Every now and then, his brain would slip into that space. Neither here nor there. It would be aware of what was happening and where he was, but just barely so. It wanted to pull him as far away from reality as it possibly could, yet keeping abreast, so that it could weave a fabric of non-dreams stitched together by possibility. A fabric that spread over vast areas of thoughts each night. From romantic calamities to sheer wishfulness. He looked forward to it all. During the day, logic and reality spoiled it for him. At night, dreams were scary. But in-between was when it used to all work out. When things seemed possible. The ending of his world, the achievement of his desires, the finding of right words, the right thoughts, the right questions, their answers. He felt he understood himself better this way. Nothing seemed scary in there. He felt at ease and the only thing that poked him was the consciousness that it would end soon and he would be forced into sleep. Then, probably, he would have to get through another dream.

Why was it like this, though? As a kid one of his favorite things was to start writing on a fresh page. But not the one on the left side of the notebook. It was the ones on the right that made him feel good. Though he hated writing, he loved the smooth, cold, fresh, right hand side pages. But even as he began one, he knew it would soon have to be flipped over, and then he would have to get through a painful left hand side page. Is that why things were the way they were? There should be a book that had only fresh right hand side pages on the front and back.

Thoughts like these. That may not make complete sense, but were so pure and rich anyway. They never occurred during the day or in the night. He had but only a small window to live everyday. A window with a beautiful view, of a place he knew he would never visit. He reminded himself each day to capture whatever he could see out of there so that it could get him through his tomorrow. But as always, he knew sleep was creeping up on him to make sure he returned to the same colorless misery. Before he was dragged into the pointless tug between awareness and sleep, 'It seems like it won't happen tonight either' was the last thing he remembered telling himself.

He was sitting there. All 75 odd inches and 100 kilos of him. Imposing on and consuming that tiny cabin. The air conditioner whirred in a low hum as I sat across the table thinking of about 23 things at the same time. 'What is it about some people?", I wondered. Why are they just so unapproachable. I had absolutely no reason to fear anything. This man just happened to have a reputation of being quirky and hard-to-please. Or so rumor had it. And whats with the head games? People had painstakingly cultivated an image of this huge man, with an even huger aura around him. And, I was thinking now, they hadn't exaggerated. He just sat staring at the worksheet on the screen, completely not amused. I felt like the silence in the room was on his side, and I was left alone, nowhere to hide.

And then it happened. The silence was shattered. An involuntary sound that not even the big man could suppress. The most thickest, densest, wettest, longest, and the most resounding fart ever, echoed in that quiet cabin for about 3 seconds. 3 freaking long seconds. So long, yet not long enough for me to figure out how I was to react. I waited for the echoes in the room, and in my mind, to die. Then our eyes met. He grimaced. I sniggered. My thoughts were playing catch up with my actions, and before the 'don't laugh you moron' synapse fired in my brain, my eyes were already watering from a poorly stifled laugh. Then the laugh went away, when the dense air made its way to my poor lungs. I didn't care who the guy was. I just wanted to get up and open the door. And that would have been perfectly justified. But because of my smooth maneuver with the laughter, I didn't find enough courage to hold my breath, stand up, walk to the door, open it, let out the ugly air from within me, and breathe some sweet fresh air. So we both just sat there.

Talk of relationship dynamics. Talk of tables being turned. I had topsy-turvied the guy like he wouldn't have imagined. By doing nothing, basically. In the world we live in, if one person out of two farts in a tiny enclosed room, then the non-farter automatically assumes all authority, and controls the other person. For life, perhaps. But definitely for a few weeks to come. I know as much!

Right after the deed had happened, he tried to hurriedly get started with some non-sensical discussion. Hoping perhaps, that a cognitive overload of too many things happening around me would push the fart out of my memory. Alas. It had been tattooed on my brain by then. But at least I found out that the ice can been broken...not just by the warmth, but by sound and smell as well.

