Late night rant... A pseudo masterpiece

Write a masterpiece, write write write! Don't be forgotten, not now no! Write to be seen, to free your ego, to feed your ego, write write write! don't ever stop writing, for if you do, you might just stop breathing. Don't stop those thoughts, let them flow like the wildest rivers of the world. Let them flow flow flow! Flow away into the horizon, where the sun fades away, a never ending goodbye, the greatest promise of tomorrows rise, the greatest lie. And I struggle, oh how I struggle to believe you, but I will sleep tonight, because I am tired, and naive, but I keep tense with anticipation. sleep sleep sleep! Oh how sweet are the child's dreams. How happy he lies, with a smile on his face. Sleep forever, never awake to this harsh reality. Sleep if you can for just another moment. Just sleep and never awake.

But the world is running, and if you close your eyes, you might just miss this life. So start running after your ambition. Run run run! Run, for if you fall behind, you will be left behind forever. Oh what potential to do great things. Oh what a waste. What a waste waste waste! But who are we to judge. Who are you to judge? Who are you? Keep your sympathy in your pocket for a rainy day. Live now in silence, for we need to hear the spirits dance and sing. Don't talk for with every word that is said, this soul gets tainted, darkened and dulled. Aah the fear, to be dulled to oblivion. No, don't forget me now, for if you do, I will cease to exist. I grab on to this existence with both my hands. I grab onto you with both my hands, for I am hanging, on the edge of my mind, on tilt, forever hanging.

Feel this earth under your feet. Feel that it is real. Feel feel feel. Feel how it tremors through your body, and lays the weight of the world on your mind. Oh the decisions decisions decisions. Like quick sand, it pulls you closer to your roots, where you came from. Pulling pulling pulling you with your own thoughts. Burdens of infinite lives, but you are just one man. Just one man. Just one. Small, insignificant, what can you do? Can you change the world? Do you have the answers? The answers to the mysteries and phantoms that can save us. Have you arrived, our savior, our messiah, our godsend.

Or are you just like me? Normal and ordinary. Are your words as empty as the wind? To be carried away into the moonlit night. This beautiful candle light. This beautiful candle light. If your words mean nothing, the let us stop here. Stop for a moment, and collect all that we know and search hard for a tune that fits this still moment. And let me take you by the hand, and if the tune is right, then we will sing. We will sing sing sing, in a language unknown, for the lyrics will not matter, in an alien tune, for the harmony will become only ours and only for this moment.

I miss you. Your soft, small face. Your eyes, weightless, as if you saw a different world. All the promises we made, to invest our love and our lives in one another. All the dreams we shattered... I thought I could forget you, but you linger on my mind, like a song stuck in repeat. You would never know it, but I miss you.

Aah but it matters not. Not in this superfluous world. Fill your sorrows with ipods and ipads and blackberrys and green fairies. Fill your life with a cloud of people you cannot see, or touch or feel. Meditate and lose your reality, for all that is left to experience is death. And we shall tread on until we are ended, or until we have begun.

Tread on into another day, into another promise, but don't stop writing. No don't stop writing, for if you do, you might just stop breathing...

No words today...

Twinkle... part 3

Click here for part 1, and here for part 2.

She sat on the sofa, in her jammys. Her thick square plastic framed glasses on the edge of her nose. She was reading a book. One of those fat fantastical novels that she loves. I knew she was concentrating hard because she was nibbling on her lower lip and had on a hint of a smirk. The power had gone out again, so she sat by a tall candle whose flame flickered near her face. The tiny light seemed to lay itself so gently on her skin making her cheeks glow with contentment, and cast the most delicate shadow on her nose and lips. It was as if the candle was painting reflective lines of thought on her face. And as it did so, her simple, calm chi filled the room with a cozy warmth. Wisdom and understanding danced with her youth. She was aware of everything around her, and everything seemed to gravitate towards her, just like that fluttering candle-light.

And as I stood in the shadows of the doorway, hoping that the power would stay out for just another moment, I wondered hard on what I had ever done to deserve this much happiness.

Does it ever feel like...

Does it ever feel like you are sitting in the bleachers, watching your own life play by play? Like you can see the place that this path of yours is leading you to, but you never seem to be getting any closer? Does it ever feel like you wish you were living a legendary, epic existence, but it never feels like that in this moment? Like you wish you had explored so many more places, and seen so many more things, and done so much more mischief. That you feel like you need to burst out of this skin and let out your crazy chi. Like you need to find out what you are actually capable of.

Does it ever feel like you need to be alone? Like you need a breath of silence and calm, so that you can hear yourself again. So that you can become conscious of your presence again. Like you need to take a deep breath and start this over. A clean, fresh start. Does it ever feel like you want to tell those thousand other voices to shut up so that you can listen to your own? Like you need to stop becoming the consequence of someone else's life, and start becoming your own anthology? Like you need to be selfish, just this once? Because just this once, is all you have...

Write write write!!!!!

The summer is over alas and we must all return to the fairytale time that is fall. Too presumptuous to call this cold weather winter, we brave on with our hearts shivering into the day, listening to moody songs and thinking about better days.

Yesterday was a significant deja-vu scene for me, sitting at the end of the bench at one of my intramural basketball games. I've been here before, at the end of this same bench, watching this same team, trying to find it in my heart to support them. I'm not used to being at the end of the bench. I was always the one to be picked first. I always thought of it as a given. I was the leader, the captain, the one that people wanted to watch play.

Now there's someone else. There has always been someone else for the last 2 years. Someone else that was picked over me. Someone else to take my place. There's this emotion. One of the most complex emotions I have ever had. It starts with the sharp ping of depression, knowing that you are dispensable. Knowing that if you were gone tomorrow, this scene would be the same. Knowing that you didn't matter. And then it's followed by the even sharper jab of jealousy. Anger, rage at that new kid in town. I hate the way he plays. The way he takes that unnecessary extra step. The way he makes that loose pass, it makes me furious. The way that in spite of his flaws, people still prefer him.

