DRIVEL: Stop. Don’t proceed further. My legs take me reluctantly pain engrossing every part of my body like wild fire. I started loving pain, it’s like a drug stays with you, while you walk, stand, sit and even in your sleep. The companion whom you never wanted but who has been there for you in times of trouble and joy. Constantly reminding you that you are just a head on collision away from your destination.
Stop. Thinking never goes away. Mind needs rest but I don’t listen. I don’t listen to anyone. The kind of rebel that starts with the letter “L”. This can go on forever. I have tried for two decades. This is not a disease this is who I am. This is me.
Stop. This is not good. I shouldn’t go in. The whole thing is really funny. Funny as in normal funny, not as in Giri funny. Today I’m thinking twice to step into a mart what will happen tomorrow. I won’t even be able to get out of the house. Look around. Things lots and lots of things. Everyone wants to feed their ego. Children can go to hell. Teenagers to a much worse place – “Franchise coffee shops”. Ego has a massive appetite. It is known to swallow whole countries. How do you kill the ego without killing someone? Still learning, these classes aren’t for free. Currency insanity, credit is over rated.
Stop. You are traveling at 100 kms per hour on a road which resembles the surface of the moon. A beautiful song resonates in your head as time seems to slow down. That’s the moment that can be relived for ever. Stop. The moment just betrayed you. The track in your head changes, now you can hear only the voices of people who put you down all your life. All you can see in front of you are the images you wanted to forget so desperately. Twist the wrist, 120. Wrong lane 120. Behemoth of metal carrying tons of steel honking its mighty horn. The wide grin on your face is asking for more. 130. Stop!

MYSORE STUFF: Have you ever noticed how in old Hindi porn movies the background score is always some beautiful Md. Rafi song. Guess what they will be playing in frog porn in the swamp land? Two frogs fucking each other’s brains out. Croak, Croak, Croak…..instead of all that orgasmic moaning. Instead of croaking think about a seductress moaning….ooooohhhh’s and aaaaahhhhh’s. Say it out loud oooohhhhh, aaaaahhh now in the same tone try Croak, Croak, Croak…….
We have established the fact that you can have a successful career up ahead in dubbing for frog porn. Let’s get back to the original question. Gibberish has that effect on you. You forget the question, the discussion; you remember nothing, a void in your memory.
So there goes another train of thought completely out of control a million miles an hour right at the sun. Intergalactic 9/11 everyone mourns, you didn’t get that either. I know. You are a moron and I’m a genius.
Let me try and explain. The train is an Intergalactic space craft shaped as a train. Taking people to their destination, you know transportation. You know like Indian Railways, rainways, drainways, sewage and filth ways. Lot of names one meaning, you know, like synonyms or like they are alike or the same, you know whatever. Now imagine a hot blonde you know like one from the Victoria’s secret catalogue. Like the model Heidi Klum. I still can’t believe she married Seal. You know the singer. Yes the guy with the crater face. You know you might say that he has a good voice and sounds nice but he is no Mother Theresa. She was a hippy who had too many horse tranquilizers. You should watch “The Dark side of Porn”. Download bitch. “Piracy Zindabad!” so I just found out that Ramdoss is planning to ban lollipops coz it corrupts our youth. By helping them get YOU KNOW. This is a scale. All the nasty things that you substituted for that YOU KNOW determines how fucked up you are. I KNOW you are fucked up. Tall and high buildings everywhere - subliminal message. It’s not an IQ test. Primates confirmed proceed. Opposable thumb, proceed. I’m not even going to try and explain Audioslave to you. Sagar lies. They rock.
The spot of my girlfriend is taken. Suzuki Shaolin 138.2 cc, 12 bhp actually its only 11.8 bhp. I lied, so does everyone else. D’s not C’s. Get your eyes checked. Trophies with asses are what they are. Ass definitely more important than boobs. Message sent out and delivered. I’m horny and I’m waiting. Angie will do.
Met a man locked away – Exploder. I’m not going to explain. Do some research bitch. Google – Exploder+lyrics. Read it and get back. I’m here waiting. Gay messages flashing in neon. So you are back. Read it and get back was so gay. I’m sorry. Gay messages work I’ve seen my friend pick up girls with it. Shh! I’m not a squealer. So now you are confused or extremely happy that you have understood the entire thing. Go back to YOU KNOW. Now you know you are dangerous coz you are a smart pervert. I completely understand since I’m one. Look back at all the things we discussed lets just add one small detail. Bangbus and Dirty Sanchez rock. Preston is stupid. If you are confused we can proceed further.
This song should help. Getaway Car. I don’t have to tell you to Google it. Chasing cyclones is a nice slimily to what’s happening in your brain. Buckle up Mister. Mindfuck launch in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…..lift off. All fancy, “shit understood” on your mouth will get me a forgotten smile on my face. Not just shit, then it just tastes awful. The meter kicks in and I’m perverted to the core. If I were a genius there would be shit on each and every one of your fuckers mouth. Sudhanshu was right; lot of fucks in the speech doesn’t make this Scarface. Intelligent fucker! Sorry buddy I just figured fucker is better than fuckless. So here is where I get the idea of a sequel in my mind. Yes, Sarith I’m a capitalist. I’m a lot of things a pervert, almost genius, and a capitalist.
Angie was the last thing. We start where I ended and go back in time and space. Breadcrumbs will help you retrace your steps given there aren’t any birds flying by. So we were talking about beauty which refers to my bike, with specifications to make you understood how beautiful and it rocks. It’s like Audioslave, they both rock. I know and Sagar knows it too. Primates with very high IQ were our ancestors who found music. This reverts to my humble invention of the pervert meter which was supposed to be just a subliminal message. The felony is explained in the subsequent lines referring to a tragedy which rocked the world. Corrupt people banning corrupt things, that’s the definition of corruption, Share people, we got enough. People are dying and you are stuck on piracy. You are pirates peddling human misery. Pirates were pussies compared to you.
Some how “The dark side of porn – Animal Farm” and “Mother Theresa” hit the same nerve in my mind. By now I don’t have to tell you to refer to the pervert and genius meter. Ranking 1, the best, numero uno. Small bubble I live in. Seal looks like a saint; I’m sure by now you are getting the groove. Again if any doubts persist feel free to go to you tube and type in “Seal”. If you didn’t understand, “Thank you for playing”. Go back to the start. Heidi Klum married Seal. So you guys are back again hopefully the ride wasn’t bumpy and you have understood everything till now. She was the hottest Victoria’s secret model, ever. So go back to the pervert meter and put in all the key word you find in this one paragraph and I’m sure I beat you. You thought you had beaten me didn’t you? After a lot of filth I cleaned all of that up with an industrial cleaner named Heidi Klum. Corrupt Indian Railways was the filth I was referring to. Laloo’s huge speech aboard the Intergalactic train. Anybody see the irony here? The chief of Indian Railways on the intergalactic train. Hold on have patience; obviously we shouldn’t wash our dirty laundry in public so we call it transportation.
If you still didn’t get it go back to the end of the line which is actually the beginning of the time wrap. Loop in the space time continuum. That’s where the Intergalactic train is the best vehicle known to human race. After that a meteor killed everyone on earth. “Human Park” in production. Spielberg makes billions and donates it to scientology.
It all started with the 9/11 incident which happened thousands of years ago in the US. Now even the sun is inhibited by humans. Working there in the nuclear reactors of the future. The crash set off a chain reaction of sorts. The meteor was pulled due to the shift in the gravitational pull of the sun. The orbit changed, Boom. The massive impact was not just from the train. The future reactors blew up throwing radiations all across the intergalactic space, a mess of infinite proportions. The suns radiations started causing small black holes. Within a blink of an eye everything was gone. Our native planet, earth will remain in all of our minds for ever. Our stupidity caused our end. Annihilation, synonyms I’m sure I spoke about them.
Gibberish can be anything. I should be a programmer with all that void and fancy language. Creativity is fun that’s what the voices say. They don’t stop until you need serious professional help. So I adhere to the voices. Spineless no slip disc, like the sun complex everything in ruins.
Frog porn visions with the dead frog on the table and the scalpel in my hand. Cheek to cheek smile, inside the grey mask. The answer is A.R. Rahman.