I didn’t know that you’d be leavin’
Or who you thought you were talkin’ to
I figured maybe we’re even
Or maybe I’m one up on you
I sent you all my money
Just like I did before
I tried to reach you honey
But you’re driftin’ too far from the shore

I ain’t gonna get lost in this current
I don’t like playing cat and mouse
No gentleman likes making love to a servant
Especially when he’s in his father’s house
I never could guess your weight, baby
Never needed to call you my whore
I always thought you were straight, baby
But you’re driftin’ too far from the shore

Well these times and these tunnels are haunted
The bottom of the barrel is too
I waited years sometimes for what I wanted
Everybody can’t be as lucky as you
Never no more do I wonder
Why you don’t never play with me anymore
At any moment we could go under
’Cause you’re driftin’ too far from the shore

You and me we had completeness
I give you all of what I could provide
We weren’t on the wrong sides, sweetness
We were the wrong side
I’ve already ripped out the phones, honey
You can’t walk the streets in a war
I can't finish this alone honey
But you’re driftin’ too far from the shore

“Hey! What’s up? Long time! Like really long, huh?”
“Yea. More than 10 years!”
“Yea man. Good to meet you. Really.”

“Oh cool, you guys know each other?”

“Know! This guy is the biggest jerk ever.”
“Yea well, really sorry for all that dude.”
“Man! You were the biggest asshole, weren’t you.”
“I know. I was. But well, I’m sorry.”

“Ok. What the hell are you two talking about? Perpetual Wonderer, you want to tell me?”

“We went to school together. And were put together on the same bench, evidently because fate wanted to play a cruel joke on me. On us. I mean, look at us. Even today. We used to share a bench for 8 hours a day. For a good part of 5 years, was it?”
“Yea. It was a joke. But not a good one. To be sitting next to a complete asshole.”
“Come on dude. I understand. Not that it helps you any, but I am really sorry. If it makes you feel good, I’m in touch with hell and they tell me they are holding my place.”
“Yep. You are going to hell.”
“Look. It was a long time ago. I didn’t know what I was doing. I mean, there is only so much you can hold a 10 year old responsible for, right? I am not justifying, but you can’t forget that we were kids back then. There have always been cruel kids and sweet kids. Maybe if I had different parents or friends, things would be different. But 10 year olds acting all sensitive is an aberration, you know.”
“But I never understood why!”
“I can tell you why. But you need to understand that that’s what I thought back then. Ok?”
“So what was it?”
“You had to act like you were better than all of us. With your specs and everything. I sweetly asked you your name on the very first day, while the teacher was teaching. And you, snobbish you, had to act all irritated, turn around, and say ‘Ma’am is teaching something. I will tell you my name...later.’ Really? You could have just told me your name instead of saying all that. I decided you had to have it. Right then. And forever after that.”

“Wow PW, you were quite different as a kid, I can see.”

“Well, I was. You can ask the man here. But hey, I wasn’t a bad kid, really. Just a little mischievous. Some might even say cute. And I haven’t turned out all bad, right?”
“Yea. He was a horrible person. Like really awful. In fact I feel like I should kick him in the balls right now!”
“I guess if I could go back, I would do things somewhat differently.”
“You bet you would.”

I realized the conversation was going nowhere and it had no point anyway. The guy just wanted to vent and he was doing it. Anything I said was going to hold no value. No matter how hard I tried to communicate. It was like kissing the person you love on her forehead. You feel like you are communicating something very honest, deep, and soulful in that moment. Something that words are inadequate for. You hope the vibe gets through and she understands you through that kiss. But in the end you realize what it was. It was just saliva you left on someone’s forehead. And no one likes that. They say they do, in the moment. But actually, eventually, they don’t care. So I stopped putting any more proverbial saliva on the person’s forehead and just assumed that even this conversation, like the guilt, was not something I could wish away, after what had happened years ago.

Then, surprisingly enough, the guy just asked me for a sip of whatever alcohol I was drinking. I gave it to him and a few minutes later he piggybacked on some of my jokes and joined me in picking on some other random guy. For the rest of the night. Suddenly, the past didn’t matter. It was like we were 10 again. Only he was on my side this time.

Well…

"Don't be a fool," she told him.
"But doesn't it bother you?"
"Of course it bothers me when you are a fool."
"Your hair," he said.
"I think it's very pretty."
"Can it be pretty if no one thinks it's pretty?"
"I think it's very pretty."
"If you're the only one?"
"Thats pretty pretty."
"And what about the boys? Don't you want them to think you are pretty?"
"I wouldn't want a boy to think I was pretty unless it was a boy who thought I was pretty."
"I think it's pretty," he said. "I think it's very beautiful."
"Say it again, and I'll grow it long."
"I know" he laughed, kissing her forehead as he pinched her ears between his fingers.