I've never said the right things. Never done things the right way. And I know that working the system has always been my greatest shortcoming. I could never please people like this new kid can. But it's moments like these that begs me to question, what is it that I'm trying to achieve? Why is it that every choice that I make sends me into a spiral of disgust. Why is it that the things that I say, never reflect the person that I am. Why is it so hard for people to see the real me through this wall of reality. And then I return, in reflection, to that same question that rings again and again at ROTD. When did all of this become about me?

There are many ways to get to your goals. Most of the time it is through the strong support of the people around you, and through the high of recognition and acknowledgment. Being in the limelight and proving everyday that you belong there. Seems to make sense....

The toughest path, however, is when you can achieve a height of satisfaction through the accomplishments of others. Even though they might not even know that you are there, standing right behind them, pushing them to be better, stronger, faster. Even if it isn't you that's out there dropping 20 points a night, that new kid is dropping 25 because you whispered to him to not make that loose pass, or to take that extra step. Knowing that you don't need appreciation from anyone if you know that you've done your job. Knowing that you don't need to be dispensable if you decide to make yourself useful. It's a rocky path that requires you to step out of yourself, and to open your eyes to the depth of your world.

In the years and years that I've played team sports, the latter has never occurred to me. And as I think about it, I can slowly feel the jealousy drain from me. Instead, I now see opportunity.

That's a good thing.

p.s. Sorry, its been a while.

In the mood....

It seems that I am in the mood...

Sometimes I really really hate movies. Mostly because they all end with everything 'working out'. It never seems like that in real life. My Summer of Love is proof. It's not that I am unhappy. I guess I'm just looking for familiarity. Movies are unfamiliar to reality. Good movies push those empathetic buttons. People should make more good movies.

A good movie is like a good friend. An even better friend is a good song. I remember as a seven year old, spending hours sitting in front of my dad's Technics amplifier, with his expensive Sony headphones plugged in, listening to Dr. Hook. It was my junior sanctum. Just sitting and listening to that CD over and over and over again. You know how if you listen to a CD enough times, you know what song comes after the one that's just finished. I sat with the little booklet that comes in the case, reading the lyrics and singing along in my head. It's amazing how lyrics of a song can stick in your head clearer than your most important memories. I guess good songs make memories too, just like good friends.

I love to complain about this era of music, and the dying radio that succumbs to big names, big money and big masses. I wonder if seven year old kids still get the chance to find their sanctum in this iPod age. Maybe it's a different kind of sanctum, however progressively unromantic it tends to become. I think that's why we love to hold on to the past. The past is always more romantic compared to this present. Like a transformation of soft, comforting silk into a tough plastic.

A little bit of color never hurt. An unreasonable whim, or a surprisingly soft spot for a love song. A secret love to write poems under candle light, or a song that you cant resist closing your eyes, getting on a table, and making orgasmic faces and vulgar gestures to.

So today's exercise girls and boys. Drown in cliche. Become that day dreaming fool that people make movies on. Walk around in naivety, and find romance.

Extreme Rant: End of a Beginning...

A lot has happened in this Summer of Love. I can say with a mild lucidity, that I did indeed fall in love. I went through the drama of it even though it may not have been apparent to me at the time. For now, my Summer of Love has been like a mud path, as many are, with a winding sort of direction, and pretty flowers on the way. And as always, I encourage naivety with your thoughts, for then we can forget about the more unimportant, yet necessary physicality at hand (as it were), and focus on the rest (however less impressive, and entertaining, and interesting, and in all, just plain boring) that might be. So for the lack of anything really of substance to show off about, or rather to bother writing about at all... read on.

So yes, The Summer of Love has brought me to a number of conclusions, let's call them the 'utter rubbish' findings, about well, people in general. The most interesting of them is that as individuals, we all choose our personalities. That sounds pretty obvious, I know, but what I found peculiar, is how often those personalities, or rather, portrayals, are almost always in one way or another, disconnected with who we really are. Maybe it is a wanting to become that personality that drives us to be the artist or the intellectual or the mystery or the lustrous, but how close to our bare nakedness is that true to?

Or maybe it works the other way and I've got it all wrong. Maybe you choose a personality to channel yourself to reality. Because otherwise you would be too bare and trivial to feed your existence. Hmm...

It happens though, in a haste of subconsciousness, that a tone or a look or a bunch of words leak out of your personality. It's like a moment of public nakedness, that you silently and shyly realized too. Like speaking before you've thought of what you're saying. And that reflexive glimpse is so harsh sometimes, that you might surprise yourself. But It is in that moment, that I can see you. That moment has made all our conversations and interactions worth while. Because that glimpse tells me the truth that is hidden...

**********

We all love beauty. We all want to be around beauty. We all want to be beautiful. And we will manipulate our ideals and our decisions to tailor that need. Beauty is comforting and exciting and unpredictable. It's almost like a drug that takes us away from the true reality of things. Beauty, even in the most obvious sense, is never real. Not this beauty. Not the beauty I was looking for in the Summer of Love.

There is a beauty though, that lies beyond our personalities. It is shameless. It is clueless. And it is naive. It is often mistaken for the sleeping, but I know now, that I need to be woken up.


.

Earthed

It seems that I keep trying to find a reason not to write, and end up finding no reason to write. But either way, words are for free, and time is in abundance. So as they say, let's fuck... umm

This post was initially going to be about a lot of things. And then I realized that all it really was, was a string of YouTube videos. And sometimes it's funny how the most trivial things can sometimes express and reveal some of your most intricate feelings. Like a drunken thirty second sob in a friend's arms, or a shy glance from across the room.

And sometimes it's the other way around, when the most trivial things can spark epiphanies and symphonies within you. Like the warmth and smell of a hot cup of chai, or a Christmas card with a story of what could have been, that you come across while cleaning up your room.

