I want to create an island far far out at sea
Made entirely of all the sadness within me
And without my sadness if I be
Will I have lost myself if that were the key?
Showing posts with label introspection. Show all posts
Showing posts with label introspection. Show all posts
Friday, October 23, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
En route
When I look in the mirror I see
not who I wanted to be
I don't know what to say,
I got distracted on the way
From me I became he
Monday, July 13, 2009
Ennui 1
Ennui chases me in very peculiar ways
A sequence of motionless days
I crave for a change in the game
But every day is exactly the same.
A sequence of motionless days
I crave for a change in the game
But every day is exactly the same.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Real
I slip in and out
of unconsciousness
or is it reality
that i glimpse occasionally?
If only someone
could lie convincingly to me
that there was a difference
that just wasn't found
of unconsciousness
or is it reality
that i glimpse occasionally?
If only someone
could lie convincingly to me
that there was a difference
that just wasn't found
Friday, December 19, 2008
Three
Three times I think of you
Everyday that I am
And a day is only relative
Three times I think of you
And each instance is long
Every second lasts forever
There's a time in my life
When I'll think of you no more
Three times I'll say your name
And forget you for eternity
Everyday that I am
And a day is only relative
Three times I think of you
And each instance is long
Every second lasts forever
There's a time in my life
When I'll think of you no more
Three times I'll say your name
And forget you for eternity
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Unsent Letter
"You remind me of a paper kite on a power line - you see them all over the place, fluttering in place, some new and shiny and colourful, others tattered and shredded. But then you always said you were like a kite, born to fly high, 'buffeted by the winds, but taking strength from them nonetheless' (I remember your words exactly - as I remember everything else about you, and far too often, unfortunately). Yes, that's what you were like, as I remember you. Those were our better days, when you and could spend time together without getting into an argument, and saying things we would regret later (I don't know if you ever really regretted anything you said, but I did). There was a sort of contentedness then, a sense of being sated. So how did things change? When did I start holding you back? Your space? Was that what I was invading? Why would I hold you back? I didn't have the faintest until you said we were competing too much. So I became the metaphorical string that tied you down, kept you from your freedom, and I remained it. And when you demanded your freedom, I gave it to you, as if it were my treasure to give up. I didn't really weep, you know, because, I couldn't, and even if I could, I wouldn't have. Not for you.
And my friends brought me news of your success, and your failures, and how you were a different person now. But I remained a passive listener, simply because you once were, and you aren't. I knew your new friends, or knew about them, to be exact. Your so-called success was interesting, but only in a very generic curiosity-inducing way.
My friends still tell me about you, but I can't really say I sympathize. I am no longer the string, and you are no longer close to the ground. And yet, while you still are what you were, you are not free yet. For, if you are a kite, there will always be a string. And every time I see the kites fluttering around the power lines, I think of you.”
And my friends brought me news of your success, and your failures, and how you were a different person now. But I remained a passive listener, simply because you once were, and you aren't. I knew your new friends, or knew about them, to be exact. Your so-called success was interesting, but only in a very generic curiosity-inducing way.
My friends still tell me about you, but I can't really say I sympathize. I am no longer the string, and you are no longer close to the ground. And yet, while you still are what you were, you are not free yet. For, if you are a kite, there will always be a string. And every time I see the kites fluttering around the power lines, I think of you.”
Friday, October 03, 2008
Goa Trip
Ennui, and stress forced me to take a short vacation in September. While I originally intended to travel some place remote, I realized I didn’t have enough time to plan it. So I ended up going to Goa instead, alone.
