactory marvel. The almost unbelievably sweet scent of fresh cardamom, from trees that have nothing to do with cardamom. Not even the rank smell of pre-Diwali firecracker smoke can overpower it. So I walk along the road, letting the chilly breeze toss my already-tangled hair around and the scent flood my senses.

A year later, I’m looking out the same window. But something has changed. Every song on the radio sounds like another I’ve heard before. Every new person I meet, reminds me of someone I used to know. I’m still heading home, but don’t think I’ll be calling it that for very long. It has all happened before, and I think back upon the times in my life when I’ve let go of "what is", with no knowledge of "what will be". The times one must let go of the ledge, without knowing what greets you down below, hoping for something to break your fall. Thrusting myself into the unknown has always been an adventure. Always looked forward to, and I always spent nights, days, months and seasons in anticipation of. But things have changed.

Today, I am here. Sitting in my room, painted red and in several shades of gray, now being flooded with wave after wave of the same cardamom scent, and I know that I’ve grown old. Because now when I look out glass windows, I no longer see. I only remember. And dread that one of these days, to remember just wouldn’t be enough.

The Accidentally Explanatory Afternote.

2010-10-10T21:38:00.001+05:30

There is an online community on Facebook, called "I was alive on 10/10/10 10:10:10".

I will allow that to settle in.

Some more.

This is ridiculous even by standards that do the nose-dive ever so often.

Thus, the aforementioned chafing of patience. Which, may I add, is still a valued, perishable and exhaustible resource.

Update: 6 hours later, there is now another one called " Today is 10/10/10, won't happen again for another 1000 years so you might as well like it ♥".

Wham!

Thus began the *isms.

2010-10-09T17:02:00.001+05:30

Social networking chafes my patience, despite being my only recourse in times of distress and isolation.
A green dot next to my name, is always a clear sign of desperation.

Further Discourse on Happiness.

2010-10-07T21:51:00.001+05:30

Reading through The Picture of Dorian Gray, I chanced upon a realization that had been toying with my head for years. Indeed, it is true that maleficence and the years corrupt the body. But is it also true that knowledge corrupts the mind?

Most of the happiest people I have ever known are also some of the most ignorant ones. Most of the intellectually gifted people I know are deeply troubled, in one way or the other. And it’s the existentialists that seem to be the most perturbed of the lot. Why is it that self-awareness (or any form of awareness at all) unleashes a nagging discontent upon those who may seek it? Most of us may live our lives in the pursuit of happiness, but to what end? If it is a state of mind, then do the aforementioned facts not point to the delusional nature of all human desires and their satisfaction? If yes, then the integrity of rationale and accurate perception is dearly compromised, and life is lived on a background tinted with contrition. If not, then the value of happiness itself is a grotesque overestimation. It is somewhere between these arguments that I hope to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I do, however, lean towards the latter.

I have always believed that happiness is an over-rated concept. When we have the entire spectrum of human emotions available to us, to paint our world in just one color would take a serious lack of imagination. Existence wouldn’t have much meaning, if we didn’t taste all the flavors it has to offer. Wrath, Despair, and Fear are just as crucial human experiences, if not more. After all, they are far more intense, and intensity begets exhilaration. If we were to miss out on that, then it would be a life only half-lived.

An Observation.

2010-10-07T20:49:00.000+05:30

Rajinikanth is the new Chuck Norris.
Edit all references accordingly.

2010-09-30T03:38:00.000+05:30

Petronas Towers - Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

March 2010

The Ironies of Life #972

2010-09-30T03:26:00.001+05:30

"Jilted admirer/cause of a major one-sided frenemy catfight" and "back-and-forth awkward-history nasty-exit guy" land up as colleagues in a distant land, and have a full-fledged bromance going on. Quite visibly, and all over Facebook. Gallons of beer must have borne witness to my defamation.

Exeunt

2010-09-23T20:16:00.000+05:30

There's a certain thing called being lovestruck, and then there's being run over by a bulldozer called love. Everywhere I look, I see far too little of the former and far too much of the latter.

