Spring

Two shirts lay on the big bed, one of them made from the finest fabric, a creamy Van Heusen and a usual black collarless t-shirt. I always thought that for such occasions, t-shirts were a bad omen. So I put on the t-shirt as an instrument for future rationalization. It was late November and the night was pleasantly cold, thankfully my sister had given me a sweater carefully chosen in colour, black. Far away from us, a group of violinists and cellists were playing Vivaldi. The aggression and the freshness of the music must have changed the weather. They were far apart because I couldn't see them, but the sound clearly penetrated my ears. The gush of wind and the chromatic arpeggios of the climax went together in perfect harmony. It was the end of fall and start of winter, but the air was spring and so was the music.

The wind was such that all the streets were equally inviting to walk on, it was time to take a stroll and talk and not the time to sit down and relax. 'Get me out of this place for tonight', he called upon me, 'I am bored'. As pleased as I was at that invitation, I took him out. We met on a dark street just outside my place. 'Talk', he exclaimed. And I started telling my favourite story, the story of creation and metaphysics. 'So, it so happened that God one day wanted to create a habitat for his favourite, the man...', I'd gone till Thursday and he cut me, 'Oh, by the way, I have to get back in fifteen minutes', so disappointed was I, the whole creation, followed by the rise of humanity, the holy prophets, my interpretations and then our discussion, that was my plan.

His Italian descent was completely overshadowed by his suave modern accent. The curl of the dark, heavy and longish Sicilian hair rolled over the back of his neck. His moustache and bear ed were neatly trimmed. The muscles on his face moved in such a beautiful manner, just like the Greek figures Michelangelo would have had carved for the pope. His smile contoured the nerves on his neck in an amiable manner. The colour of his lips was faint pink, eyes dark brown and hair dark black. They were red some day, but he told me that they turned to black the another. He had lived the lifetime in Sicily and just a few years in western Europe. But he had acquired all the modernity of the west, still maintaining the raw and crude humanness and shear beauty of the south east. So beautiful and charming were his manners that I was too much engulfed in looking at him, silently observing him walk, move and exclaim calmly. I wished the time to stop or at least slow down for some moments for I wanted to talk to him for eternity. And I completely forgot about the 15 minutes I had at my stake.

It was clear that to attempt this agenda, I had to hurry. Obviously, if I ran while talking, my efficiency would have increased, so I began to run and resumed from Thursday. I went on and on, from God to Abraham, to Moses, Noah, Christ, Mohammad, I kept on talking and as the content of the conversation increased so did my sprinting. And now I was at the climax with the clashes of Martin Luther with the pope.

'The pope actually was collecting money for the Sistine Chapel, though Martin Luther had reasons to oppose, it would had been better for the art if he were to oppose something else. The papacy did a lot of foolish things back then and he could have found a different issue to raise as well.' I went on, I also realized that I was sitting in a cafe under the starry night, 'It is interesting to see how Taylor connects that same psyche of the German mind to the Nazi agenda, he claims..', 'Oh, 15 minutes, I have to go now, bye' and I was crushed under the avalanche of his words, crushed in the heart and in body as he quickly disappeared. It was disturbing enough that he didn't agree with my views on creation, but he could have at least heard me out.

Now I when I found he was gone, I could listen to the music again all alone by myself, they had finished spring and had started on winter. The frequency of the bass matched with my heart beats, the temperature of the surroundings fell down drastically and I began to shiver. And since now he was gone, I stopped running and started walking, it didn't matter where I went because all the streets now were equally bad and I had nowhere else to go.

---------

It was a cold day, especially cold since it was a winter day. But it was a dull night to end the day. While returning from work, I made an acute observation that all the streets were equally bad to walk on. I badly needed to go out and he was pestering me for a long time now. And yet he failed to talk about whatever he wanted to, each time! But today, in this early winter, I found myself alone and had no other option than inviting him.

He was obviously thrilled in my company. He was full of vigour and energy, I couldn't have spent more than a couple of minutes with him without getting bored. Pitying his situation, I told him that I had 15 minutes for him. He was grossly disappointed and surprisingly eager to finish his task. He was talking something about religion or something, obviously, I didn't pay any attention. When it became too boring, I just disappeared.