While I've been to Goa several times in the past, most trips have been related to work, and followed a standard pattern - reach Goa early morning, meet up with clients/distributors, and catch the bus back to Mumbai in the evening. The other type of Goa trip involved hectic travel to cove as many beaches as possible in the shortest period of time (and the maximum number of temples and churches too). I intended this trip to be different - restful and without an agenda. I got delayed reaching Mapusa because roads were flooded on account of the heavy rains, and reached Baga only post noon. First thing I did even before I found a place to stay was plonk myself down at St. Anthony's beachfront restaurant and stuff myself. Wandering around for a bit allowed me to find a clean lodging place a short distance from the beach and a bit of bargaining got me a clean AC room for Rs.600 a day. It certainly helped that it was off-season, and prices were low and accommodation was easily available. Baga and Calangute are very close to each other and there are a large number of lodges and hotels along this stretch.
I spent the next 3 days lazing around on the beach, on the beach front, or on long walks around Baga. I relaxed stretched out on a comfortable chair on the beach with a good book in hand and good food and beer on a table beside me. I ate hearty breakfasts at Infantaria (the bananas with honey are excellent), lunched at random restaurants whenever I felt like it, and dined at St.Anthony's. I played pool at Mambo's (a popular nightspot with theme nights), tried pastries at Britto's, and watched a bunch of foreigners karaoke at St.Anthony's. I hired pilots (motorcycle taxis) to take me to Fort Aguada and the Chapora fort and watched the Brahminy kites and Indian vultures dive at each other in the clear blue sky.
I went to Panjim the last day of my stay and wandered around Patto for a while before catching a bus back to Mumbai. I did have to run around like crazy before I could reconfirm my 'already confirmed' bus tickets, but that's another story.
But to all my friends and acquaintances that think it's a ridiculous idea travelling to Goa alone, do try it once; you might learn more - about Goa and about yourself, than you would otherwise would.
[Some photos on Flickr]
While I've been to Goa several times in the past, most trips have been related to work, and followed a standard pattern - reach Goa early morning, meet up with clients/distributors, and catch the bus back to Mumbai in the evening. The other type of Goa trip involved hectic travel to cove as many beaches as possible in the shortest period of time (and the maximum number of temples and churches too). I intended this trip to be different - restful and without an agenda. I got delayed reaching Mapusa because roads were flooded on account of the heavy rains, and reached Baga only post noon. First thing I did even before I found a place to stay was plonk myself down at St. Anthony's beachfront restaurant and stuff myself. Wandering around for a bit allowed me to find a clean lodging place a short distance from the beach and a bit of bargaining got me a clean AC room for Rs.600 a day. It certainly helped that it was off-season, and prices were low and accommodation was easily available. Baga and Calangute are very close to each other and there are a large number of lodges and hotels along this stretch.
I spent the next 3 days lazing around on the beach, on the beach front, or on long walks around Baga. I relaxed stretched out on a comfortable chair on the beach with a good book in hand and good food and beer on a table beside me. I ate hearty breakfasts at Infantaria (the bananas with honey are excellent), lunched at random restaurants whenever I felt like it, and dined at St.Anthony's. I played pool at Mambo's (a popular nightspot with theme nights), tried pastries at Britto's, and watched a bunch of foreigners karaoke at St.Anthony's. I hired pilots (motorcycle taxis) to take me to Fort Aguada and the Chapora fort and watched the Brahminy kites and Indian vultures dive at each other in the clear blue sky.
I went to Panjim the last day of my stay and wandered around Patto for a while before catching a bus back to Mumbai. I did have to run around like crazy before I could reconfirm my 'already confirmed' bus tickets, but that's another story.
But to all my friends and acquaintances that think it's a ridiculous idea travelling to Goa alone, do try it once; you might learn more - about Goa and about yourself, than you would otherwise would.
[Some photos on Flickr]
Monday, September 29, 2008
Sporadic Blogging
These infrequent posts are actually a result of too many things to write about rather than being at a loss to write anything about. But I shall try to put my thoughts down on HTML; these may not be linear or chronological, but more like a scattered grouping of ideas/memories/reports as an when they edge into the largish part of my brain reserved for work-related computing. Over the next few days…
Thursday, January 03, 2008
New year wishes!