Indeed, the plight of an age so grossly carnal in its pleasures and so grossly common in its aims.

Touché Wilde. You win.

Every bloody time.

Just tryin' to keep it in line...

2010-09-10T23:41:00.002+05:30

This Day's Blurb.

2010-08-29T20:24:00.000+05:30

The Mundanity of Transgression.

2010-08-29T20:12:00.000+05:30

"Through all he said, even through his appalling sentimentality, I was reminded of something—an elusive rhythm, a fragment of lost words, that I had heard somewhere a long time ago. For a moment a phrase tried to take shape in my mouth and my lips parted like a dumb man's, as though there was more struggling upon them than a wisp of startled air. But they made no sound, and what I had almost remembered was uncommunicable forever."

-F. Scott Fitzgerald

(The Great Gatsby)

Flatliners and more.

2010-08-29T19:59:00.000+05:30

Read Norwegian Wood, The Great Gatsby and The Book of Illusions. Read halfway through Don Quixote, Sophie's World and To The Lighthouse. Saw Before Sunrise, and hated it. Saw Salt and hated it more.

College is driving me crazy. I'm being bulldozed into the impending debacle of a job-hunt. Prematurely, at that. I'm pissed off because it's TOO DARN EARLY for this shit. I feel like digging my claws in the dirt, vehemently refusing to budge. That's one shining piece of wisdom I got from my dog. Aside from - "If you stare at someone long enough, eventually you'll get what you want." Salivating may, or may not help your case. Though, it does make you look creepy.

When you're unsettled and disturbed, it often takes a sudden burst of chaos to knock you right in place. When you're stumbling along, often it's a violent spell of turbulence that makes you regain your footing. When you're looking for peace of mind, a menagerie might actually work better. Though often, family suffices.

"When the hopelessness is hurting you, it's the fixtures and fittings that finish you off.", said the woman who, very strangely, I am awed by.

Ladies and Gentlemen!

2010-08-22T22:45:00.001+05:30

I PRESENT TO YOU, THE PEOPLE I CALL MY FRIENDS :

Go ahead, folks. Show the pretty guys some LURRRV! --> Here
Yes. Even the one who looks constipated. He will assure you, he is not.
Also, he's very available.

And I WILL accept cash, card or cheque to advertise.

Two Sharp Edges.

2010-08-20T22:33:00.000+05:30

Ahh... Hope!

So easy to lose,
just that hard to abdicate.

This Day's Blurb.

2010-08-14T18:26:00.000+05:30

Ghetto-Kink.

Velvet-lined red plastic handcuffs. Spotted, at your friendly neighborhood Archies Gallery.

2010-08-13T15:54:00.002+05:30

I have no time for idle cares
Through gazing on the unquiet sky.
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings-
That little time with lyre and rhyme
To while away- forbidden things!
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.

-Edgar Allan Poe

A Point Made?

2010-08-13T15:43:00.001+05:30

The Funniest.
Randall Munroe, is still my hero.

Crash Course in Brain Surgery.

2010-08-07T19:31:00.006+05:30

Ahh well, it's been Metallica all day.

Tagged by Nothing but "Ficus", Priyanka and Tangled up in Blue.

“This award is bestowed upon a fellow blogger whose blog’s content or design is, in the giver’s opinion, brilliant.”

To say the least, I'm flattered. More so, because each one of the fine individuals who bestowed the tag upon me, are people who I have admired and envied intensely for their remarkable talent for penmanship. I continue to do so. Thank you.

Some rules of the Game:
a) Show off your honesty by thanking the person who gave you the award and link to their post.
b) List 10 honest things about yourself.
c) Select 7 other bloggers you think deserve this award and pass it on to them.
d) Notify said bloggers about the award and invite them to be the honest ones next.

........................................................................................................................................................

1. I talk to myself. All the time. Complete with flourishes and gestures and drum-rolls and trumpets. It's just how I function (and successfully manage to creep people out, in the process). Talk about added perks.

