Sunday, May 29, 2011

Looking back, looking ahead

I was visiting a ruined city recently. It was striking how a lifeless city could evoke so much passion in me. I essentially live in the past -- there I made a mistake, there I could have done something differently, here I could have taken a chance, here I should have left things as they were.
In this constant looking back into the past, I also looked towards a bleak future. If it didn't work in the past why would it in the future? If it didn't work for my mom why would it work for me? If it worked for my sister, it wouldn't work for me. I could go on and on but I am caught up with the past again.
In the ruined city, I met my ghosts. My ancestors from bygone eras. I was understandably scared. Time stopped while I waited to see what havoc they would wreck. My companions told me not to look at the past in its eyes. I obeyed them. And they decided to let go and walk on their four legs past us, presumably oblivious of their future waiting to let them pass.
We didn't face the wrath of our ancestors that day. They moved on and we, relieved, started walking out of the city. But that's not my nature. I have to constantly look back, right? So, scared that past might overshadow my present again, I turn ... and guess what, the past turns back too and looks at me squarely in the eye.
We are no different, the past us and the present us. The future will be no different either.   

Monday, May 16, 2011


The journey of a rebel who appropriated every cause, except that of religion, is over. Does that make me a conformist? I don't know. I now do things out of a sense of detachment even while working for place that is all about a higher cause. I don't know and hardly care what has come over me. I have only one destination, one desire, one hope, one mean (never used means in singular before – don't know if it even means anything, nor for that matter any of this) of salvation. Self-interest and self-obsession has taken over. I have become (or was I always like this?) what I have always criticised – the apathy, the disinterest, the sheer lack of motivation for anything. I am not myself or is this the real me? Is this what humans were supposed to be – the 'natural' way of being? Am I human finally? Lots of questions – and I don't ever care if they go unanswered. As I embark on a journey that will disrupt many lives I wonder if I will even feel guilty enough. I don't like this self. But don't dislike it enough. You are welcome to dislike me from now on – I have stopped being the person who wants desperately for people to like her. I am, what exactly?

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Hope floats

Eons ago I wrote a story that I thought was pretty smart - it was also a gift to someone. It has come back to haunt me, and that's an understatement.
Dear self of 2009: you were sick.
I wasn't dead, far from it. I was struggling against it. I lost that battle last year ... well nearly. I no longer fight to survive. I survive like everyone does. I have left death behind. 
I am trying come back to the world. And I am starting with the most favourite part of the world. The blogging universe has seen the best of me. It is a sign of hope. Even if I wrote about morbid things I found some kind of peace and contentment in it.
I am still trying to be alive. I want to share with my fellow bloggers (of which very few have survived) that I was not well and yet the sabbatical. I need them to reconstruct a world of sanity - a world I can be brave and safe. Where I can give happiness a chance.
Please come back.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Where do we go from here?
We don't know.
And we don't want to know.
Either it is adolescence or mid life crisis,
either too late or too early.
The future is scary,
the past fuzzy.
It is that time in our lives again.
Where we need a rewind/fast forward button.
Waiting is no healing.
The eternal quest for happiness,
is the road to nihilism.
I want to have little
so that I am not disappointed.
But I want everything
so that
I am shattered to pieces.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

I can pretend no longer.
There is no point anyway.
I have to lose an old friend,
One I have known all my life.
The one I confused for myself. 
I struggle, I don't want to let go
what I detest most. 
Perhaps it is me afterall. 
Perhaps it is not.
I will burn myself.
Incinerate myself to nothingness.
To live 
it seems
I have to die first

Okay, sorry, the last line is clich├ęd but can't be helped...

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Come hither, for you shall burn.
There is no escape,
after all it's your rite of passage.
We shall look gleefully too,
for all your claims and fames,
it is flames you finally seek,
reduced to ashes
like the rest of us,
You shall finally
come of age.

Monday, August 30, 2010

Uncommon

The journey to the centre of the global world started with a nondescript airport. I say nondescript though it is the exact opposite of its own intention. Indira Gandhi International Airport, Terminal 3 is another world. Stuff that made novels out of hitchiker's guides. It is glitzy but not colourful. It is expensive but has no character. The dim white lights make you drowsy, and the flashy stores make you blink and look the other way. The sheer space of it is unnerving - all that earthy nature sacrificed for an otherworldly experience. If this is the welcome for commonwealth, it is a chilling, unfriendly space with no sense of what it is to have arrived in India. But then India's pride depends on hiding the real India - the earth, the places, the sounds. Welcome to India-Delhi, it's unfriendly, fairly hellish, to its own ppl and chilling in the midsummer heat because it tries to be something else - and its not even sure what exactly that is.