HIGH NOTE: 

I saw two pigeons,

Sarith saw them too,

and they were two.

THE INVISIBLE LINE: Getting to that place where most people don’t want to be. The assembly line life style of our era has put clear bifurcations between the acceptable and unacceptable. The yellow line in the middle of the road dividing the human race into going and coming. Stick to your lane and nobody gets hurt. Side swiping and rear fender bumping are just picnics compared to a head on collision. Ever so often a brash young kid questioning the morals of the society swerves from the designated lane to cause a head on collision. Watching your eye ball pop out of the socket carrying enough momentum to shatter the windshields and slam into the tarmac, not fun not even in Japanese culture. 

            Unusual as it may seem these martyrs are happy of being tagged as “misfits”. They think it gives them credibility like being the Kurt Cobain amongst their peers, the bad seed. It surely doesn’t matter. It surely doesn’t matter to the normal human beings, the Flawless specimens. Everything goes back to normal once you are dead. You can hear the vibration of each and every agitated atom slowing down and finally settling into the absolute silence of the universe. The universe has given up on you so has mankind. The official “Flawed specimens” of the human race.

            Flawed specimens walk amongst you with the same ease as a Flawless specimen would in a straight wedding. I suppose most people know this but deny it so as not to destroy their ever so beautiful and complicated “human” existence preoccupied with money, luxury and trophy wives and apathy towards everything else.  When the Flawless specimen hits 60 that’s when the lines start to blur. The younger generations of Flawless specimens call this dementia and throw the same human who was once the epitome of perfect human into a hole called “old age home”. Irony of this situation is when the Flawless specimen hopes he had conceived at least one Flawed human to provide them with some excitement and made their lives worth living.

            The Flawed specimens realize their defect as soon as they start identifying the conflicts within themselves. Contradictions piling up without any answers, the grand question ballooning as every second drops from the clock.

            Finally you come out of denial to accept your own identity and start enjoying it. Before everyone else realizes it, you have had more fun than the Flawless specimen. Purgatory seems to have come down to earth every moment you pass a shiny object reflecting that which is not fully understood. Flawless specimens are like kryptonite. Seeing them jogs back memory of the embryonic stage of pure potentiality where any thought seemed rational and completely achievable. It also exposes the truth and superficiality of being a Flawless specimen in turn making you curse yourself for ever wanting to be one.

            The converts are the people that both classes need to worry about. These bastards take birth as Flawless specimens and try to be Flawed just so that everyone despises them. Coverts try and ape the Flawed specimens fooling the onlookers with ease, claiming things belonging to the Flawed specimens just to achieve the authentication of being one. Even a Flawless specimen cannot recognize a convert. But the Flawed ones can spot a convert like you can spot a transvestite in a beauty contest. Once spotted the converts plead for mercy for the wrath of the Flawed is not to be fondled with. The penned up anger and frustration dating back to the day he was conceived all the way to the second you are staring at his blood shot eyes, can inflict so much pain that you may end up dead or worse paralyzed depending on the background track playing in the Flawed specimen’s head.

            Bottom line is you can’t change who you are but you can always watch out for the pissed guy with a wrench in his hand.

THE STORY: This is a real story and a real old one too. Once upon a time and all that kind of crap. The protagonist is my friend. Let’s call him “Mr. A”. He was an outcast when we were growing up. The weird kid. He had more four legged and eight legged friends than two. The main characteristic that made him stand out was the fact that he didn’t play cricket. Not playing cricket in the 90’s is like being gay in the 50’s. People frowned; people spat and gossiped behind his back.

            One day he wakes up and decides that he should learn how to hold a bat and rotate his shoulder to deliver the perfect ball. He sets out seeking for an apt “Guru”. His path is one of misery and bad roads filled with potholes. He walks until his legs can’t carry his weight anymore. Completely out of breath he starts panting. He has already covered 800 meters. He reaches my doorsteps. It starts raining. He knows that the heavens have pointed him to the right “Guru”. The door opens and he says,” Aunty, is Giri home?”