Ballad of a Jackass - In your eyes

"I am here to work" said Johnny
His aim was to clear that test
And when they had burgers together
He thought he'd have a good friend at best
Their days were filled with laughter
On a terrace beneath blue skies
And though the thought did cross his mind
It was easier to deny those lies
She belonged to someone else
And he did't want to waste on her his tries
But somehow, and he hated to admit,
He kept seeing that glint in her eyes

Each day they'd meet,
And so lovely she'd treat,
Johnny inspite of everything
And he would shy away,
From letting her close and say,
"There's no happiness you can bring"

"Do you want me to get you lunch"
She once asked of him
But stone-set as his ideas were
He forced a face so grim
She yet persisted with her love
Even her mama baked him pies
And soon he found it hard to trash
That puppy love in her eyes

They say chemicals control us
And that probably is true
For Johnny began falling for her
Like he had fallen for less than few
"Let me just try feeling this"
He began thinking to himself
"And if it doesn't feel right
I'll just hive it on a shelf"
Ah, but right he did find her
Like salvation in disguise
He thanked his stars no end
For showing him that look in her eyes

His days were brighter
And his nights felt warm
Cuz it was working out for them
In every shape and form
She bought him gifts
He showed her his friends
Weekdays they were together
They were together weekends
All Johnny wanted to do now
Was to gleefully surmise
All the goodness in the world
With that one look in her eyes

Now he missed a slip of the lip
When summer turned to autumn
Sometimes when you are on top
You are really just close to the bottom
"I'll give what you always wanted"
Johnny kept saying in a loop
But he knew she wasn't in her own
'Cept when she was with her group
He suspected one chap from there
He cussed "It must be the car he drives"
But he hated himself right away
When she gave him that look in her eyes

Now she said off and on,
"I like you in every kinda way"
And though you can't fight compliments
Johnny felt a hint of gray
"Is there anything you wanna tell me?
Anything I should know?"
"Well there's nothing to talk of honey
Plus its late and you should go"
She batted her lashes to go with her words
A tool that only a sweet gal plies
"Oh, I beg your pardon then", Johnny said
"I thought I saw something in your eyes"

Then one day when the sun beat down
Like the inside of an oven
Johnny met her in the evening
The nail he sensed, had been driven
She said, "I'm gonna shake things here
I'd be better off with someone else"
"But we can work it out" he wept
"And didn't you owe me some warning bells"
"Now you have some nerve, don't you?
To assume we were built to last"
The indifference in her voice
Left him so aghast
"Yea, you are probably right"
Johnny mumbled, feeling thieved of his prize
"Obviously I should have double checked
That look I kept seeing in your eyes"

"But can we think this out some more?" he asked
"Before you start brandishing your knife
Why don't you think of all that we've shared
Ain't I a huge part of your life?"
"Please don't worry 'bout me", she said
"I've got the best kind of Alzheimer's"
She grinned at him and fished out
Her new key from an exotic purse
"And I hope our tryst has taught you something
I hope it has made you wise
Don't delve much into the way people smile
And never read the look in their eyes"

Hi Ajoba,

You have been dead for a year now. It is very strange to think of you this way. I don’t know if we were actually that close or if I just have a weird thing with dates. But I remember a lot about you. A lot of things you told me when I was a kid. I hope I never forget you.

So how are things there? Are you feeling better there than here? I hope you are happier. Do you see us from there? Are you able to read this blog now? If you are, I would love for you to come and tell me how things are wherever you are. I wonder about that quite often.