The sea and the me

And we went to the sea, just before the sunset, tired with all the not allowed biking on the highways. In the sand you would sit in the center, treating everybody with cheap ice cream which you bought from money stolen from Mom's purse. And then you'd tell us fairy tales about men, heroes, politicians and scientists. Everybody revered you. I looked at you with pride as we were blood related.

And we went to the sea, three of us, all walking. The world outside seemed enormous to our young eyes. You told us about the city, history and of course life in a manner our childish brains could understand. I still remember the exact details of Reclamation, Mahim Fort, Elphinston college and King George the 5th. In time I went on to be a young man from a boy, and in time you became an older man from an old man.

And we went to the sea, all of us together. And then the rest of them left. And you got quieter than you ever were. And then you wrote names in the sand, his name. Obviously it hurt then, a lot. Somehow I smiled. I miscalculated that seeing you at that moment writing a wrong name was a lot worth than joining the rest of the gang. I said something like "Thank you". And you wrote the name again, over and over again.

And then we went to the sea, four of us, and the other two went away as usual. Then you said, "Siddhartha is not just a nice book. He fails to understand it. You know what, the sea always makes me realize what paripakwata is" And then said things to each other, the words flew away with the land breeze towards the sea and never came back. Over time, even the pictures of the memories faded away, but some words stuck to it, like a soundless motion picture with a legend at the bottom.

And we went to the sea, this time just the two of us, still in the excitement of the novelty. We walked around in the sand in epicycloids trying miserably to make a romantic conversation, but kissed instead. We walked again, on a different path, but close enough where I could see the old footprints in the sand. And on the older path sometimes the old footprints were chaotic. That is where we had kissed.

And we went to the sea. You went away to swim so that I was alone. I didn't even know you much. But I made some music, had some beer and thought a lot about the other you in the plural. The cold blue Adriatic sea glanced at me but it had a lot to look after. The alps smiled white teeth. The castle was still in its proud photogenic position and Croatia as usual poor and beautiful.

And we, we could never go to the sea and we never might.

I am sorry if this offends you.

Avant garde

First of all, I like the word(s) Avant garde and secondly I (sometimes/mostly pretend to) like avant garde art. But most importantly, I have had enough of rum (read coffee) inside my head (again!, read belly) to write this.

A few days ago, I re-listened to this Beatles's song: Her majesty, it's a 20 odd second song

I want to tell her that I love her a lot
But I gotta get a bellyful of wine
Her Majesty's a pretty nice girl
Someday I'm going to make her mine.

Ciao
Purushottam

Companion II

"Do you know where my towel is, I just had a wet dream. That is because I didn't wear my socks"

Haircut

The sins should grow on your head, like hair. When the accumulation becomes unbearable, you just cut them off and start anew.

The plot thickens

Now I pick up the phone and call you one by one, and you are not picking up. None of you.

The movie

This is exactly the scene where I am sitting in front of my computer and one of you comes online.

Some moments, I grew faster and some just hung on refusing to pass by. I enjoyed the fast ones and the slow ones are still with me.

Platonic

"Answer me!"

"People don't love each other at our age, Marthe- they please each other, that's all. Later on, when you're old and impotent, you can love someone. At our age, you just think you do. That's all it is."

Once upon a time, there was a huge stack of marbles. All spherical. Arranged particularly in an unorderly fashion. There were heaps, crests, mountains and agglomorations. All marbles were of same size, maybe same colour too. But as long as the sizes were the same, the colour didn't matter much.

The blue marble was indeed distinguishable from the rest of the lot. It was surrounded some 5-6 of others and was resting comfortably in the cusion thus formed. It was touching all those near it, in point contact. How great a pleasure was! To touch and comfort and derive comfort from those who are near you. The marble they said was happy.

As time progresses, we know that the world doesn't remain stationary. The marbles grew, shrunk in size, they changed colours and shapes. Even the container holding the marbles was having its time, dancing around, rotating, shaking, oscillating. It was pretty difficult for them marbles to retain the conformation they were initially in. The blue marble, it thought had become sad with this unwanted change.