            I went outside to find him all drenched and panting like a dog, unfortunately he even smelled like one. I thought he was again occupied in one of his imaginary fantasy games he was known for. Which is sadly a single player game and he seemed to be the only expert in this whole world. I noticed he had tears in his eyes and a poster of Sachin Tendulkar in his hand. He said, “I want to be this”. I asked him how far he was willing to go. He said, “I will curl my hair and speak squeaky.” I knew he was serious.

           

            *The Training.

Like every Guru I wanted my pupil to succeed. I was very rigorous on him. We trained very hard. We trained for ever. Exactly two weeks, but it felt like forever. It took me 5 whole days to teach him how to play the cover drive. He still didn’t get it.  He has one physical deformity which kept coming in his way of being a cricketer. He was too muscular. He had huge biceps for a kid. Because of this his swing was more like a baseball swing. He could never bring his bat straight down. His bowling seemed to be much better. Finally he had found some use for those ridiculous looking muscles of his. He could bowl fast. Direction, line and length were concepts beyond his realm of understanding. Even though he wasn’t a retard these things went way over his head. Nevertheless I was very determined. I could never give up on this kid. I pushed myself so hard I almost went nuts. I eventually picked up a drinking habit. Almost three 350 ml cokes a day, they weren’t even diet. I felt bad; my only solace was the fact that my protégé was showing signs of improvement. Time was running out for both of us. The summer was about to end.

 

*The Match.

I figured seeing his great master in action could help him pickup some of my excellent traits, transforming him into a better player and eventually a better human being. So I decided to take him to a match of mine. All the big guns had arrived. Setting up the wicket and deciding on the bets for the match. Some of them had even bought new hardware. My pupil and I stepped into the arena. I could hear whispers, whispers which said, “Why is Giri with that freak?” I chose not to answer. I had to hold the leash tight since I didn’t know what would provoke my mighty freak of a pupil to rip off their faces. I was quiet. I was completely Zen.

One of the Sensei’s of batting named “Mr. R” throws the ball at me. My pupil leaps and catches it in mid air. The Sensei says, “It was meant for the master not you, Freak.” Insulting the pupil is as good as insulting the master. The Sensei had gone too far. I ask him to take the crease and face my pupil, if he has balls. The Sensei with a smirk on his face takes to the crease.

My pupil begs me not to humiliate him in public. I look deep into those tear filled eyes and say, “Its time.” The run up was long. Every stride kicking up a storm. Perfect balance, the ball rolls off his mighty fingers. Pitches between the Sensei’s legs and the middle stump is floating in the air. Time freezes. I have a smile n my face. The Sensei is devastated. Mr. A is in utter disbelief. Gods were clapping their hands and showering us with exotic flowers. The disoriented Sensei says, “One more.” My friend Mr. A says, “I quit. That was the first ball I ever bowled and that would be the last.” The myth of Mr. A still echoes in these parts. The immortal Mr. A.

The moral of the story is Metallica should have quit long ago.

 

FOOD: Festivals are a big deal in India, delicious food being one of the priorities. No matter what is cooked on that auspicious day it tastes good. At least that’s what I have heard. Four strangers sitting across the table trying to make sense of the word family doesn’t make then a family. Food cooked with a lot of resentment and out of sheer compulsion can never satisfy hunger. Staring at my plate I’m lost in oblivion. Food looks colorful and happy, yet they need to be eaten. Flex your muscles to produce that perfect smile if guests sit across your chair. This is added pressure. I deserve an Oscar. I always knew negative emotions can ruin a perfectly cooked dinner. Dinner is nothing it can ruin every single moment of your existence.
I wish I was born in a faith which had only one festival in a year. This means you don’t have to re enact your Oscar winning performance every few months. Once a year you dress up and give that one amazing performance. I can see my critics applauding. Confetti everywhere and a scantly clad supermodel with a piece of shiny metal with my name engraved at the bottom. Freedom for the rest of the year.
The person who thought cooking a scrumptious meal on festivals would bring people together was surely out of his mind. Let me try and paint a rather grim picture of what exactly goes on.

* Step 1:
Terror starts with the making of the list. The temperature in the room is directly proportional to the sum of the items and the number of guests to be invited. At times the temperature is comparable with that of the surface of the Sun itself. If you are not subjected to these kinds of extreme radiations since you were a toddler there is no way you can survive. Your head might even explode into 546 minute pieces.

* Step 2:
Acquiring the items on the list posses a whole new challenge and at times public humiliation. Expensive items are least coveted. Expensive items are called expensive because they are expensive and the price will only increase as the years roll on. Even if you derive this in the form of an equation and get a certified mathematical genius to approve of it, some people just won’t believe you. Purchasing items that are not on the list no matter how good or how cheap and even if it is free is highly unacceptable. So is leaving an item from the list.

* Step 3:
Cooking the food is the biggest hurdle. The kitchen is booby trapped with curses; enter at your own risk. The ankle bracelet made mandatory, is a detonator in disguise which prevents you from venturing outside the main door. Failing to adhere will lead to the detonation of the small device you are made to wear around your neck which is rigged with a small amount of c4, severing your main arteries and rendering you paralyzed for life.

* Step 4:
Food has to be eaten in a gentlemanly fashion. No matter how dark your heart is it doesn’t matter as long as you have etiquette. The hosts feed their ego with the praise of the guests. Trying to keep a straight face seems to be the hardest part. The clock seems to be playing with my mind. After every 2 seconds the second hand moves once in the opposite direction. For every 3 seconds you have only moved once into the future. These kind of fun activities with your every day clock takes your mind of all these mundane bickering. Finishing all the dishes on your plate gives you 10 bonus points. Each point is worth a minute of complete silence in the house. I always finish all my dishes.

* Step 5:
. No matter how good the critic is and how just the review is the artist always gets offended. People who have uber inflated egos can cook up a storm when offended. As the abuses seem to swirl around in the room I duck and dive for cover under the table. The fury of the situation makes itself visible in the form of “the eye of the storm”. Caught in it I try and keep myself alive. Swimming to get away, I am Collateral damage.

All this for food. Food one of the things that keeps us alive. Fat people even say it cures depression. 10 kilos later I still feel the same. Now I’m depressed because I’m fat. People in Somalia are dying because they don’t have enough food. I’m dying because I’m made to eat food. I end up searching anorexia nervosa on Google. As the days go by I’m more and more attracted to skinny girls. Girls that never eat. On festival you sit across the table with her, no food to eat and no nasty bickering. Just water to console the soul. Just water to start a new family. Just water to keep you alive. Just water to feel the love. Just water.