2. I have exactly two unreasonable phobias - cockroaches, and beauty salons. Episodes from my life concerning both make for excellent spine-chillers. I have a theory stating that when disturbed, any cockroach in a 10 meter radius will automatically fly/leap towards my head, defying all laws of gravity, physics, and common sense. It has been proved to many a person-of-doubt, more times than I would like.

3. When encountered with double entendre (intentional or not), my brain ALWAYS processes the second meaning first, and stops right there. It is with great difficulty that I coax it into proceeding further, to a more appropriate conclusion.

Corollary: I create the most elegant euphemisms out of thin air.

4. I suck at bowling. My scorecard, without fail, only reads of either perfect strikes or gutters. Same goes for a lot of sports, and most of life.

5. Most of my life as a card-carrying, living, breathing entity, have been a bunch of Chandler-moments strung together. No stranger to making jokes and having to explain the punchline 20 seconds post-deployment-and-blank-silence, I live through life elucidating upon pop-culture references that no one gets.

6. I am obsessed with candles, old books, letters, chocolates, non-colours, pan-asian food, knives and Hamlet.

7. I have an unusual set of morals and ethics, but the ones I choose to adhere to, I do so with a staunchness that can easily be equated to fanaticism. Same goes for my philosophical, political and religious views, or the lack of them.

8. More often than not, I dislike receiving compliments, and prefer criticism greatly. I usually find the former to be hollow, while the latter almost always gives me things to think about. Conversely, I place great value in the opinions of a very selected set of people. They are the people I admire most.

9. Among all the things I should have learnt and never did (riding a bicycle, general empathy, using a straightening iron), my inability to smile irks me the most. Not that I would use the talent much, even if I did.

10. Through my years of a Bachelor's Degree in Information Technology, I honestly believe that the one thing I learnt that I am truly proud of, is the use of an arc welding machine. The drill and chainsaws come to a close second.

To further cater to narcissism:

11. I judge people. Based on the way they look, write, speak, dress and most importantly, think. I meet them, I study them, I file them under the appropriate category, and the dossier is rarely, if ever, re-filed. Also, I am biased against good-looking people, and tend to put them through more intense and rigorous testing-and-filing.With practice, I've gotten better at it, and have taken it all to the level of profiling. Makes for some interesting Metro train rides to-and-from college.

12. In the 21 years of my life, I have donned pretty much every role in the social setup that it is possible to play. From social-leprosy to blinding popularity, from being the mousy, bespectacled, stammering, clumsy fat geek to teetering on 5-inch heels, apple-martini in hand at swish parties, to nihilistic goth-rock fanatic, true blue leather-and-metal rebel, to jaded cynical bookworm with a taste for undulated sarcasm, political conspiracy theories, obscure art movies and Johann Sebastian Bach. Even made friends with the podium and stage mic, along the way. And what I've discovered from all of it, is that it's all a masquerade. Petty, in the greater order of things. It's the things that you retain through these roles, that define your capabilities and your limitations. It's only the things that are constant, that matter at all.

.............................................................................................................................................................

Moving on, I am very very late with this, so most of the people I would have listed here, have already been tagged. So I will now tag the people whose blogs I love and stalk on a regular basis, and who may or may not have a clue about it.

Agent Green Glass, Weevil Girl, MINDfreak, Meghana Naidu, Anushka, Niti Jain, Kroswami, and Mentalie.

I think that you all are brilliant at what you do, and I would urge at least 4 of you to write more often!

P.S. I also hate mathematics.

Jolted out of LimboLand.

2010-08-07T16:19:00.002+05:30

I'm back. Internship complete. Final year of college. Things to hang on to, things to preserve, and things to let go of. I have the post-its in place. Besides, yesterday was pretty much the kind of day that happens, and then you try to live with and in it, for the rest of your life.

To those who left the uplifting comments in the last post, thank you. To those who have waited, I'm glad. And to those who will drop in, welcome. I hope to get to know all of you better.

