When the fuck will I go?

Hi, its approximately 8.45 pm by my watch. What’s the time by yours? I am at office. People are working around me. They are playing with their thoughts. But I guess I am the only one writing about mine.

My eyes are aching. They are watery and red. Staring at the monitor for hours has perhaps taken its toll. There is a dull pain in the middle of my forehead. Wish someone would just put a hand on my brow while I close my eyes and think about nothing. But in this world, which is so modern, people would rather take you to a discotheque. It’s strange, the addiction to a life which is contrived.

Life comes in packages. There can be no permutation or combination. I am waiting for a particular package. ‘A long road that would stretch to the horizon. A big bike. A bottle of booze. And the azure blue sky.’

Discotheques are boring. I want the wind on my face. My own personal vacation.

But if you want, you can join me.

Meet the Bitch.

A friend of mine said that I am a melancholy guy, trying to be unhappy all the time. The melancholy attitude stems from observation. Whether it be the squirrel family on my balcony, or the swarm of people who I see running after that little bit of happiness in the shine of a big car, observation is of paramount importance to have a melancholy disposition.

Reiterates Aristotle,” Great men are always of a nature originally melancholy.” No, no, I am not thrusting greatness upon myself. I just want to say that observation is not that bad.

Let me put an example before you. Married couples fight over the man having a roving eye. Can you tell me why married women dress up in skimpy clothes and put on that sexy lipstick or perk up their tits with those push up bras before they leave home? Don’t give me the shit that they do it for their husbands.

They do it to look good? Oh yeah? For whom, may I ask? Don’t they like the appreciation in the eyes of men when they try so unsuccessfully to sashay down that pavement? Accept it. Just bloody accept it. Everyone is unfaithful in his or her mind.

Observation has a connection with melancholy because when you observe you see the truth, the truth, which no one wants to talk about. So what do you do?

Be melancholy or pretend to be one of them. I chose the former.

listen to me...

The heart wants to talk to you. I know you are busy. And that your mind is racing. But will you just spare a moment of your precious time?

The sun is setting. Its going down, taking the bright blue of the day with it. The soft orange cloak of the night is touching my mind. I reach out for my cigarette packet, the only thing that has still not deserted me. But its empty. Like the empty rooms in my flat.

I can hear the cacophony of people still trying to hold on to Diwali outside. Fireworks, leftovers from the happy day, are jewelling the lonely sky.

The sound of a misunderstood heart imitates a dripping tap. Sometimes it’s more deafening than the crackers outside. Sometimes the heart bleeds a little too much. It is at times like these that I feel like talking to you.

One fine morning....and...

There are two ways to slide easily through life: to believe everything or to doubt everything; both ways save us from thinking.

The morning today wasn't different from any other. Woke up at 5:30 am, looked at the faint light streaming in through the thick curtain and decided that it was too early to get up. But these few days, a strange kind of a tension has been shackling my thoughts. I wake up, sweating, trying to understand whether it is the same me who wanted to ride a Bullet to Ladakh, a few months back.

Sweating, I cried myself, without tears, to sleep again.

The window of my new flat really rocks. The door of my small room opens into a narrow balcony. Thankfully, this time, the view is not blocked by any stupid building. There are trees all around. Squirrels, a precious sight in Delhi, usually use them as ladders to check on my activities during the day. I don't mind.

I lie for hours on my makeshift bed, looking at the treetops, fascinated by the sun on the rich green leaves. With the onset of winter the breeze has adopted a comfortable icy flavour. The chill brushes against your skin ever so lightly. Ever so mysteriously.

The state of mind is pure and uncomplicated, contrary to what people believe. Feelings and emotions are chemical reactions in the brain. Understanding the thoughtprocess of an individual is very important to fathom what the future might turn out to be. Sometimes it is so blatant that one's own mind seems like a chemical lab. Only that one doesn't take to chemistry that easily.

Relations with people are like equations. The other day I was reading about unconditional love. It feels nice to let the imagination run wild sometimes. You have to be really good in 'life-maths' to be able to solve such equations. I am supposedly good, but kind of crazy, who tries out different permutations. So, my potential as an equation cruncher, is a bit doubtful.

Honestly speaking, you got to adapt. And adapt fast. Otherwise you die a slow painful death.

I don't know what to see. What to foresee as well. People have been by my side. I have heard them out like I usually do. My mind is restless and my soul longs for that blue horizon. But I guess, I have to adapt, pretty fast.

Feel

"The child whispered, 'God, speak to me' And a meadow lark sang. The child did not hear.

So the child yelled, 'God, speak to me!' And the thunder rolled across the sky But the child did not listen.

The child looked around and said, 'God let me see you' and a star shone brightly But the child did not notice.

And the child shouted, 'God show me a miracle!' And a life was born but the child did not know.

So the child cried out in despair, 'Touch me God, and let me know you are here!' Whereupon
God reached down And touched the child.

But the child brushed the butterfly away And walked away unknowingly."