RABBIT AND THE WOLF: The rabbit runs for its life. It ducks and weaves like a sprinter off to set a new world record. The wolf isn’t far behind. Every move is countered. The bite gets closer the rabbit runs faster.
The lecture continues. Anxious little minds waiting to go out into the big bad world and do something. The knowledge acquired is precious they think. Object oriented analysis and design can end poverty. The little dolls in the flow diagram look happy though. Boxes and rounded rectangles seem to be their entire world. No war just flow of control. Inheritance and a lot more gibberish, isn’t this an effort to make all this sound serious?
The entire process of learning in this classroom is like a delicate dance. He doesn’t know what he is teaching and we don’t know what we are learning. Be careful not to step on his foot.
Every instance I look at his bright red belt buckle I imagine he is a superhero, out to protect us from the evil university. An apt disguise as a teacher, if only he could teach. If only he were a superhero. The pen striking the paper translating thought into words is the only thing keeping me glued to this seat. Mind wanders searching for boredom only then will I learn something. But there is so much to explore, if you look closely you can find fish in the tube light. I’m the only soul looking at the ceiling while the others stare at the absolute emptiness which lies right in front of their sparking eyes. Then he asks, “Any Doubts?” I got so many where do I start. Can you press the bright red belt buckle? The buckle might be a window into this man’s psyche. He might even be an undercover porn star. I can only remember the women in porn not the men. The men are just decorations on the porn set and of course the whole monochrome confetti at the end.
What is validation?
Shut up even if you know the answer. The whole point is to make him repeat the same question a thousand times while we cherish his amateur attempt at humor and sarcasm till the sweet sound of the bell reaches our ear drums. The human heart beats 72 times per minute. Women blink twice as many times as men. He has repeated the question 4 times already. There has to be a savior shedding his blood for the others, the big guy gets up with an air of confidence and the right answer. Heart broken. Beating only 60 times per minute. I sulk in my chair this could have easily gone on for another 5 minutes. The big guy is not finished yet, taking upon the previous challenge of- “Any Doubts?” he fires away. Every question is like a wolf. The dreadful sound of the bell. The rabbit lives to see another day.

THE TRIP: I went back to my roots recently, Kerala, God’s own country and stayed in a rather rural place for 23 days. A guy who has born and lived in a city like Bangalore all his life will feel a little apprehensive the minute he sets foot there as I most definitely felt. This feeling remained with me for a couple of days; then somehow you learn to slow down. No more pacing thoughts, no more awful rat race of the nasty city. There were no modern amenities out of which I missed my beloved 256 kbps internet connection the most. I learnt a lot about myself while I was there. First let me explain why I “had to” do this to give you a clearer picture as to the conditions and all I had to go through during my stay there.


The reason is that I somehow managed to get my vertebral disc slipped while playing football and no I didn’t fall. People have been asking me whether or not I fell. Once again, NO I did not fall. This happened a long time ago which is like two years. I roamed knocking on every doctor, orthopedic and neurologist’s doors and sometimes little cubicles in search of a cure or someway to at least restrict the pain. The only thing the smart ass doctors could do is to prescribe me cool drugs which kept me high all day and night. The nights being special as they helped me write some great stuff. "This is the only use of those little pills" I would say. Finally some neurologist dude said chop off the tissue. I in turn said, “HELL NO”. Two years up and still nothing besides a few abuses for some blogs and beginning of a small novel. This is the part where you imagine me being pissed off and cursing a lot of doctors.


I hated the pain, more than the pain, I hated watching kids play football on the streets. I’m fortunate enough that not many play this game in Bangalore. This is when my uncle suggests that I go see an Ayurvedic doc. I had this in mind but was always a little skeptical. He had Spondylitis which was cured by this doc I’m referring to. Even in his case some modern med doc had almost cut him open giving him a deadline of 24 hrs.


My uncle told me that this place is somewhere in the Western Ghats far away from any form of urban dwelling. I won’t mind going to hell or even selling my soul to fix my back! That’s right my soul is up for grabs, real cheap.


The moment I reached there the gravity of the situation hits me like an apple from a tree. Bangalorean is what I am. Although a malayali by birth, I have no resemblance to one. You need to look at me from a certain angle with specific lighting to figure out I’m a mallu. My Malayalam is so pathetic I could rather speak Brielle fluently!


I don’t know how to wear a lungi (colorful cousin of the Dhoti) which is the official attire there. They even keep their mobiles phones in their lungis which is like some kind of a new magic trick for me. Imagine millions of David Blaines outwitting each other pulling out mobiles, wallets, laptops, LCD televisions out of their lungis instead of a scared little rabbit out of a hat.


I felt like a faker. Everyone there lives on boiled rice, I don’t like boiled like. I’m definitely a faker. I had to share a room with four other guys; the youngest one among them being 34 and the oldest 64. I already feel like an outcast. I don’t like politics and if you have ever visited Kerala you would know by now that’s all they speak about. I can’t get myself included. They look and me and think “Faker” but they are kind enough not to tell me on my face.

* I wore a Lungi.
This was the most uncomfortable part of my whole stay there. They always seemed like they were improving on their David Blaine act. Folding it, running in it and even tying it in different styles. I was truly amazed at all these tricks. I felt I was at level 1 in some weird little video game where failure leads to public humiliation. I used to look down every other second just to be sure that it’s still on.

* I ate boiled rice
I’ve had boiled rice before, never liked it. Whenever I went to my relatives' place I used to douse it with a lot of curry and somehow gulp down the entire thing. This time around no such luck since they gave me a very limited quantity of curry with no spices whatsoever. The first meal I had there was so hard I kept reminding myself that if Bear Grylls (Google it) can eat a live lizard, this is nothing; proteins, vitamins and all that good stuff. I didn’t want to project myself as a snob. "This is health food" was all that I was thinking at that moment. I’ve never been happier to finish my meal.