When I think about it, everyone or everything that I make part of my life, is like a string of twine, tying me to someone or something else. A song or a drawing or a kiss or a bracelet, or even an ideal, a thought... they all act as strands of attraction, binding me to this life, and keeping me in this place. Keeping me earthed.

When I started this post, I wrote down that I would not spew out some spiritual bs rant rubbish that's pleasing to hear... so I think I should stop now before this get's ugly. Comment people!!! I want some TLC!!! Also, if you think this post has ended unjustly, here are some youtube videos that express what I was going to say anyway....

Masala! Mehndi! Masti!

I think it all started when I flew off my bike in a very action-movie-slow-motion-explosions-in-the-background-type setting. Well nobody was really around to see the flying... and the after-moment was like one of those extended "I banged my knee... ssssss aaaahhhh" scenes from Family Guy. Little did I know that that little adrenalin-injected moment would be the perfect kick-off to what would be a weekend filled with thrilling highs and anxious lows.

My first glimpse of what was to become MMM was a storage room filled with boxes. Boxes that seemed ordinary enough but were extraordinary in effect. The colors and pictures that had collected in those boxes, held memories that I suddenly longed to be in. If I could fill one of those boxes with these words, I will know that I mean something too. Those boxes gave us the river of color that the weekend sailed on, bobbing happily at the delight those colors brought to our eyes.

And then there were those oars, that sweated tirelessly to keep us all from drowning. Angels in 'MMM 10th Aniversary shirt' disguises, keeping a watch over everything and everyone. Some were rockstar angels too. Bald lawyering rockstar angels. Some were young and bored. But they all held their own, and together they held each other, arm in arm, like brothers and sisters. Their walkie-talkie crazed leader was like a knight in shining armor, leading his troops into a flower-flier war, all the while providing them with food coupons to keep their tummys' from grumbling. He had his generals, who were no less capable of being brave commanders, armed with comforting direction and good looks. I salute you all.

My Main Man always seemed to be around. He was 'Bob The Builder', disguised as long luscious Goldie Locks. And like all great men, he was making dreams a reality. He amplified a single voice to be heard by thousands, and he spot-lighted a single pair of feet to make waves under the feet of thousands more. He was the voice of words whispered. He had a team of men who spoke in code, making sure that they made everyone else around them seem idiotic at the least. And together, they gave the weekend its solid trusses.

The food was royal. The henna, the saris, the churis... the paintings, and the really cheap DVDs. They all ran under the watch of one Dada of Dadas. Like an architect, creating a civilization, he molded space and time into life. What a magician. Musicians in this kingdom,were provided so fitly, by the coolest man on set. A smile that never really faded, and a tranquility that matched his very sexy black Mercedes, this man always looked like he knew the answer to something.

There were a bunch of girls, I think I saw them frolicking around in the grass. They ran circles around egos and tended to the weekend like one would put together a million piece puzzle in two minutes. Armed with sticky notes, and Blackberrys, they put each piece in its proper place in space and time. They crushed crises and disorder with their twinkly heels, and managed to do it while looking sexy. Now there's some multitasking I could learn from.

There was no doubt though, that the hottest couple on site, were also the mum and dad of MMM. They were to be seen everywhere, especially at Maro, where they single-handedly got the party started. Dad walked around coolly with a camera in his hand at all times. He made sure that his baby was being seen by everyone, and that he had another album he could add to the collection. Mum was a statue of serenity and understanding. She was always there, asking people if they needed help, or giving out hugs if they didn't. She was so selfless, it was daunting, and somehow she gave me enough faith to believe that we are all good souls. I hope I can one day be a fraction of the person she is.

I have one tiny confession to make. I think I might have a puppy crush on you. I don't know why, but I feel kiddish and immature when you're around. Stumbling with words and not knowing where to look. Every time I saw you, you met me with that automatic grin, those wide bubbly eyes and a lingering thought written on the grooves on your forehead. I will always wonder what that thought could be. I owe you a parking pass. I'm sorry I didn't get it back....

To Abhishek and Jyoti, the only names that ring in anyone's ear at MMM. They didn't eat until everyone had eaten. They didn't sleep until everyone was tucked away. They broke clouds with their sunshine, and they brought a bottomless well of hope, faith, belief and whatever else you needed to steady yourself at that moment.

Abhishek has a heart so much bigger than his head, that it's starting to make his accountants a tad bit nervous. And just when you think that he will stop giving, he will have room for one more smile, or one more thought, or one more hug. He might not have time for two back to back sentences for you, but he will have time to drop you across town on the dawn of his biggest production ever. What a guy....

The only scene I can remember from the entire weekend of Jyoti is when she was trying to make those kids dance on stage. I don't think I've seen anyone smile like that before. If I could live off of your kisses and hugs, I would do MMM every weekend, every month, every year, all the time...

So as they say in the business.... WRAP UP!!!

Self Knowledge

And a man said, Speak to us of Self-Knowledge.

And he answered saying:

Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights.
But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart's knowledge.
You would know in words that which you have always known in thought.
You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams.

And it is well you should.
The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea;
And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes.
But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure;
And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line.
For self is a sea boundless and measureless.

Say not, "I have found the truth," but rather, "I have found a truth."
Say not, "I have found the path of the soul." Say rather, "I have met the soul walking upon my path."
For the soul walks upon all paths.
The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed.
The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.

- Kahlil Gibran

Pensive Moments

Sometimes, your relationship with yourself is the most burdensome.


It was the summer of love. A summer of warm skin and cool breezes. Children flying kites in open patches of grass, and embracing lovers on tiresome subway rides home. Eyes met in fond, knitted affection and fingers locked in determined, obsessive possession.

We all play our parts in the summer of love. Without jealousy, possession is never sweet. Without longing, the release is without relief. Without a copper tear, a golden smile is worthless.

And so I silently do my part, in this summer of love.

Dear Sir,

Dear Sir, Are you afraid?

Afraid of what?