Last Year's Troubles
Suzanne Vega, from the album Songs in Red and Gray
Last year's troubles are so old fashioned
The robber on the highway the pirate on the seas
Maybe it's the clothing that's so entertaining
The earrings and swashbuckling blouses that please
Here we have heroes of times that have passed now
But nobody these days has that kind of chin
Over there the petticoats of ladies of virtue
You can hardly tell them from the petticoats of sin
Last year's troubles
Look at all the waifs of Dickensian England
Why is it their suffering is more picturesque?
Must be cause their rags are so very Victorian
The ones here at home just don't give it their best
Last years troubles they shine up so pretty
They gleam with a luster they don't have today
Here it's just dirty and violent and troubling
etc.
Last year's troubles
But trouble is still trouble and evil still evil
Sometimes we wonder; is there more now, or less?
If we had a tool or could tally the handfuls
Measure for measure it's the same would be my guess
Suzanne Vega, from the album Songs in Red and Gray
Last year's troubles are so old fashioned
The robber on the highway the pirate on the seas
Maybe it's the clothing that's so entertaining
The earrings and swashbuckling blouses that please
Here we have heroes of times that have passed now
But nobody these days has that kind of chin
Over there the petticoats of ladies of virtue
You can hardly tell them from the petticoats of sin
Last year's troubles
Look at all the waifs of Dickensian England
Why is it their suffering is more picturesque?
Must be cause their rags are so very Victorian
The ones here at home just don't give it their best
Last years troubles they shine up so pretty
They gleam with a luster they don't have today
Here it's just dirty and violent and troubling
etc.
Last year's troubles
But trouble is still trouble and evil still evil
Sometimes we wonder; is there more now, or less?
If we had a tool or could tally the handfuls
Measure for measure it's the same would be my guess
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Someplace Else
So why am I here
and not some other place?
A missing sense of belonging
to a certain rat race
I know I'm unique
just like everybody else
Me and everyone
have our own tiny cells
Of stereotyping, and compartmentalization (did I just make that up?), ethnic, physical, or any other kind, and the expression of desire to be part of an aspirational group, or to differentiate yourself from one, carving out niches for oneself, yet wanting to share a niche with someone - identity crises?
and not some other place?
A missing sense of belonging
to a certain rat race
I know I'm unique
just like everybody else
Me and everyone
have our own tiny cells
Of stereotyping, and compartmentalization (did I just make that up?), ethnic, physical, or any other kind, and the expression of desire to be part of an aspirational group, or to differentiate yourself from one, carving out niches for oneself, yet wanting to share a niche with someone - identity crises?
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Do You Know Yourself?
How do you know yourself?
When you look in the mirror,
see someone familiar,
only because you've seen the person
a million times before
When your friends talk to you
and talk about you
in your presence
and in your absence
When that special someone
meets your gaze for a second
you can only guess
what thoughts they think
How else would you know yourself?
If you didn't trust any of these
would you know yourself at all?
Or do you know yourself
because you don't trust any of these?
When you look in the mirror,
see someone familiar,
only because you've seen the person
a million times before
When your friends talk to you
and talk about you
in your presence
and in your absence
When that special someone
meets your gaze for a second
you can only guess
what thoughts they think
How else would you know yourself?
If you didn't trust any of these
would you know yourself at all?
Or do you know yourself
because you don't trust any of these?
Friday, September 07, 2007
Boredom
While I wistfully stare out the window
And nothing happens outside
why am i not doing nothing
Is a question I must ask
And nothing happens outside
why am i not doing nothing
Is a question I must ask
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Super powers?
Wow! Ability to switch off random street lamps? Making loos flush at will? Radiating anti-BEST bus waves? Now, isn't it scary how this power could be misused in the wrong hands?
The Usual One
Yearly routine - birthday comes and goes. I usually post boring details of a boring life. On this day, I usually post more depressing, pseudo-humorous, self-deprecating details of a boring life. Things have happened since my last birthday - not to me, but to the world in general. There seems to be more of the misery to share, less of the capitalist riches coming my way, and worst of all, my mom is determined to marry me off to the first woman who asks. But on the bright side, I have discovered I have super powers. I have realized that I have these powers for some time now, but was afraid to let everyone know because these powers could be misused if I were to be kidnapped by evil megalomaniacs.
