in-er-tia/ noun [U] 1 (usually disapproving) lack of energy; lack of desire or ability to move or change: I can’t seem to throw off this feeling of inertia.
This post is dedicated to all my fellow sufferers.
You are not alone.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Untitled
A lie made somewhere,
Is to keep us alive,
Yet,
It wasn’t the song,
That made you cry,
But,
The silence between its words.
And,
Now you know,
Why everyone cries,
When they are born.
Searching for words,
That won’t say anything.
Searching for reasons,
That won’t mean anything.
And,
Now you know,
Why sanity is being still.
Is to keep us alive,
Yet,
It wasn’t the song,
That made you cry,
But,
The silence between its words.
And,
Now you know,
Why everyone cries,
When they are born.
Searching for words,
That won’t say anything.
Searching for reasons,
That won’t mean anything.
And,
Now you know,
Why sanity is being still.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
A conversation with Boredom
When the fan is rotating at not too high a speed, it is usually easy to count the number of rotations in a minute. Once you have the number of rotations per minute, it is really up to your imagination. You can predict different permutations and combinations, sketch a graph, try and derive the electricity consumption equation, etc, etc.
I was still in phase I.
ME: “…21…22…23…24…”
KNOCK……….KNOCK………KNOCK……..KNOCK……
[Now only one person or thing can have a knock like that. I got up with an effort and opened the door]
[Enter Boredom]
ME: “Why me?”
[Boredom shrugs]
ME: “No Seriously…why always me?”
BOREDOM: “I don’t know”
ME: “You really ruin my mood, every single time you come”
BOREDOM: “No. You ruin your mood ever single time…that’s why I come”
ME: “Balls! I am extremely capable of being funny and cheerful”
[Boredom does not respond]
ME (irritated): “You wanna bet? Let’s test it. Right here, right now”
BOREDOM: “Nah, not in a mood really…”
ME: “Yeah…me too actually…who the hell are you anyways?”
BOREDOM: “I am BORED”
ME: “Yeah…me too actually…1…2…3…4…”
I was still in phase I.
ME: “…21…22…23…24…”
KNOCK……….KNOCK………KNOCK……..KNOCK……
[Now only one person or thing can have a knock like that. I got up with an effort and opened the door]
[Enter Boredom]
ME: “Why me?”
[Boredom shrugs]
ME: “No Seriously…why always me?”
BOREDOM: “I don’t know”
ME: “You really ruin my mood, every single time you come”
BOREDOM: “No. You ruin your mood ever single time…that’s why I come”
ME: “Balls! I am extremely capable of being funny and cheerful”
[Boredom does not respond]
ME (irritated): “You wanna bet? Let’s test it. Right here, right now”
BOREDOM: “Nah, not in a mood really…”
ME: “Yeah…me too actually…who the hell are you anyways?”
BOREDOM: “I am BORED”
ME: “Yeah…me too actually…1…2…3…4…”
Monday, October 23, 2006
The Rae of hope
Puns are bad. That's the first thing you're taught in advertising. But in some cases, such as the title of this post, a pun is the only thing that seems the most apt way to express an emotion.
If you’ve checked the comments to my posts, you’ll find one recurring user [more so, as no one else ever comments...:)]. She’s my best friend. I’m not too used to letting others read my work but she was the one who insisted on me doing so. And I’m glad I did.
She’s does flatter me sometimes, just to keep me encouraged, and to be honest it has more than helped.
She’s actually helped me in more ways than one…but that is another story altogether.
If you’ve checked the comments to my posts, you’ll find one recurring user [more so, as no one else ever comments...:)]. She’s my best friend. I’m not too used to letting others read my work but she was the one who insisted on me doing so. And I’m glad I did.
She’s does flatter me sometimes, just to keep me encouraged, and to be honest it has more than helped.
She’s actually helped me in more ways than one…but that is another story altogether.
The search continues...
I’ve often been asked why are most of my poems, writings and thoughts in general so very dark (please refer below). I’ve been criticized more than once for my obsession with pain and suffering. Well, I don’t blame them, and honestly I myself have no clue where it stems from.