Are you afraid that you are becoming dispensable. That tomorrow, people will wake up and see through the hypocrisy that are your thoughts? That your knowledge was never really your own, just a borrowed chapter to flower your ideals.....

All knowledge is borrowed, my dear. We are vessels that have a need to contain substance. Each with our own twist of flavour and zest. Without that, I would be empty and hollow. The substance might not be my own, but I will try my best to extract the holiest of water from the holiest of rivers, the spiciest flavours, from the wildest fields, and the sweetest sugars from the most colorful hearts. My vessel will be a spot of bringing together for a thing known but for things unknown. And together, when all is said and done, I would have created new knowledge. Unique and scrumptious, waiting for someone else to add it to their vessel.

At the end of the day, these thoughts are never my own. Words are always borrowed from dictionaries written by other people. Actions are mimicked, songs are covered, and philosophies are relived by different souls. It is true, the strive for our uniqueness, or our meaningfulness is sometimes lost in this confusing world that never seems truly ours. But I don't worry because I know that with every new taste I add to my vessel, and share with someone else, I am giving in to a system that was never my own, but embraces me with open arms to become a part of. Today I am standing at the edge of this sphere of understanding, and tomorrow I will take one small step towards the center, and the next day I will take another, until one day I reach the core of it all.

And maybe when I reach there, I might just find my soul...

So I guess, yes... I am a little afraid.

Extreme Rant uncut... Sleepless part 3

I have three pillows on my bed. A little excessive I know, but I like pillows. What can I do. I'm lying in bed now. 4:54am in the morning. I have my eyes closed, and trying to find sleep. I can feel all three pillows under me. I am conscious of them being where they are. The thoughts of today are lingering in my head. I had a tennis match which I lost. First match I've played in over two years. Somehow I was fine and dandy with losing. Had a nice talk with dad later on about it. Watched another episode of House. Brilliant as always. Youtube is down today.. was gonna scout some more recipes to try out. The music on stereomood.com is playing. Still trying to find sleep. I can count my breath now. I've held my breath for about a minute. That pillow under my head is getting uncomfortable now. I take a deep breath and roll my eyes even though they are shut. I get dizzy when I do that, sort of a dazed moment to forget my thoughts and find sleep.

And then I'm thinking again. What is it to find sleep? That moment of utter unconsciousness. Totally mindless and bodiless. I'm lying in bed and thinking to myself, maybe if I lie here long enough with my eyes closed like this, I can fool myself that this is sleep and then open my eyes tomorrow morning wide awake.

But really, do you ever remember that transition between awake and asleep? It happens so suddenly even though it feels like a slow slide. All I can remember is letting the muscles of my eyelids go limp, and the creases on my forehead relax. Something in my mind goes, 'Alright boys, time for lights out'. And in the next moment, I'm in my dreamy world of memories and fantasies of lives I wish I had lived or may some day live.

I can never find it though. Not when I'm looking for it. It always finds me first. I'm ready when it comes. Tight and snug in between my three pillows and cozy blanket. There might just be a sandman, lingering around here in my room, waiting at 5:08am for the perfect moment to take me away for the night.

I guess sometimes that is just how it is... you spend your life trying to find answers and people and objects and pieces to the puzzle and yourself, and suddenly you forget where you put your sleep. Now you are trying to find your sleep and you need to take two steps backward. But what you have really forgotten is not where you put your sleep, but how you found it in the first place.

So now I lie in bed at 5:16am, writing this, thinking about today, listening to music, and trying my hardest not to find sleep. Nighty night.

Morning Cup o' Starbucks

Sitting in the capitalist state, sipping cups after cups of coffee. I was wearing smart clothes, polished shoes, sharp haircut. On display in this capitalist state. Maybe even for sale. Listening to the background new age sounds. Profound music, reminding you and me that we are much more than skin deep. Paintings on the wall in this capitalist state. Maybe these pictures can become conversation when my ideas fail. Maybe another coffee might distract them until I can think of something. I am fed up now, screaming profundities and profanities. LOOK AT ME.

Unstrung Thoughts

Ok.. so maybe not everyday... eyaah....

I want to talk about things that you think about. I want to talk about things that go through my head, sometimes coffee-triggered, or otherwise silent moments. Writing here is like talking about things. Having conversations with my computer screen when nobody interesting is around. Sometimes updating is hard to do because I'm so distracted. In general I have become kind of distracted. Kind of fedup with making decisions so I just let things be and go with the flow.

What has been on my mind today in particular, is the thought of becoming the best at something. What does it take to become a Ronaldo, or a LeBron, or a Federer. What does it take to become a Steve Vai... Thinking about that journey is quite perplexing. It takes hundreds of thousands of people to try before a Federer is made. Hundreds of thousands of people whose stories go unheard and unnoticed. Each believing that they have a chance to be the best. Three percent of high school students in America get to play college basketball. Out of those three percent, less than one percent go on to become successful professional athletes. If ever there was a tough sell, that would be one.

I guess it's numbers like those that scare us from making bold choices. So many times we joke about doing outlandish things like building a chocolate factory or living on a vineyard, and then we return to this "inlandish" living.

This post is taking me time. Watched an episode of House in between. It was about relationships. I think I liked it a lot. I might take some time to think about it for a while. So for now this post ends here. Unstrung thoughts in a couple of paragraphs. Like it for what it is.

Perspective

The tennis is getting better. Slowly.

Sometimes I wonder whether I'm living in a fairytale world. A prolonged happy drunken state in warm cozy little boxes, forever untroubled and content.

Even though we (Charan and I) found our current pad for dirt cheap, it happens to be smack in the middle of quite a posh area. Lots of really old people and really young people. It's the kind of area that you would like to settle down in one day once you've secured Tenure at that University, or gotten that Chief of Medicine job.

And then I thought of all the TED talks that I've been watching off late. People talking about a world that is totally different from this one. A black and white contrast. I wonder if any of the kids growing up in this neighbourhood will ever even get a glimpse of that world. I wonder if I will.