From the comfortable seat it enjoyed for all of its lifetime, had to be changed, it had to find new mountains and thus new valleys where it can rest. It could move by itself, otherwise it will be thrown at random. The marble indeed was sad, it missed the seat. It felt something was wrong since the seat was no longer there. But soon it found a new seat, and then the cycle began, being thrown out, being welcomed and then again thrown out. And one day, the container which hosted all this drama had a leak and all the marbles fell down one by one, they touched nobody then, they gave nobody pleasure and derived the same from none.

Over the mountains and far below

"Take these flowers, please climb up the mountain. The more high you reach, more closer you are to my heart."

She climbed up the rocks, though it was difficult for her, Roger (that is I) persuaded her with dilligence, offering her more and more each time. Through sacrifices, thefts and every other possible means.

"You should climb up, you can have a very beautiful view of the world from there, but don't climb up because he bribes you", said Ed. He was always composed, balanced and rational. He knew that Roger's ways will corrupt her mind.

Roger was frustrated, she seemed more close to Ed than him, He exclaimed, "Here, have these flowers, more flowers, have my blood, have my heart, but darling, climb up, go there, and be the queen of the world and thus of my heart"

Meanwhile, she was tired, but Roger's shriek voice was irritating, just to avoid any more of his obsequity she climbed up. She looked down, indeed the view was promising and would had improved if she climbed more. With Ed's advices and Roger's flowers she gathered enthusiasm to go up.

Ed was really satisfied to see that she was happy. Roger at the same time was satisfied because her happiness made him happy. Ed encouraged her, as a friend. She listened to him. She went up, up. To the top of the mountain. She looked down, she could see bother Roger and Ed, Roger she thought and was greedy. She cried, "I can see you Ed. It is really nice here, do come up!!". Roger was highly disappointed, he threw all the flowers away, mad in anger and sorrow, he was stand still at where he was.

Both of them were very close to the top, Ed returned to Roger after some time. His mind was changed, he no longer longed her presence. She was disappointed at the top. "Cummon up Ed, look here, it's amazing!", she cried. But Ed wouldn't hear that. He continued being with Roger.

She looked down, though it was difficult coming up she had managed with all that encouragemen, and now it was difficult climbing down. She wanted to be with Ed and Roger, but they seemed far away. Determined, she started taking her first steps down, and on the very first step, she failed, falling into the infinite abyss. The abuss was very well known for its depth, it was deeper than any other one of its kind, deeper than the all the materialistic and moral abysses.

She cried for help, she cursed, she used the most obnoxious of the phrases. It seemed that in falling physically, she had managed the downfall of her soul as well. But nobody helped her, nobody cared of her words. Roger and Ed were pretty busy catching up with each other, though they both saw her fall down, they didn't help. And then she was invisible, even her cries were not audible now. And she was down, down.. more down than they ever imagined.

Ed was sad, he really cared, but he didn't want to say anything. He kept mum.

"What did you expect from her, she was like this only", Roger said. "Umm.. I don't know, but maybe", Ed replied. "Don't be so unsure now, now she's gone, you can be more critical of her, I never liked her in the first place, how could she fall, she was just crazy you know, after all those efforts from you and all of my flowers and blood, she disappointed us man!".

It was easier to blame her than his own mistakes for Ed, since now she was gone there was no proof that Roger and to some extent he was responsible for her fall. Confused in the sea of lamenting emotions Ed confronted, "Perhaps you are true". "Yes, I am", said Roger proudly and they both started enjoying the view from the top, with the abyss on the left and heaven on the right.

Center

I was staring at the window, which acted like a faint mirror, all I could see was Me. I was looking from the perimeter to the center, and the center had Me. It was either Me or I. Most of My thoughts are concerned about Myself, am I only this feeble worth?

The two most important values in My life are equality and humility, and suddenly I couldn't find a basis for them other than I and Me. If I am to be restricted within Me. Selfish is what I want, selfless is what I don't want. I now see the highest of virtues are defined only to please the I. And thus in a revolving contradiction, I cannot find a reason for sustaining My identity. It's all confusing and depressing that I will be limited within Myself for the rest of My life.

Whore

I licked her with thousands of my tongues. She was looking at me laughing in pity, at my efforts to allure her to stay with me for some more time.

She was the reason of my existance, upon closer examination, I found out that she actually was my existance. Now I had very less time, I licked her vigorously for one day she will be gone abruptly, some day soon. I wanted to have to most of her before she could go. I continued on my efforts, inventing new tongues, exploring newer parts of her naked body.