* I built a fire
Taking a shower is the only thing that brings me back to my senses. Hot water is a luxury that I can’t do without. I soon realized it’s hard to build a fire when the firewood is wet. Yes, I was building fire with firewood... old school baby. I spent like an hour to build a fire and this surely wasn’t helping my back. But my ego is getting a massive boost out of this. I felt like an adventurer and I understand male chauvinism with this little experiment. Man builds fire and woman cooks.

* The Indian Tie
In order to massage your back into shape they need complete access of your body. Underwear is an obstruction. So they gave me a small little piece of cloth with 2 strings on the top left and right corners. The inmates there called it “The Indian Tie”. This is not the traditional Indian underwear, the langoti. This is specially made for this purpose. I was supposed to cover my manhood with this. Like the dumb ass city slicker I am, I wore it the wrong way. Nuts covered but still the wrong way. I proudly go into the tiny area where they do the massage. I remove the towel of my waist and my doc starts staring at me with utter disbelief. He didn’t know whether to laugh or slap me for my ignorance. I apologized and laid down on the table. After it was done, he was supposed to tie a cloth around my waist real tight. I said I’m up for it. I just ate boiled rice and wore a lungi... piece of cake. He said strip. Damn.

* I stripped
I took off everything and my Indian tie was in my hand facing my worst fear of being completely naked in front of a total stranger. If the stranger was the beautiful Angelina Jolie I won’t mind much. Here it happens to be a bearded man in his forties and he is standing right behind me, not the best of positions. He starts tying the cloth around my waist and between my legs. His cold fingers touching my penis in the process, not a good feeling. A man’s hand touching my dick, not good. The result of this weird nightmare is that I can now strip anywhere. Watch out Times Square you haven’t seen anything yet!

The funny part is I want to go back; I felt free there. We know little of ourselves until we push the limit. This sure wasn’t the limit, nevertheless a start.

WILL OF THE WARRIOR: Battered and bruised I stand here all alone in anticipation of the light that would rescue me. With all my might I plunged my sword into the mighty Dragon’s heart to slay the beast and save myself. I thought I killed the beast until I saw its eyes teasing me, making me feel like a little kid.
Seed of doubt the curse of the warrior. The blade seems distant, blade seems heavy. Killer instinct flowing away from me. Hands tremble, throat dries. The spirit of the warrior flies cold. Leaving the heart, leaving the soul. Leaving only doubts galore. Look in the eye seems unclear. It’s an unknown emotion the one of fear. The night beckons the warrior, even though he isn’t here. All that remains is a shell full of shame and fear. Frozen battlefield the souls raise, the warriors, the immortal heroes towards the sky. All that remains is my sword and I. My companion and I left alone.
Take me away and save my soul, the body isn’t worth anything anymore. Couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t feel the pain, void of all senses I stand here alone. If you can hear me shout back at me. Human touch is what I desire. I don’t need love even a slap on the cheek will do. After all human touch is human touch. Tell me how I failed; tell me I can’t do it. Set my blood racing. Make me feel again. If you do I promise you. A million dragons I will slay. Long and far I shall go to places where even darkness dares to go and hunt down every creature of nightmare. I will roam the depths of hell make Satan my concubine. Tell them I have arrived.
Taunting cries of the wolves, darkness magnifies every sound. As the dragon makes its move, I hold my ground as my thoughts soar way beyond the battlefield searching for a thread of life. Something that would make me forget the predicament looming large. I may lose my head, body or a limb but a hero never quits. Fight until you die coz a hero never quits.
What can’t kill me can only make me stronger. That’s a stupid reason to chop my leg and let me limp for ever. To cure is to administer poison slower until addiction kicks in and I can’t kick the poison. The dragons are my addiction how much longer can I chase them? Will my legs hold, will the heart be bold? Only time has all the answers. As a second slips out of the clock, millions are trying to turn it back to the place where no black can penetrate, only bright and brilliant light. Follow the light to a place where happiness is the truth. Beauty is just a touch away. No more misery, the happiness is here to stay.
Your single touch is what I needed; now I feel like I’m free. Free to roam, free to live, and free to feel your love again. I may never be the hero, nor will I be the villain. I’m what they call the man without a reason. A reason, will or destiny, these things seem like a joke to me. What am I to do after all the dragons are dead? What good am I if there are no dragons left? I live without a reason, without a will, hoping for a little destiny to make it all bright and red.

CHASING THE DREAM: Laughing hysterically in the face of misery can cure depression. Laugh until your guts hurt. Laugh until your eyes tear. Laugh.

Side effects may include turning into a famous serial killer, but you won’t be depressed. You might kill a few endangered whales and pandas, but you won’t be depressed. You might bludgeon helpless cute little baby seals attaining peace of mind with a piece of mind.

Meds can’t help you. No chemical can. Explode externally to save self destruction. Weigh out your options. Do you want to be a super villain or kill yourself? Megalomaniac world ruler, solitary confinement. Blood dripping out of your veins. GSR on your finger tips. All because of some lousy depression. No, avoiding depression. “Hysterical Laughter”.

Think you are a bird, think you can fly. Splat on 10 people below you. Laugh Hysterically. Satire my ass, this is my life we are talking about. “Hysterical Laughter.”

The pen is mightier than the sword, jab it in your neck. “Hysterical Laughter.”

Lets go destroy something beautiful. Accomplice ? No. Figment of my twisted mind. Nuke the Swiss Alps, Key a brand new red Ferrari, Burn the Mona Lisa. Fire gives you heat and light. Destruction on HD technology. Two million pixels per inch. Two million little pieces of the Mona Lisa burning. Don’t smile bitch, Laugh Hysterically.

Bottle up emotions, the outcome can surprise you. I choose door number three. Modern art on the floor. Naked dead broad pinned to the bed. No self destruction only external explosion followed by hysterical laughter.

Choose the weapon of destruction. Weapon of your choice, Caliber 5.56 mm “M16” air cooled, gas operated assault rifle with a rotating bolt actuated by direct impingement gas operation. 900 rounds per second. Traveling at 3,200 feet per second. Straight into your eye. Drum magazine holding unto 90 rounds. Even if I miss 50 percent of my shots, I still hit 45 before I reload. This is fun. Each bullet coated with Teflon to pierce even the toughest armor to rip through your flesh in time. Tiny entry wounds. Exit wounds the size of a football. Gory, sickening, puke on the floor. The devil resurrected. Columbine still fresh in the memory of a few who lost. Cured am I? No. “Hysterical Laughter”. Not enough. The thirst continues. Death sentences not enough. “Hysterical Laughter”. Torture, pain, ineffective weekend retreats. Make me a vegetable make me a Broccoli, make me a Zucchini. Vengeance is yours.