I guess sometimes you need to be radical in your living, and sometimes you just need to chill out. Even if living is just a frame of mind right now. But does that mean that you switch off from all of your thoughts to pretend that the one you are at right now is where you should be? Maybe when you have a minute, you could think about your life in perspective with the rest of the world. With all of it. The richer and the poorer. The malnutrition-ed and the obese. And you don't necessarily need to stop there. Think of those who are losing their lives today. Imagine the possibilities of what happens next, and then put your life into perspective.

Most people will go through life, surrounded by a phantasmagorical living. A glass box of cloudy realities that they will create themselves to find solace. But if we are really one human race, don't you think we ought to at least spare a thought, if not an action, for something, or someone outside of this body?

By all means, live in your illusion, but beware of the reality that exists.


footnote: I know the post is a bit edgy... maybe today edgy is good...

Chapter 101

As always, I have been procrastinating. Since nobody really bothered to comment on the last post, I have decided to post everyday. Everyday until I am satisfied.

I'm not always going to talk about my day to day stuff... but I will today. Today was the single most petrifying day of my entire existence. I gave my first tennis lesson today. Nine balls (those funny orange and yellow ones), Reese, Bobby and Teddy. Everything I ever knew about tennis went flying out of my head and vanished into the court that had seemed to transform itself into a massive black hole. Petrifying.

I thought about calling up Zeeshan today, but I didn't really know what to say to him or ask him. Zeeshan if by any chance you are reading this, today I realized what it takes to be a tennis coach. I remember the very first time I met you. You had called me in for a brief hit around to see how my game was. It was at the Al Wasl courts when you still coached there. I could go on and on about the things I cherished about those lessons. Our conversations while hitting from the service line, while practicing serve, in between drills. The millions of drops of sweat that you squeezed out of me. It all came back to me in a rush of blood to the head today. Petrifying.

And as bobby strolled around the court today, in the middle of a drill, he popped out his mobile phone from his pocket, probably to update his Facebook status. Disgusting. Even more foul was that I had no idea what to do. None. This is my life right here. This is what I live for. And I had no words left. Just stunned.

Tonight, my sleeplessness will lead to some more Vector, some more thinking, and when the gym is open, I will begin my training. I will begin my concentration. My discipline.

And maybe in a while, it might get a little less petrifying.

100th, Coffee High, Reflections

I haven't been able to sleep the last couple of nights. John made me a very 'effective' cup of coffee today morning, and well, I don't think I will need to sleep ever again.

***

The last few days, I have been thinking about an awesome post, and well, all I wanted to really say in this post, is that ROTD has been insanely fun for me to write, and hopefully for you to read.

I was thinking about writing a letter to Jenifer Aniston, but I couldn't really think of anything outside of "Dear Jenifer, You are probably the hottest woman ever." That would have been a short post, so I decided against it. Besides, I'm still waiting for Deepika to get back to me...

***

This time is quite significant to my general existence. In the next few days, I will find out if I will be allowed to switch out of engineering. Hopefully this one will swing my way. I'm praying... Thinking back, I don't even know why I was in engineering to begin with. Dad, what were we thinking?

***

I was packing my stuff a couple of hours ago. And as I was taking the books off of my bookshelf, something so honestly conscientious hit me. The books, they had dust on them. The dust, it felt like I had dissed those books to the ultimate. I keep them on that shelf, with hopes of one day opening them and actually reading them, but I never do. And to display them like that was such a sham! Hypocrisy! Fraudulent!

From now on, I am only going to display books that I have read. That will be my little reward.

Also, I am thinking of writing a book. Don't know where to start though, so if you, my dear three readers would oblige, ideas, topics, opinions, anything that could help.

***

I was watching a movie yesterday. It was a corny sports flick about some messiah guy and a gymnast or something. It was supposed to be a true story. Maybe messiah's really do exist then, or maybe somebody got his hands on some LSD. Who knows.

The movie was basically a simple guide to how a life should be lived. This old man keeps giving advice to this kid and even though the advice was super cliched, it really appealed to me...


"Life has just three rules?"
"And you already know them..."
"Paradox, humour, and change."
"Paradox..."
"Life is a mystery. Don't waste time trying to figure it out."
"Humour..."
"Keep a sense of humour, especially about yourself. It is a strength beyond all measure."
"Change..."
"Know that nothing stays the same."


***

Some of my own thoughts now...

It seems like the only thing that I am learning about in college is me. I have moments of confusion with this whole growing up thing. I think I was more grown up three years ago than I am now. I spend way too much time on my own, even when I am not in my room. I never believed in thinking. Thinking made me conscious about my decisions. Made me hesitant. Three years ago, I never had the chance to think. There were always people around, cricket matches to fix up, the tennis court, basketball practice, band practice. Never thinking. I have too much time to think now. This room makes me think.

The more I think, the more I want to write about what I am thinking about. But I don't want to think, even though I want to write, oh so desperately. If only I could be a circle without a center. Blank, and yet focused.

I'm going to stop now. This post, it means something to me. Write a comment. Write about anything. Write about your day. Write about the last dump you had. Write the most random thought you can muster up right now. Write the most troubling thought on your mind right now, or the most curious question that is bothering your mind. I'm sick and bored of my thoughts. I want you now.

I need you now.

***


You have kept me going for a hundred posts, and hopefully, you will keep me going for another hundred.

Peace.


***

Growing up

This post is for all the other confused nineteen-year-olds out there who couldn't sleep last night.

Growing up is hard. You have to worry about getting educated. You have to worry about maturity and food and ambition. Worry about money and family and friends. About school and summers and weight and hair. About what people think, about what education means to you. Opinions and politics. Intellectuality and creativity, conversation and connections, networking and socializing...

Growing up is quite overwhelming...

Another poem? Silence Has Got a Sound.

This poem comes with a soundtrack...or maybe the other way around.... play the song while you read... that's how I wrote it...