If you are wondering about how things are here, well they are pretty much the same. Nothing much changes here, does it? I am more or less the same. Just been spending way too much money, that I don’t have, on stuff I don’t need. I know, I know, “It does not befit a super smart Finance graduate like you”, you must be saying. :) But well, I guess I suck as that too then! Baaki, things are the same here. Sachin has been playing well. Just the way he was when you could watch him. Mom and Dad continue to fight, yell and get mad at each other all day, everyday. Sometimes, in a tremendously damaged way, it’s cute how they just suddenly stop their arguments instantly when their lame ass soaps come on TV. I am beginning to think they may even love each other. Mom still misses you. The other day, she told me “Today was the last day baba and I had a proper chat.” I could see she wanted to cry. I miss you too. Did you see the way I snapped at that whatshisname annoying, fake, far-away uncle at your funeral? The one I have never liked. While it was raining cats and dogs, that jackass said to me, “Well, its raining so hard, that after a few years, when we think of this day, we will think Ajoba died in June.” “No you moron”, I said. “We will always remember it was November. You can remember this as June or April or May, for all I care.”

So, I think that’s all I am going to say for now. I really wish you are doing well, wherever you are. If the place you are in is good, then good for you. If it’s not, then don’t worry, it cannot be much worse than this hellhole we are living in. I have so many more stories that I want to tell you, some happy, some sad. But I will remember them and tell them to you, once we meet.

Happy Diwali.

The road is winding and vicious
And there’s a violent storm
I don’t even know
If I’m going someplace
Or if its somewhere I’m coming from

Numbness is ugly and contagious
It's one of the few remnants
Never thought much of it,
Till I contracted it
As few years' worth of inheritance

They don't care to know more
Than what they want in front of their eye
Endless snivelling
There always was
But never an answer to my why

That woman I know, she told me the truth
"No doubt you were always very loyal.
But some people will still
Get out of touch,
Even if you keep them on speed dial."

And I never really disliked it
Even when I had to crawl
To this she said
“Well, you gotta cook it her way
Or you're not eating anything at all”

So I don't feel good about myself
Wonder what’s happened to my big ego
I'm sorry...that’s right, I forgot
You dismantled it for me
A long time ago

You don’t always deserve to own things
Though you maybe capable of paying
I think I'd be tense
If I saw you outside my fence
Honey I’m just saying…

Dunno if it makes any sense now,
But I sure couldn’t fathom it at the time
So here I’m stuck
With echoes of my dreams
And 300 poems that don’t rhyme

A bizarre conversation!

Here’s one. For your perusal. I think I secretly like conversations like these.

Background note: Somehow, over the years, I've found that I have an anti-thing for wannabe pronunciations. I actually don’t have a problem with whatever people want to say. But it’s very tempting for me to butt in with a joke, or what I think is a joke, whenever I hear someone say something either in a fake accent, or in some wannabe way, or in a way that attempts to take away the innate crude from something. I don’t understand why people need to take it upon themselves to polish and gloss up a word that is unfinished in its natural form. Like it will take away the class from their thoughts if they were to pronounce it the way it actually is. I explain with an example:

Perpetual Wonderer: …so then you take the next left, and there it is on your right.

Young Vain Girl: Wait wait…go back a minute please…explain the route again from Kirkee Bizaare.

PW: Oh…you are one of those…

YVG: One of whom?

PW: The ones who call it Kirkee Bizaare, instead of Khadki Bazaar. And Awwndh instead of Aundh. And ‘And-a-munn’ instead of Andamaan!

YVG: I so don’t say Awwndh!

PW: But you do say Kirkee Bizaare.

YVG: That’s different. I say it because then I don’t have remember two different versions of the word ‘bazaar’ for different contexts.

PW: Huh! Why would you need to remember two different versions? Just remember one version- the original.

YVG: Yeah, and when I have to read Harper’s Bazaar, how do I say it? Harper’s Baazaar?

PW: What the hell is Harper’s Bazaar?

YVG: Whaaaat…you don’t know Harper’s Bazaar?? Are you serious?

PW: What? Is it some new cool thing that’s opened somewhere? Does this Harper guy have good stuff for cheap?

YVG: STOP! How can you not know Harper’s Bazaar? I live on it. Do you even know Vogue?

PW: Ahh…ok, I think I understand now. See, I am super clever. I can see you in front of me. Then I also know Vogue, because I have seen a lot of TV that talks of it. And Sarah Jessica Parker talks of it, in her show too. So now, I put two and two and two together, and I think Harper’s Bazaar is some commodity on the vanity market, that you are obviously hooked on to.

YVG: Ahh—haaan-aan! And it’s not vain man!