The whore was my life, my lust for her kept on increasing till the day she left. After having her time with me and after my time was over. I begged for her to stay, one year, one night, one hour, a moment, but she wouldn't agree. She went away when my time with her was over.

Jim once said, O' great creator of being, grant us one more hour to perform our art and perfect our lives. Pray to the creator for one extra moment, or pay the whore for one more orgasm it all converged to the same. It was lust, lust for her, my existance, my life, a whore.

Could I had lived a more pious life treating her as a woman rather than a chunk of flesh covered with skin?

A word of caution : A tribute

Just before I started spitting wisdom from between my two jaws and the cone shaped formation of the lips, I must know about a certain wise man. So instead of exploring surfaces of my creativity, I for once shall succumb to the valleys and oceans of maxims he once wrote. A word of caution...

The barns are stormed
The windows kept
& only one of all the rest
To dance & save us
With the divine mockery
Of words
Music inflames temperament

The program for this evening is not new,
You've seen this entertainment through and through.
You've seen your birth, your life and death,
You might recall all of the rest.
Did you have a good world when you died?
Enough to base a movie on?


AWAKE
Shake dreams from your hair
My pretty child, my sweet one.
Choose the day and choose the sign of your day
The day's divinity
First thing you see.

A vast radiant beach in a cool jeweled moon
Couples naked race down by its quiet side
And we laugh like soft, mad children
Smug in the woolly cotton brains on infancy.
The music and voices are all around us.
Choose, they croon, the Ancient Ones
The time has come again.
Choose now, they croon,
Beneath the moon
Beside an ancient lake.
Enter again the sweet forest,
Enter the hot dream,
Come with us,
Everything is broken up and dances.

--- Jim Morrison
(One of those few who managed to grow long hair and be wise at the same time)

Filthy

He removed the startch particle stuck inside his right molar cavity. He liked to smell the globulet of rotten white carbon. Similarly he liked the taste of fermented grapes, the fragrance he found in organo-chemical garbage, rides over the smelly creek, the cheapest alcohol and grass over hash.

He enjoyed when he saw the middle aged whore getting raped for money, so delightful were the riots, the pleads for mercy and the mercyless killings. Obviously, he adored Hitler and Robespierre. Filth was filled in his senses, no public or private expression was spared by him in his novel viewpoint of the world.

So twisted were his fantasies, preferences and hatred as well. Was it just with the abilities or disabilities of admiration or it pervaded all of his senses like an omni present, vorous and potent beast?

Blog entry

I thought of writing about my mid-sem study Vs fiction reading dilemma, but then thought that it would be boring. Boring for me because I already know it, for others, I don't find any apparent reason why people would be interested in knowing my confusions over such trifles.

non-arbit non poetic blogs, generally I find boring. Even this entry seems boring to me. So either I am fastidious or this is universally true. Since this is boring will stop :)

I want to write something about something very badly, long essays, filled with extravagant words, profound thoughts. Have been listening to the blues for a while, want to write about that. Have been reading for masochistic pleasure, have to write about that, have to write about the drunken experience, new friends, seperately, pairwise, and in totality.

What hinders is the the thought that everything I think about is too precious to be shared, or to childish to be exposed or too complex to be formulated, or I am too lazy to do all that and at the same time, very good at rationalization.

Whatever it is, before this entry goes on for pages, I choose to stop.

Purushottam

If

I were to start
writing this blog regularly
If I were to find each day
a new subject to show off about
knowledge, wisdom and critique
If I were to use half the space
on the full line,
keeping the other half waiting
If the propositions were missing
as well as the punctuations
will this rubbish be grammatized
and recited as a poem?

Lament of a bad song writer

I remeber the tune
the expression remains intact
but the words are lost in oblivion
and yet make me cry

Hymns from the zenith of emotion

Let us reinvent the ancient myths of brotherhood
Decipher the bewildering slithering infatuation
Kill them the poisonous dependancies
Intricate your thoughts with the ties of freedom

Stumbled and overflown with speechless expression
Don't despise yourself, the laconic words was all you had to
convey the legitimate affection and to hide away
the temporal amor
Wait for finite eternities
It lies there
Don't lie