*******

Lost in a thought
Do you remember who you were
This time a year ago
Maybe two maybe three
And what of you now
Close my eyes and I go back to that place
Of innocence and kiddish curiousness

How have I changed
Or have I at all
The more I listened
The more I looked around me
My thoughts floated away
Into people that mattered
And didn't at the same time

They said so many things
And walked by so many times
With thoughts written on their faces
And feelings kept on their sleeves
What did I look like to them?
Was I the same
A book to read
A metaphor to understand
A symbol of life
To think about for a moment
And then move on
Walk past
With a though for later
Later in the silence

I liked the silence the most
No thoughts, no confusion
Just silence and a feeling
Like eyes opening in slow motion
To a sound unheard by your ears
But by your soul

You see it then
Silence has got a sound.

Poem rant... Don't get it? Neither do I....

Words unsaid in a distant past,
Is it too late now, would it matter,
Things undone in memory,
Like a book with missing pages.

All I have is this here and now,
No rhyme no rhythm no reason,
Like a song I wrote on a wall somewhere,
Faded in the sands of time.

Maybe I'll wake tomorrow,
And I will see something new,
Maybe this chapter will be complete,
The words, they belong to you.

Early morning rant... just another blog post...

I'm trying to get a blog-ball rolling here. If that means posting when I don't want to, well so be it.

A couple of weeks ago, I was at a gathering of a bunch of students. These are the moments that make me feel like college is what is should be. Sometimes I wish that my days would be like a movie, with all the monotonous boring crap cut out. There is a lot of time in between the moments that are actually worth putting in the final cut. So much time in between. Anyway, I deter.

Well at this gathering, many people gave talks and presentations and such. One person in particular, Amad*, gave well, for the lack of a better description, a motivational talk on living day to day life. He said many catchy things such as "Ask yourself everyday, did you live an Oscar worthy day today" (That is where the previous paragraph probably stemmed from) and " Don't wait for opportunity, make yourself an opportunity", or something along the lines of that. It was indeed quite interesting.

Last week, I also found myself spending Wednesday evening at a free screening of 'Flow', which is a movie about a very serious issue pertaining to water and how we are getting royally screwed over by huge ass companies who think that if they have enough money, the world will not blow up. It was a hellova contemplative night. Watch the documentary for free HERE.

A few nights ago, I decided to watch a movie that I hadn't seen in a while. It's called 'Instinct' and it has a bunch of cool actors in it but its apparently unheard of amongst my friends. Its about a very very very complex subject of whether or not we as a human race would have been better off without the creation of the civilized world. It explores the mind of a man living in the wild, or rather, a man living as part of the wild. Yes, it was a thinker. And the acting helped. Watch it. Please.

And in between all of that, I came across a song by Cat Stevens, called 'Father and Son'. The song is in the form of a conversation between an old man and his son. The man keeps telling his son that he needs to calm down and take it easy, that he is young and there is a lot that he has to learn, but the son is stubborn and won't listen. He is in a hurry to grow up and to launch himself into a worldly adventure away from a society that is suffocating him.

Ive also spent last night watching TED talks, after quite a while. It was exactly what my mind needed after getting fucked over and over and over again by all of the aforementioned. The most interesting talk of the night was by THIS GUY, who also happens to be an artist. It turns out that artist are generally interesting people by nature. Think of it this way, wouldn't it be awesome have a conversation over tea with a photographer, who has traveled to three different war-zones and captured photographs that have been on the cover of TIME magazine? Artists transcend their stories into a language that us mango people can appreciate, and at the end of the day, isn't it about just that? Our lives are a collection of stories that include other living entities, and when our time is up on earth, that's all we will have. Memories and stories. Oh yea, THIS GUY could give you a couple of hints on how to be happy. It was a bit too much food for thought, and I'm stuffed. I wonder what would happen if I started today, and began walking down to California. I wonder.

I have to stay here in Toronto a little while longer. Its my big cage, and even though there are corners left to explore, I am stuck in one. It's called UofT St. George. I think I'm being disciplined for something. I don't know what though, atleast not yet. There are moments when I do learn a thing or two. But then there are those monotonous moments in between. Long long moments in between. Sometimes all I can do is wait from one enlightening moment to another, and I forget to go through the boring bits in between. It's only then that I realize that without the TV timeouts and the potty-breaks, the entire movie collapses. What a drag.

I guess there are a lot of things that we can fill those in-between moments with. An interesting book. A spontaneous subway ride to nowhere. Maybe a really good blog post. Something that would revive you every three seconds. That's how long a moment is. Three seconds. Live your life as if the next three seconds are the most important three seconds of your entire life. The next three seconds are the last three seconds of the ball game, you are down by one and the ball is in your court. You take the shot and make it. Those were a great three seconds. Now you have to top it in the next three. Now that's an intense life. That's the kind of life I want.

For now, I shall wait on my daily dose of mindfuckedness and blog-worthy update. I shall see you soon, my beloved three readers.

Twinkle part 2.. Its been a while...

She kissed me and I could feel her smile even before her lips left mine. Her warm breath tickled my nose as we finally drew apart. “I need to go now”, she whispered. “Alright…”, I said. “I’m serious! I really need to leave”, the smile still lingered on her face. “Go ahead…”, I said with a fictitious seriousness. She punched my chest, in playful disappointment. “Fuck you!”, she chuckled as she slowly stepped away from me.

I stood there, and watched her walk away. She knew I was watching her but she didn’t dare turn around. She knew too well how that would feed my ego. Such a simple comfort, but it summed up all that we were.

For part 1, click idhar(here).

An open letter to Deepika Padukone

Dear Deepika,

This is my first open letter to anyone and I'm not quite sure why I am writing one to you, but I guess that you can claim the privileged either way.

Over the past couple of years, I have come to the realization that I have turned into a hopeless romantic. I have been sans-girlfriend for many years, and it is my honest opinion that one Deepika Padukone, i.e, you, have the perfect solution to the situation. You may be asking me, "What the fuck?", and justifiably too. Through this letter, I shall try to express my thoughs with hopefully a sound balance between sensible reasoning and lustrous zest.