CHILD ABUSE: It spells terror in most people’s minds. Brings horrifying images of innocence being robbed off an angel by a very nasty creature in the form of a friend, uncle or a relative. It leaves a scar on the victim so deep that it is impossible to heal it no matter how much time is at hand. Is there another form of child abuse? There is, maybe not as traumatizing but still impacts the life of the child in a similar manner. Here the people around the child inadvertently rape the young child’s thought and those beautiful innocent dreams. It can even be the child’s own parents. They intend for the kid to lead a good life and be happy but the path they choose can be completely wrong. Pushing the child to do things it doesn’t enjoy and not allowing the child to do things that it enjoys in the name of hygiene, status and all the other bullshit that we adhere to in this world.

It’s hard for a kid to grow up like this. Once you grow up like this every moment you spend analyzing yourself. You are filled with an urge to make others happy than you being happy. You grow up looking around hoping to see people smile at your success. Even when you succeed you are not exactly happy. You are relieved that you haven’t failed and that they can’t blame you anymore. Even a simple game of cricket on the streets turn into a savage competition coz your brain morphs it into the most important game of your life. You start playing really well seldom making a mistake but can’t enjoy the game coz you are engrossed in all the calculations that will help you succeed. Socially you might attain the highest degree of success but you will be dead inside and the worst part is nobody seems to understand this, until one day you blow your brains all over a pretty wall.

One of my friends once told me, “if you don’t procreate, you are a failure as an organism.” Does this mean just to be successful organism I breed a flock of kids and trample their souls under my mighty feet until they become serial killers? I don’t agree with this at all. If you think you are emotionally disturbed to be a good parent just don’t have any kids. It’s as simple as that. The atrocities that you unknowingly commit on your child decide the fate of the little one. Every tiny detail counts here. The punishment for mistakes being the biggest of them all. I would prefer beatings over mental torture any day. Beat me and get it over with. Mental torture is a whole different game. The parents being elder can think of a million different things to say to a child without being aware the amount of hurt they are inducing on the little soul. The kid might take every single word seriously and this will remain with him forever, tormenting him while he is asleep in the form of nightmares. Making him feel isolated from the rest of the world. Only way to protect young minds is to educate the old. If a couple decide to have a child, they should be made to join dedicated classes at least for hundred hours to understand the fragilities of a child’s mind and every year they should be made to realize their duties as a parent. This can be done by attending additional classes for maybe five hours a year. Lot of people might disagree with me saying parenting is a natural thing. I would like to ask these talented parents whether it is so difficult to dedicate hundred hours of your life for the welfare of their own child.

Parenting is the most important aspect of human existence. It determines whether the young soul is going to be happy or miserable for the rest of his life. If you have even the slightest doubt about your parenting skills, please don’t have any kids. Maybe you are saving the lives of a whole lot of people you haven’t even met.

RAGE AGAINST THE HUMANS: Frustration is building up so badly. I might choke anything that would walk past me. Its like every time I raise up to take a breath somebody holds me by my ankles and pulls me in deeper into the water. I can feel the water rushing into my lungs. I feel my anger engulfing my veins as they shut down all possible avenues of rationale in my brain. It’s dangerous when frustration manifests itself into rage. It burns anything and everything that stands in its path. I desperately need to calm myself down. I need to tie myself to a lamp post until this feeling subsides. Even if that doesn’t help then ram my head into a wall with a tidy run up, hoping it would knock me out of my senses for at least a few minutes.

Writing seems to calm me down. That’s one of the reasons I’m writing now. Procrastination can be one of the main culprits of rage it definitely is for me. You know you should not procrastinate yet you somehow convince yourself that you can do it later and maybe even do it better at a later time. It’s funny the absurdities we can convince ourselves into believing. I have seen guys who make basic mistakes while riding a bike yet they proclaim to be true bikers. Do they even comprehend how all this bullshit effects people around them? They are too self obsessed to think about others is what I feel. After you reach a saturation point of taking crap from these mentally challenged special agents of irritability then there is no way you can mend the relationship you once had with them, which by this time has severed beyond recognition. After that point though even the simplest of the mistakes you would have overlooked seem as big as ratting out our beloved nation’s secrets to our enemies. I say this because the punishment dished out to such crimes are pretty similar, intense and sometimes even cruel.

The crimes committed purely out of rage can they be tried the same as if the guy was completely in his senses? This is where justice and true justice differ. Our judicial system doesn’t consider the state of mind one was in when he committed those crimes except in the case of insanity. The victims are enraged too not necessarily of the crime but the sheer pace of our judicial system. It tires you down so much causing intense trauma as one is reminded of the same nightmare each time he visits the temple of justice. This makes the victims want to let go of the antagonists no matter what they did to them, hoping a supreme force will return the favor ten times mightier in the name of karma.

THE ONE: All of a sudden I find myself thinking about her. I miss her, a lot. She was the ray of hope I wanted to cling onto so bad. No matter what’s bothering me, just seeing her face would transcend me to a planet so beautiful; it would over shadow even the most beautiful dream that you have ever seen in your life. I can still converse with her anytime I want to. A part of her is imprinted onto my soul.

People have regrets of not having the photograph of the love of their lives, if at all they have loved and lost. I don’t need her photograph. Photos don’t do justice to her. In a photograph you can only see her physical appearance. They don’t tell you o her aura or her souls which I saw and felt. Warm, ever so, comfortable. We had conversations without speaking. Talks, that lasted for hours without even speaking a word. When you find someone who mirrors you in deeds and thoughts, pushing the bounds of imagination and happiness, you live more than ever. You feel immortal, blessed. I could spend a life time looking into her eyes, swimming in her thoughts, drowning my sorrows.