Let's roll!

Some updates and more of things I don't have to say.

2010-07-07T04:47:00.000+05:30

Allow me to exaggerate. The spirited, lively river of what one may have once approximated to the merest equivalent of creativity, has dried to a slow, muddy trickle. Not only am I unable to write, I am also unable to think. Contact with the human specie is so limited these days, that I'm almost glad for bank loan promotional calls. Long winding conversations with myself are no longer even marginally engrossing. The last 3 years have disappointed me, and now I disappoint myself. In my world, that's the lowest low of the rockiest rock-bottom. Occasional periods of acquiring a vegetative state are not uncommon, but this is a whole new level of under-performance. I have a million pressing matters to address, and all I'm doing is shutting myself in a room 24x7 and not thinking. In fact, I'm dedicatedly and assiduously not-doing a whole lot of things. Also, I expect my 6th semester results to be announced anytime between last week and next month. That mere fact has turned me into a bawling, jumpy ball of nerves. I do not exaggerate when I say that my life and sanity depend on it. I want to apologize to all the people whose calls I have not answered, comments, mails and messages I have not replied to, not wished on birthdays and anniversaries, not called back, offered flimsy excuses to avoid meeting, and in general, been very very awful to. I can't. Not at the moment. But one of those people who have been nice enough to surprise me with her calls and concern(and will read this, I'm sure), is the one I owe a major apology to. I will make things right. Please know that I mean to.

Of Punctuation and Deathblows.

2010-06-29T04:58:00.000+05:30

What if someday you come down to being just a punctuation mark? Say, for instance, a | between the !s, or a . between the ,s or the : between the ;s, which is all a fanciful way of saying the same thing really. What if you don't, and instead settle for the snug little place between the first and the third guess? What if you stop thinking in terms of pedestals and podiums, and bring it to a black piece of mistaken sentiment on a crisp white sheet of paper?

Yet, it would mean the exact same thing. What a difference a well-placed, and well-timed mark makes. Or a coup de grâce, for that matter.

Florence+The Machine

2010-06-21T04:40:00.002+05:30

taci.tur.nal

2010-06-20T03:35:00.002+05:30

Internship. HCL. Noctivagance.
*yawn*

For one with Darth Vader-ish ambitions, I should, at the very least, be allowed to rewrite the dictionary as I please! Take note, blog URL.

OR

Misuse psychosomatic inclinations to induce spontaneous yawning in whoever reads this post.

I started out fine, I would like to believe.

A Grave Concern.

2010-06-09T22:46:00.000+05:30

All through the years spent living, breathing, observing and thinking, an individual creates a vast memory and knowledge warehouse of facts, figures, words, thoughts, inferences and deductions. I, like every other person with a similar disposition, treasure that figurative cerebral repository more than most things I have ever had the capability or fortune to possess. It falls to reason that if what we are is defined purely and in entirety by what we think, what we believe, and what we know, is it not a cause for concern that essentially, all it would take is amnesia to wipe out a person's existence?

This Day's Blurb.

2010-06-05T04:36:00.001+05:30

Suburban passive aggression.

Of Wormy Apples.

2010-06-02T21:01:00.001+05:30

This week, Apple overtook Microsoft to become the most valuable firm in the tech rat-race. The Wall Street marks it as the end of an era, where the most significant technological product of our age no longer sits on a desk. Instead, it dangles from belt clips on low-waist jeans. To put it succinctly, I am not happy.

I am convinced that if there is any one cause worthy of a third World War, it has to be the PC vs. Mac debate. Seriously speaking, Archduke was a joke in comparison. Poke any random Apple fanboy in the slightest of ways, and they burst into a spectacular fire-and-lights display of livid rage and righteous indignation. Sure, it comes in neat packaging. Sure, it has its pros. Sure, it is a snazzy and expensive version of Shiny Computing Box for Dummies. But from where I look at it, the cons easily outnumber the pros. In fact, they punch them into a pulp, dribble them, and throw them right out the window and into the trash.