Recently I happened to read an interview of Anurag Kashyap in the weekly Tehelka, the man whose work spans some of the hardest hitting and gritty films like Satya, Kaun, Shool, Water, etc. I greatly admire and respect the man, and so was more than keen on reading the interview. He talked about what Javed Akhtar had once mentioned, that out of anger stems cynicism and out of cynicism comes humor. He spoke about how he really agreed with Akhtar Saab, but that he’s still waiting for his final transition (humor). Now, Anurag Kashyap as I found out from the interview, is someone who’s had an extremely tough childhood, one filled with abuse, addiction, etc, and one can expect a man after going thru such an experience to be filled with seething anger. But I’m at a complete loss to explain my reasons for being so.
I’ve had an extremely normal childhood and life in general. My family belonged to millions of the great Indian middle class, one that came of age over the past 15 years or so. So while I didn’t really grow up in luxury, I certainly wasn’t deprived of most of my whims either. And the love that I’ve received growing up, has like most who know me since then would more than agree, made me a spoilt child. Not true. Well, not entirely. So I’m at a complete loss to understand where this anger in me originates.
I’m still mulling over it…
Recently I happened to read an interview of Anurag Kashyap in the weekly Tehelka, the man whose work spans some of the hardest hitting and gritty films like Satya, Kaun, Shool, Water, etc. I greatly admire and respect the man, and so was more than keen on reading the interview. He talked about what Javed Akhtar had once mentioned, that out of anger stems cynicism and out of cynicism comes humor. He spoke about how he really agreed with Akhtar Saab, but that he’s still waiting for his final transition (humor). Now, Anurag Kashyap as I found out from the interview, is someone who’s had an extremely tough childhood, one filled with abuse, addiction, etc, and one can expect a man after going thru such an experience to be filled with seething anger. But I’m at a complete loss to explain my reasons for being so.
I’ve had an extremely normal childhood and life in general. My family belonged to millions of the great Indian middle class, one that came of age over the past 15 years or so. So while I didn’t really grow up in luxury, I certainly wasn’t deprived of most of my whims either. And the love that I’ve received growing up, has like most who know me since then would more than agree, made me a spoilt child. Not true. Well, not entirely. So I’m at a complete loss to understand where this anger in me originates.
I’m still mulling over it…
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Delusions of a romantic loser
I don’t know what I’m writing about really. But if you can understand a strange fear, which sometimes grips you, that if you do not record something at that very moment, then you might never be cured of an inexplicable pain, then I’m sure you’ll understand the rambling that is to follow, no matter how incohesive.
Today, I feel I hate everyone in this world, every single one of you, without exception and without apology. It is an unabashed disgust at mankind. If there was a provision in our legal constitution that permits each of us one murder in our lifetime, I’m sure to have used up my quota today. But then, I guess we all go thru such phases, don’t we? Then I wonder how many of us would really give up such a constitutional right? Anyways now that’s a different issue altogether, one that concerns society as a whole, but right now honestly, I couldn’t care less about society.
Today is one of those moments when I feel god must be a fucking genius to have created someone like me. I can’t help but marvel at my form and being. At this very moment, I also feel something unspeakably grotesque in me, but even that only seems to make me more beautiful. This moment now, there can’t be a living creature, more enchanting than me. I love myself. I’m basking in my own afterglow that is at once both divine and evil. And I love myself. I am supreme. I am invincible. I am…sad.
Then it hits you, when suddenly the image echoing your form inside the mirror turns a shadow. I feel it now and you will too, that how in some ways this overwhelming urge to love yourself, is because you’re unable to love someone else, the way they love you. This unspeakable need to wrap your arms around you and hug you is because you can’t let go without a care in the world, and melt in someone else’s arms. So I choose to walk away, far away, into my private world. A world, holed inside a cozy little apartment, sealed away from reality with curtains drawn and doors bolted two times over. But while I busy weaving my pathetic little fantasies, and later in a more pitiable manner playing them out, the world passed by my door without even suspecting my existence.
I dreamt I was preparing myself, conditioning my mind and training my reflexes for a war, which I would later realize, never existed and never will. Then when I came out onto the streets, ready to protect someone, ready to whisk someone away to safety, I found no one really needed me like that. All of them, all of YOU have let me down once again. But if you think I’d lie down and die, then take this…I DECLARE WAR! ON YOU, YOU AND YOU!!