PW: Ok, then let me give you a shocking piece of news babe. I could actually have gone an entire lifetime without saying Harper’s Bazaar. What sort of a name is it anyway…But I understand; if you have a burning need in your life to keep saying Harper’s Bazaar, then it must be very confusing to keep two versions of the word in your brain, which obviously contains a lot of other stuff too. Stuff that I really wish I can respect.

YVG: Aww. That’s sweet of you. So you see, calling it Kirkee Bizaare works for me. Because if I remember two versions of it, and say Baazaar by mistake when I am referring to Harper’s Bazaar, then would that be some major faux pas!

PW: Now that you pronounced right…

Different people have different problems. It is just not possible for us to judge them, because we don’t know their lives. I, in my wildest dream, couldn’t have imagined that someone like this would be able to justify her pronouncing ‘bazaar’ as ‘bizaare’. But it happened. At 3 a.m. nonetheless. Additionally, I was schooled and tested and humbled at a dynamite lesson in vanity. How do you counter reasoning that is so solid and well thought out!

As a kid, I always was heavily into playing sports. Any sport. I didn’t mind. As a grown up, other easier distractions like watching a movie, or talking to someone you enjoy talking to, or drinking, or reading or listening to music get in the way of the 14 year old boy-life. But as a kid, all these distractions were vapor. It was just impossible for someone to suggest such a non-boy activity and expect me to forego a sport. But, even then, there were obstacles. Girls for example. We had a few sweet(ish) girls around where I lived, who used to come to ‘play’ with us. Now ‘play’ for 12 year old girls means something totally different from what it means for guys. Yet, being the sweet kid I was, I sometimes ‘played’ with the girls too. Their games were more like hide and go seek, or Sunday Monday Tuesday types. Quite kiddish, but I could see how those games too could be enjoyed.

So this one time, around 12 of us were playing hide and go seek. There was the guy who was the denner or "it". As soon as his counting began, I ran to a super-awesome place that I knew. I knew I would win the game if I just hid there. There was about zero chance of me being found. As I sat there, perched between a tree branch and the edge of a balcony, about 15 feet from the ground, I saw the other kids being smoked out of their lame-ass hiding places. I was all smug, scoffing at their weak attempts. Soon, everyone was found and I was the only one remaining. For a few mins, I could hear how I was suddenly the expert hider that nobody could get the better of. I was gloating on my tree. I was the hide and seek hero, so to say. I felt like I had won. But I had to keep this place a secret. So I had to wait till they all moved away from where I was, so that I could then do a “Tada!!!” entry from around the corner and be proclaimed super-hider, officially. But that didn’t happen. The stupid kids just continued to hang out below the tree. Soon, they began discussing random topics- TV shows, stories from school, plans for the holidays, computer games. What the fuck! I was still to be discovered and these loser kids had already given up and moved on. Soon, the "it" too joined their discussions and the hide and seek game just fizzled out. Just like that. Now I had absolutely no incentive of climbing down. The moment had passed and I didn’t want the hiding place to become known. So I continued to sit tight. Then it got dark, and they began to disperse. Soon, there was no one left.

I climbed down, pissed off with the way this whole shit had gone. What a waste of an evening. Sitting in a tree doing nothing. All because I was good at what I was doing and the rest of them weren’t focused. I just went home, had dinner and watched some TV. And swore to myself that I would not play any gay games after that.

Now, years later, I have learned my lesson from that evening. I realize now, that in life it’s rarely about whether or not you want to play hide and seek. Sometimes, life will make you hide, even though you may not want to. And the onus of being discovered and sought out in time, lies with you. For if you obsess too much about winning, you will just stay there, hidden, sitting on the proverbial tree watching everyone else who has apparently lost, get on with their lives. Because when everyone loses, losing suddenly becomes the new winning. The world is full of denners who would rather go home and accept they weren’t good enough, than doggedly seek you out because they made a commitment to themselves when they took that den.

As unfair as it may sound, you have to decide if you want to hide so well that no one can find you, ever. Or if you want to have a life at the cost of being sought out. But I can tell you, if you hide and no one seeks you out, life will suck much, much more. You will eventually grovel and beg to be found. To be discovered. To be noticed. To lose the game. Just so you can live.