Why I hate Apple:

1. Proprietary software taken to the extreme. License upon license, copyright upon copyright.

I run three different photo-editing programs, each with a diverse set of features as per requirement. Same goes for all media applications. How does one break out of the stifling bounds of the iLife package?

2. Zero room for customization.

3. Restricted access to OS kernel.

Every Windows user worth his salt loves DOS. Any Linux user's life depends on it. An apple user, is left to his own devices.

4. Zero flexibility in tweaking and programming.

5. Extremely limited software portability.

6. Zero-portability of software developed on the system itself.

7. Annoyingly long list of incompatible hardware and peripherals.

8. Coming to iTunes. Now, can someone please explain to me why I would want to use a software that insists on copying my music files into an entirely new non-virtual library of its own? Memory is a precious thing. Considering that I store about 60 GB of music on my system, there is no way I'd choke it up with double copies. Also, the iTunes library is not organized in any coherent fashion, so the original folders on disk cannot be done without either. Add to it the misery of its bland, pasty interface and no thematic customization options available. Not to mention, having to download an wide array of additional software to deal with the fact that it does not support wma audio and to convert all video to mp4. Compare with Windows or Linux, where all you need is an internet connection to download easily available codecs and plugins, apart from the fairly comprehensive range of supported formats.

9. By far, the only reason iTunes even exists is so that the world's iPods can be put to use. Of course Apple has every reason to try and make sure that it doesn't work with anything else. Throw in those $30 pieces of scrap wool they call iPod socks and every other over-priced accessory Apple markets just because the iPod does, and always will, sell. The things they get away with shock me. Really.

10. The continual updates and releases of fairly useless thingamajigs like Safari. Not to mention the massive download sizes. Nothing eats up computer memory faster than Quicktime, iTunes and Safari put together. The 3 harbingers of a processor's doom.

11. Simply said, a Mac dumbs you down. If someday they took over the world, a major part of the joy of using a computer would be lost. In order to use a system to its full potential, one has to dig deep and explore its innards.

12. The marketing, the pretentiousness of the "Mac lifestyle", the brand tag, the overwhelming smarminess of the Mac vs. PC advertisements(which, by the way, are so erroneous that I don't even know where to start).

I haven't even gotten into the technicalities. But there's this to compensate.

Truth be told, if a Mac is a smarmy college punk, and Windows is a rotund bespectacled geek, Linux is the tattooed biker on a mean set of wheels.

So upon coming upon this little piece of news, I exhibited some major distress symptoms. Within 2 days, it was time for extreme measures. Since then, I have downloaded and installed Ubuntu on my laptop and my desktop, and gotten rid of iTunes altogether. I chose Ubuntu, because it works on a philosophy that is essentially the polar opposite of everything Apple stands for. And 3 days on, I am waaaaaaay beyond satisfied with it. The thrill of working in an entirely new environment, and learning to work hardcore on a system is thoroughly refreshing. It is completely customizable, is very "hands-on", offers an exhausting number of options with open-source software, and yet remains surprisingly intuitive. Not to mention, its media players synchronize perfectly with iPods and have far more features than anything Apple could come up with. The only limitation I see so far is that internet connectivity is crucial to its functioning. Aside from that, the GUI interface through Compiz is to die for. One even begins to love the overzealous autoconfig after a while. Much love to open source.

P.S. The reason why Apple is :"virus-free" and "spyware-free" is because the most virulent of malware are designed to attack the Windows OS, owning to the popularity of windows. It is relatively "bug-free" because it only works with a limited set of hardware components. Unlike Windows, with which you pretty much throw it all in and make it work Needless to say, I wait eagerly for the tables to turn. Something tells me, it won't be long.

Oh well, the devil makes us sin.

2010-05-31T22:32:00.000+05:30

To Quote.