Even her fragrance was intoxicating. I could have my eyes closed and tell you the minute she walked into the room. When I met her for the last time, I somehow knew that I’m never going to meet her again. I kept reminding myself, “Build memories; hold on to every thread of information. I can’t afford to forget her.” So now I remember her face, her beautiful smile, her joy, her sorrow, her touch and smell, everything. I couldn’t be lost in my life as long as I hold on to them. She is mine, my light to guide my way through misery and my friend in my happiness.

When we were kids we would fight a lot and she would come to me and cry. I would feel miserable seeing her like that. I would desperately hold back my tears. Now I wish I had cried.

The spectrums of human emotions are huge. Some people take a lifetime to experience them. I on the other hand, experienced each and every one of them, in rapid succession too. I still feel a little exhausted from that. It felt as if she was opening a different door to heaven every single time I met her. She had all the keys, millions of them hidden in that tiny heart of hers. She was meant to show me what happiness was. I was immersed in so much of it. I’m still high on happiness.

Those ten years I spent with her made my life worth living. I can live another hundred just remembering her. Keeping her memory alive seems to be more important to me than living.

Nobody understood her, sophisticated was her middle name. Being lost in other people’s sorrow her true nature. Suffering pain was an instinct. We would forget everything when together.

She made me what I am today. She made me human, taught me affection and compassion. People have different names for me, even people who claim to have known me for years would associate such adjectives as, “Freak, psychotic, introvert or plain weird” to describe me. But I was normal to her. I wish we could grow old together watch the beauty of the crimson sun over clear waters……..

Love you, miss you forever.

PAMELA ANDERSON: Life in the city sounds enticing to a lot of people. The glitz and the glamour is all they see. They don't know the void that we have in our daily lives which we are trying to fill with luxury cars, fancy handsets and designer clothes. We need to put faces to these problems. Lot of people recognize these as problems when it’s too late. When a software engineer bludgeons his wife to death and hangs himself to the ceiling fan people say that he couldn't handle the pressure. Does anyone ask why??? We are so caught up in over achieving things we take out an umbrella to protect ourselves from the spring showers and the pleasant sun of the winter. Why?? Because we don't want to get sick so that we can make millions for the corporation we are working for. Slavery is dead but slaves are galore.

There is a distinct difference between the people in the city and the people outside. It’s like the people in the city have their resume of sins pasted across their miserable faces. Judging each other as they try to look deep into each others souls, putting their sins on a balance just to see who’s victorious. The look in their eye often suggests "watch your step else I’m going to slit your throat open in broad daylight and enjoy every drop that trickles out". People want to make a buck out of every opportunity that comes towards them. Humanity is a forgotten notion. Maybe its time to re term it as something else more appropriate. I have a brilliant idea. We need to put up banners saying "humanity dead???" Just to see how many of us even bother to react to it.

We, Indians were one of the first civilizations in the world. We were one of the first civilized people to roam this planet so to speak, it’s ironic where we are now. we have the same demons of war and plague but the difference being everything seems to be on steroids or in celebrity terms (coz unless there is a celebrity's name attached to an article no one even bothers looking at it) as enhanced as Pamela Anderson’s breasts. Where did we go wrong??? The communists blame democracy and vice versa. Why do we have this tendency to blame others ever so conveniently? Right form the way God made us to our financial condition to our looks, intelligence, family, friends, girlfriend, spouse, and children. The answer, leave everything. Abandon to achieve complete freedom. Its not so easy as you might think, you should have balls of steel. I would like to suggest a small exercise to start off. Try not speaking to anyone for a year you would understand how hard it is. I have done that, for me it felt natural, but when I finally decided to be normal again (in society’s term), I just couldn't speak fluently. It was like my mind knows what I want to say but when it comes out it didn't make any sense. This made my self esteem low. I started questioning my choices and my reasoning, but me shutting myself off from the world opened up so many things in my own heart which I didn't know about myself, that it made me believe. What I knew in the deepest depths of my heart about me were all true. I was free, I was complex, some may term it as insanity but do you think I really care? Hell no.

"EMBRACE THE TRUTH"

SOCIETY: My friends and I are different. We are not like everyone else around us. This doesn’t mean that we are special rather it makes us confused and people around us sometimes scared.

People seem to be afraid of what they don’t understand. When we speak to them they think its gibberish. They cannot seem to be able to think outside the norms of the society. The society, the self obsessed, over achieving, celebrity life style obsessed society.

People cannot wrap their minds around the fact that a guy can lead a normal life without the constraints of a relationship. When I had a girl it felt like I was hanging, the noose started to tighten around my neck, I couldn’t breathe. I realized tough it was not her fault. I just needed a lot of time to understand and separate the arguments in my head.

That is when I realized I’m incapable of being in a relationship. I need solitude to keep my sanity. At times I think I’m a little too beyond repair.

Society can go to hell. As Serj Tankian (System of a Down – Vocals) said “Civilization is a failure, we need to try something else.” Maybe instead of doing stupid research such as, whether pandas can reproduce after watching porn. We need to start an experimental anarchist state and see how it might work. But I think if there is a nuclear holocaust we might end up with an anarchist state like it or not.

I would like to see a franchise coffee shop right after a nuclear holocaust and see how many patrons would desire to socialize.

War has always been a vital part of the human race. When we were not equipped with Kalashnikov’s and RPG’s, we waged war against the beasts with sticks and stones. It’s our way of reminding everyone that we are animals as well. It’s a brutal variation of Darwin’s survival of the fittest. We are just procrastinating the inevitable. We can all feel it building up like a volcano about to soak us with its beautiful horror.

Now is the time to prepare, preparation doesn’t mean you buy all the detergent available at the local supermarket and start making pipe bombs in your backyard. Preparation is when you understand all the luxuries might end in a blink of an eye and you most probably would end up scouring for the basic necessities.

Condition yourself for the worst. If you thought I was speaking about war, think again. This can also be an analogy for life.

CLOSER TO HEAVEN: They say a lunatic and a child are the only two people who are at peace. Their minds are fresh and fertile for thoughts to grow without any ego or any boundaries. I’m not a child anymore, my only hope is insanity the sooner I get there better for me and the people around me because I don’t know when I’m going to snap and bludgeon each one of their heads with a sledge hammer and feed them unworthy, egoistical brains to dogs. I need the cover of insanity that is ma destiny. I so want to leave everything behind and soar into my imagination. Leave the world behind; be in a world where humans are forbidden only you and the nature. Play with the clouds and swim in the vast ocean. A healthy me who can swim now that’s a dream. The only solution till then is hibernating.