As I have already mentioned earlier, my past few years have been, lets say, a forlorn time and it has been so because of my significantly unique circumstance. You see, my first 'female interaction' was with my school Headmasters daughter. She was also very hot and well even though we meandered through and around trees and such, twas without the spice of artificial rain, if you know what I mean. My second, and well only countable significant interaction with a non-male, as it were, was with a girl who was not only superior to me in many ways, but also extremely understanding and well to put it honestly, effing brilliant.

Now therein lies my predicament. The only few girls that I have befriended (forget be-bedded), have been either frekin hot, or frekin hot and effing brilliant. Now I believe in linear growth when it comes to living and that is where you fit in perfectly. You may think again think, "What the fuck?”. Let me explain further.

From the extremely intimate interactions that I have had with you, through such feature films as Love Aaj Kal (LAK) and that other one, I believe that you hold the key emotional, spiritual, practical, and physical characteristics that would perfectly compliment my own personality. Let us take for example, certain aspects of your traits. You showed your extremely smooth wit when bar-bantering with Saif Ali Khan. This brings to light the ease with which we could spend hours on end, chit-chatting about the trivialities of this world and I couldn't imagine a silent awkwardness ever existing. Of course, when the more passionate silent moments do present themselves, they will be personified due to the intensity of the contrasting silence.

You might want to know certain logistical mismatches right off the bat, and frankly, I am and have always been a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy. I am currently studying in Toronto, and considering your current field of work, we might have to explore the possibility of long distance communication. However, I don't believe that it would be a problem because of my immense faith in our working out. Also, since you are a person of media-noted stature, I would like to believe a trip every once in a while to Toronto, for some face to face time wouldn't be too out there...

Also, my professional life is kind of a mess. I have hardly any money and no job as of yet. This lack of employment could be seen as a bonus for your cause as this gives me more time to romanticize about you and do such things as write poetry and love letters. I live in a small, but cozy room in a house with one bathroom that I share with four other people. Given your obvious precise and calculated appearance, you probably take a long time to get ready in the morning. You might need to sacrifice some of the detail due to a lack of bathroom time, but do keep in mind that if you become too sloppy, we might have to talk about it. Also, I do not have a mirror in my room, and often more than not, you might leave the house with inaccurate makeup. I can let you use my MacBook web-camera to get a vague idea, but it is often a lot less telling than a mirror.

I think that physically, we are a good match. I am aspiring to an Arjun Rampal-esque physique (when he was smoking hot), and will get there.. eventually. I understand that you are around 5'9" tall and even though I am an inch or two (maybe threeish) shorter, I take solace in the fact that your preferred choice of footwear are flats (as seen in LAK). I will make an effort to walk around on my toes for the most of our time together. Also, we cannot discard the possibility that I may still have some growing left to do.

I think that my easy-going spirit will compliment yours extremely well. I can so easily imagine us sitting on a beach somewhere, watching the sunrise, arm in arm. Our relationship wouldn't be based on materialistic illusions such as money or financial stability. Rather I would drown you in the essence of a true romantic. A romance fit to be written as a New York Times Bestseller. We wouldn't ever have a mundane moment. How could we? The way I see it, we are soul mates, and if I need to write this letter to get your attention, then so be it! I say down with this social hierarchy bullshit. Who says you need to be a celebrity to get with one?

You see Deepika, I believe that at the end of the day, you and I, we aren't that different. Sure more people might know your name, but I can tell you this - you can give a million interviews and do a billion movies, and people will still not know who you are. You see, I don't look at you as Deepika Padukone, The Supermodel and The Bollywood Megastar. I see you as that Mango Person who has a story that maybe you have lost in a story that someone else wrote for you. I am willing to hear your story, however interview-unworthy it might be. And if you can’t find it in the glare of the limelight, we can take a life changing adventure of self-realization and discovery and who knows what might happen.

It's all up to you now.....

Forever Yours,

Udai.

p.s To keep in the spirit of complete honesty, I have included a picture of myself that I took this morning.

Jam

I like jam toast, strawberry butter always clumpy sweet crunchy crispy yum. Jam on toast, toast on jam, toasted jam untoasted jam :O, just jam, just toast. What?!

There are times of enlightenment. Times that you and I have created and will create. Jam times with peanut butter spoonfuls. Times where this reality is cracked open and filled in like a jelly-jam donut. Imagine swimming in jam. Being one with jam. At the end of the day thats all anybody is doing anyway. Just Jammin'

I'm Goin Mid-evil On Your Punk Ass!

You can't really call it a whim, or a fancy or whatever, because it was calculated. I bought a typewriter, which has now prominently become the centerpiece of my little room. I don't know if and when I will be coming back to my beloved ROTD, but I will make a stop when I feel something needs to be shared. Until then, I am going to truly and selfishly write for one and only one purpose. To contribute to the art of senselessness.

Not every printed word must be clad in a book to be shared with the world and not every story written needs to be told. Sometimes, as a musician would practice his instrument in a lonely room for hours on end, so must a writer write.

I am not yet an artist, not even a painter, but know this, I am born.

Night One

For some time, my day to day life has lacked an immediate purpose. That is why I've decided to take on something concrete tonight. Its simple and yet I hope that I'm not making a stupid, stupid decision. But right now I need any decision and I am content with this one.

It's a simple vow of silence. I know the idea sounds ridiculously stupid and immature, but to be honest, I really don't care about being stupid and immature, not when I know that I'm still a kid.

Taking a vow of complete silence is a bit radical for anyone, so I am going to allow myself one single conversation a day and only if it is completely and utterly necessary. I'm also going to log my days on this blog, not everyday but when I feel the need. Maybe if I lose less words while speaking, I will have more words for here.

So this is night one, and I already feel breathless. Sounds like the next few days are gonna be fun...