I first realized my powers when I noticed the street lamp at Shivaji Park used to flicker every time I passed under it. Sometimes it even used to switch off entirely and not start again for the next five minutes. Soon after I was noticing other things - the urinal always flushed before I was done (man, that is some power!);BEST bus number 324 almost always never arrives at the bus stand while I'm there; the cybercafe always has slow download speeds when I'm in there; the smoke alarm never goes off in case of fire when I'm around (I saw the fire warden once put lit incense sticks under the smoke alarm for a drill and the alarm never even squeaked).
Well, well, come to think of it, it has been an interesting year!
I first realized my powers when I noticed the street lamp at Shivaji Park used to flicker every time I passed under it. Sometimes it even used to switch off entirely and not start again for the next five minutes. Soon after I was noticing other things - the urinal always flushed before I was done (man, that is some power!);BEST bus number 324 almost always never arrives at the bus stand while I'm there; the cybercafe always has slow download speeds when I'm in there; the smoke alarm never goes off in case of fire when I'm around (I saw the fire warden once put lit incense sticks under the smoke alarm for a drill and the alarm never even squeaked).
Well, well, come to think of it, it has been an interesting year!
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Memory Pile
There's one in the corner of my mind's room. It's a pile of papers, magazines, knick-knacks, but mostly papers. It's been there for a while now, and it isn't accumulating dust. Some of them get lost sometimes, and I usually don't even realize it. I know it's a huge mess, and it's difficult to sort it; it's gotten too complicated. Quite often I find a page peeking out of the stack, and it attracts my attention. I try to pull it out, but it's all hopelessly interconnected. Most of the pages seem to be stuck to each other, and I can never manage to get one cleanly out of the pile.
There is only so much room in there, and logically, I ought to throw out unwanted things. But I don't, at least not consciously. But the paper monster does it for me. All those pages I can't find? I know for sure it's the monster at work. Once in a while I manage to outwit it though, and I stumble upon it's cache. Not too often, but occasionally.
It's an interesting activity, scavenging through the pile, for the finds are most interesting. I know I ought to indulge more frequently, even if it is just to wage a perhaps-losing battle with the paper monster.
There is only so much room in there, and logically, I ought to throw out unwanted things. But I don't, at least not consciously. But the paper monster does it for me. All those pages I can't find? I know for sure it's the monster at work. Once in a while I manage to outwit it though, and I stumble upon it's cache. Not too often, but occasionally.
It's an interesting activity, scavenging through the pile, for the finds are most interesting. I know I ought to indulge more frequently, even if it is just to wage a perhaps-losing battle with the paper monster.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
White, discussion
I am listening to this after a really long time, and this make sooooo much more sense now....
"White, Discussion"
I talk of freedom
you talk of the flag
I talk of revolution
you'd much rather brag
and as the decibels of this disenchanting discourse
continue to dampen the day
the coin flips again and again,
and again, and again
as our sanity walks away
all this discussion though politically correct
is dead beyond destruction
though it leaves me quite erect
and as the final sunset rolls behind the earth
and the clock is finally dead
I'll look at you, you'll look at me
and we'll cry a lot
but this will be what we said
this will be what we said
Look where all this talking got us, baby.
-Ed Kowalczyk, Live
"White, Discussion"
I talk of freedom
you talk of the flag
I talk of revolution
you'd much rather brag
and as the decibels of this disenchanting discourse
continue to dampen the day
the coin flips again and again,
and again, and again
as our sanity walks away
all this discussion though politically correct
is dead beyond destruction
though it leaves me quite erect
and as the final sunset rolls behind the earth
and the clock is finally dead
I'll look at you, you'll look at me
and we'll cry a lot
but this will be what we said
this will be what we said
Look where all this talking got us, baby.