Bears are smart species they should have been ruling the planet right now if only they had opposable thumb, I’m pretty sure if they did they would have started colonies in other planets by now. So to avoid humans just hibernate, sleep and be lost in your dreams where the most beautiful ones you can weave is only limited by your imagination and understanding of beauty and pleasure. The guy who said seven hours of sleep is what a human needs was most probably an over achieving creatively deprived freak who ended up solving the puzzles of life using integration in his grave. I can’t be any other person I am right now, I have come a long way in this so called sane world who people who have money are offered more money and the poor are squeezed until they bleed through their eyes. I would rather be insane and not be affected by all these. I hope I need a straight jacket by my next birthday. Don’t take this as a cry for help, because it isn’t this is just me chasing ma dream of losing it!!!!

IDEOLOGIES: Have you seen people go down in flames because of their ideologies. I have, lot of them. They make assumptions arrived upon by a single instance in their life when they felt something never experienced before and said to themselves this is what I will do for the rest of my life, these are my ideologies and I will stick to them no matter what. But life is as unpredictable as the mood of a woman. You might think something is wrong in a certain circumstance but it might be right or sometimes the only solution in another.

For instance killing someone is considered as a gruesome act or a sin in almost all the cultures damning those whose who commit this heinous act to the depths of hell for all eternity, but killing is considered noble in warfare. The one who rips the heads off his enemies rather the enemies of his beloved motherland is considered a hero and showered with praises and guaranteed a place at the feet of the almighty himself. Isn’t this hypocrisy???

Ideologies are like this. Many don’t understand them entirely and end up slitting their own throats unknowingly in the process. Only when they are bleeding from their fatal wound do they understand that the situation didn’t call upon their ideology rather their common sense.

People change, change is the only constant thing in the universe. Every waking moment you are a different person. Every experience you have makes you look at the world differently. Perceptions change. Depth of understanding increases. I may contradict myself over and over again. I may read something that I wrote two months ago and wonder how I could have written that or I may even contradict myself the very next line you are about to read. Internal arguments galore, inevitable turmoil of the soul. So how can I have ideologies when I don’t know myself or see myself as the reference point to the ever so confusing world around me??? Do I want to know the world around me??? Or do I just want to know myself. What about ideologies, what good are they???

I have a strong moral compass can I use the same as my ideology??? If as I said ideologies should change over a period of time should morality change as well????

STUPIDITY:Some people are just fucking crazy, they have no clue about what they are and are just chasing down someone else’s dream since that dude painted a pretty picture in front of his creatively deprived mother fuckin eyes. Now all of them around him are fuckin goin crazy because this dude has no clue what his dream is and since he has a pea sized brain matter with fungus infected grey cells by the time his friend told him his dream he was half asleep and half bored. So now he has this lil distorted image of his dream in that vaccum filled skull of his, which he is cramming down every innocent bystander’s throats, they can’t swallow it nor can they spit it on his fucking face.

This is not the only problem these kinda people have a very short attention span. They have this very narrow vision of things too. They don’t try and understand people just jump into conclusions, like a guy is gay or someone is a slut. Man stop doin that you have no clue how many people are gunning for you in their minds. If only imagination was real you would die the most horrible death over and over again.

That’s why I say human stupidity never ceases to amaze me it would surpass human intelligence by miles. I say this because a scientist may attempt something say for a million times. A stupid guy on the other hand will make the same fucking mistake all his life and take pride in it.

ENVY:Its such a bad thing. I used to get really jealous when i see happy people. Now i jus don't coz i know wat i am and how strong i am i also know tat another person cannot be me. i love tat i'm completely fucked up, so much so tat i can at any point of time jus lose it n go on a killin spree. This makes me happy coz tat way i'll have a final blow out. I surely have da cojones 4 tat. Well da only people tat i really get jealous of are da celebrities so i'm kinda self in tat respect. My jealously emotion unlike ma psychotic emotion is completey under ma control.
Now the interesting bit, i've seen a lotta ppl completely jealous of others and tearin their hair off to bring the other person down who they are jealous. I mean how can u think abt a normal person like tat who u see every day. Extremely wierd in ma book. Moral of the small unintersting rather meaning less blabber that u jus read is, stop bein someone else, stop pretending, stop conspiring and get over it!!!!

CRAZY: well da definition of tis word is so fuckin crazy in itself. its an irony. if i go
on a killin spree, takin out all da dirt off the society ur crazy. in our society someone
who sits in da lap of luxury and preaches to a million ppl is a saint. while his little
helpers collect money frm da hard workin ppl of our country by showin them a perpetual shortcut 2 nirvana, tat fuckin bastard of a saint will be suckin on da juicy neck of a 15 yr old naive grl who is also on da search of nirvana. shit. tis is wat it has come down 2. fake gods r even rulin da radio waves televised in every goddamn language. no subliminal msgs here like some believe jus a lotta gibberish 2 confuse da ppl jus enuf 2 open up accounts in the Caribbean. wen r we gonna wake up and realise wat we have become. we r chasin thins tat don exist we fill our minds wit alternate realities where we have have our own right and wrong. da best part is 4 everythin we depend on da media these days if some reporter says cricketers r paid a lot we need 2 restrict it we automatically agree. baseless debates galore. we r addicted 2 caffine is it jus da notion tat drinkin an expensive coffee in a franchise coffee shop makes us happy. it doesn't make me happy, i tried it pisses da shit outta me. well maybe i'm crazy. everythin needs 2 change but how???
soon ppl wit minds like me (i donno whether tey exist) r gonna wake up and decide wats
enuf is enuf and take our society our country frm da hands of da crappy irresponsible media
who nowadays r tellin us wat 2 eat, wat 2 wear and who is sexy. maybe it'll take a few yrs
but trust me its happen like minded ppl r gonna come 2gether and there is gonna be a revolution 4 da better. maybe ten everyone of us can be completely crazy. a crazy world sounds good 2 me!!!