One of those mornings

Pic: Kolkata, May'09

Time flies by fast and quiet. Every night I go to bed thinking about the next day. But somehow the thoughts are hazy enough to confuse me into believing that there is no shape to them. I wake up every morning with broken memories of those thoughts. A cup of bitter coffee and a window full of stark sunlight break into me. And I stretch my aching legs.

I am growing old, I ponder sometimes over a burning cigarette and the morning newspaper. As if to confirm it, I sometimes bend my back suddenly to feel if the ache is still lurking there. And then I smile, when I find it safe and kicking. I have to get back into shape, I scold myself before lighting another cigarette.

Sometimes, in the morning, just before pushing open the door to the loo, I breathe in. Lungs feel like sandpaper, rubbing against each other to create that dry wheezing noise. The burning sensation lasts till I take a sip of that bitter black coffee.

I think about my life. I go back to the days in school and run across uneven territory to my present. I find a consistent trend in the way I have always reacted to things happening around me. I wonder, sometimes, about what I want to do in life.

These questions just don't throw up any definite answers anytime. But they help me to kill time till the clock points out that I am late for work.

Vendetta

Guys, this is interesting! Last evening I was talking to a hacker. He was telling me about how a person wanted to shut down this blog because he was apparently hurt by something that I had written about him. For reference, you can once again read the "Where is Renault" post below.

The person in question is the 'fat owner' of Renault's PR company here in India. Shall I reveal his name here? I am almost convinced that I should. Anyways, I guess his PR firm can take care of his own publicity stunts!

But I was very happy with the hacker. He actually said that he liked what I wrote about Mr Fatman. And he feels that Mr Fatman deserves the accolades. "Just by reading his description I knew who you were talking about," he says. "Mr Fatman approached me saying that something has to be done about this particular blog. I told him that it's unethical and if he has anything to say he should create a blog or leave a comment."

Well Mr Fatman, any comments?

Lost

Pic: Benares, May 09

You merge into the night, like the lights...

and...I hear the wind

'Cha' by the Ganges

Pic by Conor Tierney

It's been a long time coming. The last time I planned a trip like this was two years ago. Trishikh and me to Ladakh. Ironically, we had initially planned to ride down to Kolkata. Mom screamed and I blew. We turned North then.

This time Trishikh isn't there. After cajoling and coaxing my boss I got a couple of days leave. Life was getting stressful here. And the idea of a long drive into the mountains was hanging like a spider in my brain. At the same time, the thoughts about Crazu, mom and dad kept cropping up like daffodils on a lazy wintry morning. I had to choose.

And I chose. 1500km one way. Through the supposedly badlands of UP into nostalgia.

I am restless

by Rabindranath Tagore

I AM restless. I am athirst for far-away things.
My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance.
O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to fly, that I am bound in this spot evermore.

I am eager and wakeful, I am a stranger in a strange land.
Thy breath comes to me whispering an impossible hope.
Thy tongue is known to my heart as its very own.
O Far-to-seek, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that I know not the way, that I have not the winged horse.

I am listless, I am a wanderer in my heart.
In the sunny haze of the languid hours, what vast vision of thine takes shape in the blue of the sky!
O Farthest end, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that the gates are shut everywhere in the house where I dwell alone!