A thousand monkeys madly keying away at typewriters for a thousand years can apparently produce Shakespearean work. Lets see what one stupid monkey can do, banging one keyboard for 2 minutes. One pain-addicted, fucking monkey...

asdsa g rhewrgjew oweng oqusg yosgdsfer giy swjsw wetrhkyt ujhklar uhlanbdt kjtr hahfu aigfn agjisag hiague jfquncgw jngj jhhyiu yq cfr wm;l rawnh yehnns q gh qurgew nh hdhtn bvhhpr nlprh pue nitptg howikh lopwq hbsy hvqwqtuihpoyu howghy hlawuy hjqpyir huprhbvvj hapwy wsdgu wuahgwr hlqhkq avavio habdauq jpapwh iuqetgv hbasuqhy hncaqpbg utqasiq jquyp htuaqwng ashquqet abhbqoye jhasuqwr bkpqoet asfuq aguqoldfh eihfpew howph najowyg hqpehva asfhuqw hyhfbdiuoeryb njhyw uyiet kljopryn hueowy iubsr njhsdgtrju jkweoop hwejwypu hwnnu sdhuti huwery trust e hyp wqjy sfbjhpqwt jhpienb uipr bnkutr uopwt hiurvf hirst nbiotuy koir boiarn njwwe net npwet kjhi hjwy

Enough said.

Two words have annoyed me umpteen no. of times over the last few days. Must have heard each one of them about 5 times. I was aware of them from before, and always thought they were annoying. But actually hearing them is something else.

totes (adv): Slang short for 'totally', used mostly to express an extreme degree of vanity.

e.g. Lindsay Lohan's new boyfriend is totes awesome. Like, really!

Agonizing, right? Right.

swearsies (verb): Slang degenerate of an already slangabused word 'swear'.

e.g. I will come up with better topics to write on my blog, if you all stay on. Swearsies!

Seriously, for those who didn't have these terrible words in their vocabularies, how annoying an addition was it! (#insertevilgrinhere)

As I said, I have heard these words more than a few times over the last few days. I must add that I heard them come out of the mouths of nowhere-near-teeny girls. I didn't rake up an issue with them and just let it slip. But I made a mental note to say something about them on the blog. Who knows, maybe this could start a movement that could weed out these and other such words from the language! Or maybe I am just old and not 'with' the times anymore.

Actually, no. I kind of want these words around, just so I can poke fun at them. Plus some words sound different when girls say them.

I totes don't know what I am talking about, do I?

Every step of the way
We walk the line
Your days are numbered,
So are mine
Time is pilin’ up,
We struggle and we scrape
We’re all boxed in,
Nowhere to escape

City’s just a jungle
More games to play
Trapped in the heart of it,
Trying to get away
I was raised in the country,
I been working in the town
I've been in trouble ever since I
Set my suitcase down

Got nothing for you,
I had nothing before
Don’t even have anything
For myself anymore
Sky full of fire,
Pain pouring down
Nothing you can sell me,
I’ll see you around

All my powers of expression
And thoughts so sublime
Could never do you justice
In reason or rhyme
Only one thing
I did wrong
Stayed in that city,
A day too long

Well, the devil’s in the alley,
The mule’s in the stall
Say anything you wanna,
I have heard it all
I was thinking 'bout the things that
Rosie said
I was dreaming I was sleeping
In Rosie’s bed

Walking through the leaves,
Falling from the trees
Feeling like a stranger
Nobody sees
So many things
That we never will undo
I know you’re sorry,
I’m sorry too

Some people will offer you their hand
And some won’t
That last night I knew you,
Tonight I don’t
I need something strong
To distract my mind
I’m gonna look at you,
Till my eyes go blind

Well I got here following
The southern star
I crossed that river
Just to be where you are
Only one thing
I did wrong
Stayed in that city,
A day too long

Well my ship’s been split to splinters
And it’s sinkin' fast
I’m drowning in the poison,
Got no future, got no past
But my heart is not weary,
It’s light and it’s free
I’ve got nothin’ but affection
For all those who’ve sailed with me

Everybody moving,
If they ain’t already there
Everybody got to move
Somewhere
Stick with me baby,
Stick with me anyhow
Things should start to get interesting
Right about now

My clothes are wet,
Tight on my skin
Not as tight as the corner
That I have painted myself in
I know that fortune
Is waiting to be kind
So give me your hand
And say you’ll be mine