2010-05-27T02:42:00.000+05:30

"I don't know whether or not we will meet again. I could, with an effort, look into the future, but the time is too short. I'd like you to know this: separation contains as much of a mystery as a meeting. In both cases a door opens. In meeting, it opens on the future, in separation on the past. It is the same door."

-Elie Wiesel

For fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities.

2010-05-23T03:14:00.005+05:30

White wisps wafted towards the sky. Transparent and weightless, spiraling out through the sunroof. Through the mist you could see a faint glimmer. Or miniaturized apocalypse. It's all about perspective, they always said. With a careful flick of his hand, he dusted the ash off. And wished. There was time, after all. Almost enough.

Silently, she looked out the glass at the street ahead. And wished. If only there were more things he handled as delicately as his cigarettes.

To say what needs to be said...

2010-05-19T23:39:00.002+05:30

Exams have drained the life out of me. Will be back shortly, when I have gained some semblance of it back.

A Writer's Diary.

2010-05-01T17:48:00.000+05:30

May 26, 1924

"If we didn't live venturously, plucking the wild goat by the beard, and trembling over precipices, we should never be depressed, I've no doubt; but already should be faded, fatalistic and aged."

-Virginia Woolf (1882-1941)

2010-05-01T17:32:00.001+05:30

Exams. Of course.

Just so we all remember...

2010-05-01T14:22:00.001+05:30

There are only two kinds of people in this world : The ones who become what life makes out of them, and the ones who are what they made out of their lives.

The highest value that a man can hold is his own ability. Consequently, the greatest sin is the failure to recognize it. And the most profound form of depravity to exist, is his refusal to acknowledge it.

Thus begins my lecture on the necessity of an internal locus of control.

P.S. I'm so stuck in the wrong profession.

THE WORLD IS SQUARE

Of all the words I have to say...

Lazarus : Sign

The Bipolarity Paradox.

Assay,

Tales of Gain and Loss.

Clickety-Click.

Let me. Not be. That obvious.

An Observation (Updated)

give me a week or two to || go absolutely cuckoo || and when you see your error || then you can flee in terror

Atalanta in Calydon

rock and roll, complete control.

Synchrony.

This Day's Blurb.

General Observations: Jan Lokpal Bill Protests.

Work In Progress.

Cage III - Free Show

Carrion.

This Day's Blurb.

On the Comfort of Doubt.

green

The First in a Series of Irrelevant, Unnecessary, and Thoroughly Mundane Posts.

Grey Noise.

This Month's Misadventures, Part 1 - Phuket and Koh Phi Phi.

Exam-Day Blah.

A Little Bit of India. Everywhere.

The Current.

Disconnected inferences are back.

Clarity.

The Unbearable Vexation of Being.

On Reality.

Guilt.

...and I cannot believe it's been 11 years since the turn of the millenium. can you?

Repentance.

This Day's Blurb.

Midnight musings and other exotic fruits.

Book Review: Never Let Me Go

What You Want / What You Need

Why Amanda Palmer is Brilliant - Part 2

Why Amanda Palmer is Brilliant - Part 1

You know life is unnecessarily complicated when..

Early-Morning Epiphany.

The Decision.

*Thwack!*

I think your bruise was understated.

Don't Whiz on a 'Lectric Fence.

Under The Table and Dreaming.

The Accidentally Explanatory Afternote.

Thus began the *isms.

Further Discourse on Happiness.

An Observation.

The Ironies of Life #972

Just tryin' to keep it in line...

This Day's Blurb.

Flatliners and more.

Ladies and Gentlemen!

Two Sharp Edges.

This Day's Blurb.

A Point Made?

Crash Course in Brain Surgery.

Jolted out of LimboLand.

Some updates and more of things I don't have to say.

Of Punctuation and Deathblows.

Florence+The Machine

taci.tur.nal

A Grave Concern.

This Day's Blurb.

Of Wormy Apples.

Oh well, the devil makes us sin.

To Quote.

For fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities.

To say what needs to be said...

A Writer's Diary.

Just so we all remember...

Thwack!