I am invincible.
I am supreme.
I am sad.
Today, I feel I hate everyone in this world, every single one of you, without exception and without apology. It is an unabashed disgust at mankind. If there was a provision in our legal constitution that permits each of us one murder in our lifetime, I’m sure to have used up my quota today. But then, I guess we all go thru such phases, don’t we? Then I wonder how many of us would really give up such a constitutional right? Anyways now that’s a different issue altogether, one that concerns society as a whole, but right now honestly, I couldn’t care less about society.
Today is one of those moments when I feel god must be a fucking genius to have created someone like me. I can’t help but marvel at my form and being. At this very moment, I also feel something unspeakably grotesque in me, but even that only seems to make me more beautiful. This moment now, there can’t be a living creature, more enchanting than me. I love myself. I’m basking in my own afterglow that is at once both divine and evil. And I love myself. I am supreme. I am invincible. I am…sad.
Then it hits you, when suddenly the image echoing your form inside the mirror turns a shadow. I feel it now and you will too, that how in some ways this overwhelming urge to love yourself, is because you’re unable to love someone else, the way they love you. This unspeakable need to wrap your arms around you and hug you is because you can’t let go without a care in the world, and melt in someone else’s arms. So I choose to walk away, far away, into my private world. A world, holed inside a cozy little apartment, sealed away from reality with curtains drawn and doors bolted two times over. But while I busy weaving my pathetic little fantasies, and later in a more pitiable manner playing them out, the world passed by my door without even suspecting my existence.
I dreamt I was preparing myself, conditioning my mind and training my reflexes for a war, which I would later realize, never existed and never will. Then when I came out onto the streets, ready to protect someone, ready to whisk someone away to safety, I found no one really needed me like that. All of them, all of YOU have let me down once again. But if you think I’d lie down and die, then take this…I DECLARE WAR! ON YOU, YOU AND YOU!!
I am invincible.
I am supreme.
I am sad.
Friday, October 20, 2006
The crying silhouette
Sometimes all I want,
Is a touch.
Sometimes,
I want the world to die.
Too many times,
I wish I were dead.
With no grief,
To give me reason,
Without a wound,
To feel the pain,
Too many times,
I cried inside a smile.
In silence,
I seek war.
In shadows,
I seek black.
In a minute,
I search forever.
Too many times,
I lied to myself.
I will hold you,
But bleed you dry.
I will kiss you,
Then make you cry.
For much too long,
I have remained me.
Is a touch.
Sometimes,
I want the world to die.
Too many times,
I wish I were dead.
With no grief,
To give me reason,
Without a wound,
To feel the pain,
Too many times,
I cried inside a smile.
In silence,
I seek war.
In shadows,
I seek black.
In a minute,
I search forever.
Too many times,
I lied to myself.
I will hold you,
But bleed you dry.
I will kiss you,
Then make you cry.
For much too long,
I have remained me.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
The Chosen Reject
Pantheon upon pantheon,
Of deities,
Lay scattered across the dawn,
And I,
Stand trampling over them,
I,
The chosen reject.
Hot boils that kiss my skin,
I tear at them,
With my vengeful nails,
And paint the world,
With my searing pain.
Nothing is got,
Till,
The cursed sacrifice is made,
And I pay my dues,
A salutation to my departed soul.
Your heart too,
Will be devoured,
Layer by layer,
For you fell in love,
With me,
The chosen reject.
Run,
Run while you can,
Nothing will bless your pyre,
Once they breathe my name,
You,
Will forget your name,
And,
Tears you have shed,
For me,
The forsaken,
The chosen reject.
Of deities,
Lay scattered across the dawn,
And I,
Stand trampling over them,
I,
The chosen reject.
Hot boils that kiss my skin,
I tear at them,
With my vengeful nails,
And paint the world,
With my searing pain.
Nothing is got,
Till,
The cursed sacrifice is made,
And I pay my dues,
A salutation to my departed soul.
Your heart too,
Will be devoured,
Layer by layer,
For you fell in love,
With me,
The chosen reject.
Run,
Run while you can,
Nothing will bless your pyre,
Once they breathe my name,
You,
Will forget your name,
And,
Tears you have shed,
For me,
The forsaken,
The chosen reject.
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