Well, the emptiness is endless,
Cold as the clay
You can always come back,
But you can’t come back all the way
Only one thing
I did wrong
Stayed in that city,
A day too long

Perhaps it’s the color of the sun cut flat
And covering
The crossroads I’m standing at
Or maybe it’s the weather,
Or something like that,
But mama, you been on my mind

I don’t mean trouble, please don’t put me down or get upset,
I am not pleading
Or sayin’, “I can’t forget”
I do not pace the floor
Bowed down and bent,
But yet
Mama, you're just on my mind

Even though my eyes are hazy
And my thoughts, they might have been narrow
Where you been don’t bother me
Or bring me down in sorrow
I don’t even mind who you'll be
Waking with tomorrow
But mama, you’re still on my mind

I am not asking you to say words like “yes” and “no”
Please understand me,
I have no place I'm calling you to go
I’m just whispering to myself
So I can't pretend that I don’t know
That mama, you are on my mind

When you wake up in the morning,
Baby, look inside your mirror
You wouldn't want me next to you,
And you know I won’t be near
I’d just be curious to know
If you can see yourself as clear
As someone,
Who has had you,
On his mind.

Sometime last year, and I have only a vague idea when, I felt a razor's edge inside my mouth, that sliced the side of my tongue. As I tasted blood, out of apparently nowhere, I felt around to understand what had nicked me. And I found out- I had a chipped tooth. The inside of my first bicuspid on the left side, studded in the side of the roof. I had no clue how it happened. I have heard of teeth being chipped in nasty car accidents or sports collisions. But its not often that you hear, much less experience, a chipped tooth from seemingly nothing. I didn't mention this to anyone because I didn't want to make a big deal. And, like the idiot I was, I thought this somehow take care of itself! But anyway, one day, out of nowhere, I had to reign in my tongue. For if I let it wag callously anymore, I would bleed. At times, even otherwise. I suspected the edge would blunt out in a few weeks time. But every now and then, since that evening, my tooth nicks my tongue and I can taste the fresh saltiness of my own blood. Its like when you accidentally bite your tongue and you run out of expletives to express yourself, only about 100 times more frequent.

Today, several months later, as I tasted blood again, I noticed that the edge had not blunted at all. Call me crazy, but it actually felt like it had somehow gotten sharper! And I think I have learned to maneuver my tongue to avoid that edge. It has led me to talking a little slowly, but no one is complaining about that. Apart from that, sometimes, when I am in the middle of a word-for-word rally, schooling someone idle enough to talk to me, I suddenly take a step back and realize that if I don't let go, soon, I am going to bleed. I wonder if a chipped tooth is sometimes possible from excessive speech...Hmmm...

Also, I have picked up a sort of a bad habit, where I keep running my now ulcered tongue, idly, over the chipped edge, skirting it lightly, trying to push my limits to see how far I can go. Before I begin to bleed again, and hate myself for doing what I have done.

Supposedly scientific fact:

If the first tear you cry, comes out of the left eye, you are crying tears of pain. Right eye, its tears of joy.

Ok.

Actual Conversation:

Perpetual Wonderer (humming, rather braying, to himself):...so tell me, did you sail across the Sun...did you make it to the Milky Way...


Sweet Girl: Hey PW, you sing quite well. You should really try singing at the karaoke event.


PW: Ok. Is that a different way to ask me to shut up now, and sing at the event instead?


SG: No no! I am serious.


PW: Aww. Thats awfully sweet of you. But I am only doing karaoke if there is a like a booth covered by black curtains from all sides, and has a secret entry and exit, so no one knows who just sang! Either that or you have to buy out the crowd and make them be as sweet as you are.


Girl # 1: Well, actually thats not a bad idea. If that were the case, I would love to sing too.


Girl # 2: Hey, you know what, one of my friends in school had a karaoke machine at home, one that shows you your score and all. I tried singing for hours, but it just never gave me any score!


SG: Yea, sometimes when you sing too close into the mic, it acts funny.


Girl # 2: No yea, I think I was just actually that bad! (makes lame sad face)


PW: You know what Girl # 2, if you were really really bad at it, like horrible, then you would have gotten a score of 800.


Girl # 2: Huh! (wins award for dumbest face ever)


Girl # 1: Why a score of 800?