Insurge of Rants.... See You Tomorrow...

I find myself telling my three readers oh so often about the confusion that is my sight, and how ever so often I find myself in a moment of clarity. It's true, and I like talking about it a lot.

There was a time quite a while ago, when the confusion didn't really matter at all. It was kind of inconsequential in the bigger scheme of things, and well I just chose to be happy all the time. Somehow, things just seemed to work out.

Off late, I have let go of that, and I have let my blurred vision trouble me again and again and again. Its tough when your confusion actually does affect the greater scheme of things....

And then I got to thinking last night. How selfish of me to make MY greater scheme of things into THE greater scheme of things. Where along the line did I develop this ego? At school, I was part of a family. I gave to that family without a second thought. At university, I lost somebody to give unconditionally to. It was supposed to be my time. Help the world by first helping myself. I always hated it when my mum said that the most I could do for her was my homework.

The more I write this week, the more I realize how this blog is turning more into Ramblings of the Woeful College Kid. I guess there are repercussions of each and every one of my decisions now. Scrutiny and judgment. I wonder how people actually find this life fun.

But today, I'm gonna be happy. I don't really care about whats going to happen in September or where my life is going.

I'm going to make a plan to deal with school. A one day at a time plan. I think I'm going to go live today now.

See you tomorrow.

Random Rant... Sleepless part 2

I lay my thoughts on the ground beside me
I lean tired against the door
And even though I long to dream
I lie sleepless on the floor

2 Extreme Rants for the price of one.. Not for the sullen hearted, but read on if one is desired.

I don't have much time right now so I'll make this one quick.

This space has been getting drier and drier as the minutes and hours and days and weeks and months have passed. I don't know how to fix it. I can't not write what I feel. If I feel dry, then the words come out dry. That's the sad truth.

I have this picture in my mind. Its of a sunset. I'm sitting on the side of the road, as I have so many times, just staring into the sky, and thinking. This picture, its so calm and serene and peaceful. Sometimes I notice the cars that drive past. I follow their headlights from afar until they get close to me. I imagine I know something about the person sitting inside, driving. For a split second, I am a part of their lives and they are a part of mine. Sometimes I see something familiar. Like bobbing heads to radio music. I try to guess the song that's playing. And sometimes I smile at them. Just to see what their reaction would be.

I remember so much. Insignificant evenings. But such powerful evenings to me. Evenings where I got this serenity about my existence. There was no board exam, no homework, no people, no music, no family, no friends, nothing. Its how I feel sometimes when I sit with Shandy, my doggy. I don't know what he is thinking. I dont care what he is thinking. I don't need to worry about lead words and disappointment, no expectations and no past. Complete forgiveness, transparency and silence. It's so tranquil.

There was so much happening around me. I was running on the field, sleeping in class, singing, dancing, drumming, but I always felt unattached. I felt like I would rise like the Sun did every morning, and I would dress myself and go to school and do what was expected of me. Then I left home. Haha.. I thought I was out of the coop. Sleep till noon and do what I wished to. I was out of the coop alright, but I didn't realize that now, there were hawks circling above me, waiting for me to become the obnoxious young disillusioned. And how hard it is to dodge a bullet when you don't realize that you are holding the gun.

It's so tranquil. Sitting alone in this little room right now. Warm and cozy in my cocoon. How I hate to get out of this soft bed. I make a castle of excuses as flimsy as a castle of cards, and I stand inside it, looking up at the walls, waiting for them to collapse. I was never raised to dwell in self pity. How low is that. Yuck.

But I don't want to leave this room. Not to go into that world. That world makes me so sad. Those people, they are so.. so plastic and fake. I see no point. I see no point in crashing this tranquility. Can I just sit here a little while longer please? Two more minutes in bed. Two more minutes in my dreams. Two more minutes with my thoughts. Two more minutes without you.

I've got to wake up now.

**********

I'm reading Andre Agassi's autobiography. It keeps taking me back to my hopelessly lost tennis days. I remember training. Being shouted at by my coaches. I remember Zeeshan the most. We used to start our practices at the half court line. Playing around, talking about stupid things, the news the weather, Grandslams and such. And then we would make silent blows from the baseline. He used to shout at me. keep your racket closed. Move your feet! Recover. Firm wrist. Eyes on the ball. Follow through!!! He didn't shout that much towards the end. He knew I was shouting at myself silently.

I remember being on the tennis court, the silence just before a point. The soft sound of the ball being bounced before a serve. I could hear myself breath in that moment. Collected thoughts, prepared to execute. I remember my heart beat like a steaming train after a point. I remember talking to myself, pushing myself.

It was one of the lightest times. Bouncing on my toes. Sweaty shirts. Weapon in hand, unsheathed and ready to attack. My tennis raquet was like a thing alive, swinging, spinning, swaying in my hand, readying itself.

So many thoughts, so many points and tournaments, so many faces and so many minutes and hours and days and weeks and months.

I cant not miss that.

Flying High Rant ... Part Two

Here we are again in this awful stale predicament. If only living was as easy as picking a card from a deck, and then going with it. Apparently it isn’t. How have I reached this point where it doesn’t matter anymore? Where did the inspiration go?

People say you attract your thoughts. It works, both negatively and positively. If you keep telling yourself you don’t want to do something or to become someone, chances are, you are going to be doing that exact thing. How ironic.

I have been in and out of this confusion for so long now that I don’t know what to think anymore. I feel nothing for death and even less for this moment. How horridly emo does that sound.

We are all fucked in our special little ways. Some of us fucked a lot more than others. How we deal with our fuckedness is what defines our character. There will always be reason to cry. There will always be someone to blame. There will always be a shortcut and there will always be reason to pack up and give in.

And at the same time, there is unconditional love. There are friends for you to lean on. There is family to cradle you and there is home. Home. For a few lucky ones, there is home.

Now the cards are face up and the choice is clear. I have all the time in the world. All I need is patience.

So I will wait.