-Ed Kowalczyk, Live
Friday, October 27, 2006
Birds
I doubt I'll ever know what they feel when they are gliding over the tree tops. Do they feel happiness that they are no longer on the ground? Do they 'like' the air pushing them back. I think I'll like it. Do they 'know' if they can fly before their first flight? I don't. If they have worries, do they forget about them when they are in the air? I'd like to.
Are they afraid when they step off the ledge? Do they have apprehensions about falling? I do. Are they sure of being able to fly every time they step off the ledge? I'd like to know. But there are only twelve floors between me and the pavement. I'll know what it feels like in a moment. I'm only a step away from the edge.
Are they afraid when they step off the ledge? Do they have apprehensions about falling? I do. Are they sure of being able to fly every time they step off the ledge? I'd like to know. But there are only twelve floors between me and the pavement. I'll know what it feels like in a moment. I'm only a step away from the edge.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
A different Diwali
How much more different could this festival have been? An alien city, no friends, no distant relatives, and a bare minimum telephonic contact with home. Couldn't see the lamps decorating my porch, mum's abstract rangoli designs, and no home-cooked sweets. I shopped for books and music and I read them as on any other day. I bought new clothes and wore them with no one noticing them. I had the same things for dinner that I had for the entire past week.
This post is entirely too sentimental.
This post is entirely too sentimental.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Traditional birthday post
In keeping with tradition, I'm writing about the gamut of feelings and emotions I'm supposed/expected to have undergone on my birthday this week. (If you are reading this and suddenly realize that you forgot about it altogether, and wish to clear your conscience with some clever excuse for not wishing me, now is a good opportunity for you to do so - my b'day was on the 14th.)
Did I feel depressed on getting older?
Yes, but not as much as I thought I would.
Am I satisfied with what I've accomplished in life so far?
No way!
What have I planned for the future?
If I could plan well, I wouldn't have answered the previous question like I did.
(The much dreaded-) So when do I plan to get married and settle down?
Hmm, let's see...the way I see it....it actually depends on a lot of things...there are a few things I need to have in place before...so...it should be sometime next year. (This always works.)
Well Vinod, it really was nice having this monologue with me. Hope you do better next year.
Did I feel depressed on getting older?
Yes, but not as much as I thought I would.
Am I satisfied with what I've accomplished in life so far?
No way!
What have I planned for the future?
If I could plan well, I wouldn't have answered the previous question like I did.
(The much dreaded-) So when do I plan to get married and settle down?
Hmm, let's see...the way I see it....it actually depends on a lot of things...there are a few things I need to have in place before...so...it should be sometime next year. (This always works.)
Well Vinod, it really was nice having this monologue with me. Hope you do better next year.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Wall
He walked along the shore line for a long time, trying to get his thoughts in place, rearranging his feelings and emotions, so he could finally convince himself he was sane, and just as mad as the rest of the world. He watched as the sun set slowly, the round outline becoming one with the flat line of the sea. The edges blurred after a while, and he started walking again. A little distance ahead was a wall, an old broken down wall that looked like it had, once upon a time, been part of a much larger structure. It was made of red sandstone, speckled with shiny dots that shone in the crimson light of the setting sun. There were pieces of sea shells of myriad hues in the rock. Parts of the wall had collapsed, and there were places where the stones looked like they had been eroded by the sea. The wall had given way to the whims of nature and humans alike, allowing both to pass through without resistance. He ran his hand along the stones, feeling the roughness of the stone, and thought ruefully, he had considered himself a wall once.
People faltered, ideas mutated, and decisions wavered. Sanity was like red sandstone wall, porous, jagged, and firm for the most part, but often broken down in places to accommodate the rest of the world.
People faltered, ideas mutated, and decisions wavered. Sanity was like red sandstone wall, porous, jagged, and firm for the most part, but often broken down in places to accommodate the rest of the world.