PW (ready to receive award for best joke of the century): You know, it would look like 800 to you, but the machine would be actually saying BOO! (Looks around expecting garlands and hot chicks trying to rush to get a piece of the awesome joke cracker)


Long....long silence instead!


PW (making eyes to SG, telepathically forcing her to laugh her guts out): Well, SG? 800, BOO, get it?


SG: Umm, not really. Anyway, so I hear the desserts here are really good.


PW: Wait wait wait...lets not turn a blind eye to what has happened right now.


Girl # 2: So explain the joke na! (pips previous face in dumbest face ever competition)


PW: Explain the joke? Really? No no no...we don't do that.


Guy friend who has been happily sniggering, getting drunk across from me, whispers in a hushed tone: PW, let it go. I got it, it was a funny joke. Just not here.


PW, in equally hushed tones (casts one final look at all three ladies to see if the joke had eventually landed with either): Yea I guess, but if such an obvious joke didn't land, what about the bigger problem of hangoutworthiness of these chicks!

Hanging out with the wrong people has clinical implications, I realized later.

Early one mornin’ the sun was shinin',
He was layin' in bed
Wond'rin' if she'd changed at all
If her hair was still red.
Her folks they said their lives together
Sure was gonna be rough
They never did like mama's homemade dress
Papa's bankbook wasn't big enough.
And he was standin' on the side of the road
Rain fallin' on his shoes
Heading out for the East Coast
Radio blastin' the news
Straight on through,
Tangled up in blue.

She was married when they first met,
Soon to be divorced.
He helped her out of a jam, I guess,
But he used a little too much force.
They drove that car as far as they could,
Abandoned it out west.
Splitting up on a dark, sad night,
Her believing it was best.
And she turned around to look at him
As he was walking away.
She said I wish I could tell you all the things
That I never learned how to say
He said that’s alright babe
I love you too,
But we were tangled up in blue.

He had a steady job and a pretty face,
And everything seemed to fit.
But one day he could just feel the waste,
So he put it all down and split.
And he headed down to New Orleans,
Where they treated him like a boy.
He nearly went mad in Baton Rouge,
He nearly drowned in Delacroix
And all the time he was alone,
The past was close behind.
He felt he'd had one too many lovers,
And none of them were too refined,
All except for you,
But you were tangled up in blue.

She was sitting in the blinding light,
When I stopped in for a drink.
I just kept looking at the side of her face
I didn't know what to think.
Later on as the crowd thinned out,
I was about to do the same
She was standing there, beside my chair,
Saying "Don't tell me, let me guess your name"
I muttered something underneath my breath
She studied the lines on my face.
I could feel the heat and the pulse of her
As she bent down to tie the laces
Of my shoe,
Tangled up in blue.

She lit a burner on the stove
And offered me a pipe
"I thought you'd never say hello," she said
"You look like the silent type."
Then she opened up a book of poems
And handed it to me
Written by an Italian poet
From the thirteenth century.
Every one of them words rang true
And glowed like burnin' coal
Pouring off of every page
Like it was written in my soul
From me to you,
Tangled up in blue.

He was always in a hurry,
Too busy or too stoned
And everything she ever planned
Just had to be postponed
She thought they were successful
She thought they were blessed
With objects and material things,
He never was impressed
But when it all came crashing down,
I was already south.
I didn't know whether the world was flat or round,
I had the worst taste in my mouth,
That I ever knew,
Tangled up in blue.

Now I'm going back again,
Maybe tomorrow, maybe next year.
I've got to find someone among the women and men
Whose destiny too is unclear
Some are ministers of illusion,
Some are masters of the trade.
All under strong delusion,
All of their beds unmade.
Me I'm heading toward the sun,
Trying to stay out of the joint
We always did love the very same one
We just saw her from a different point
Of view,
Tangled up in blue.

Am I sick, if I enjoy being sick? I am actually trying to understand this, so please don't dismiss this as a stupid question that tries to invoke some circular logic and plays on different meanings of a word. I am really wondering, if it means I am sick. Whichever meaning of the word you take. Because, my dear well wishers and others, I have fallen sick. I don't fall sick that often, meaning I must have been bed ridden for about 10 days in the last 10 years or so. So far, I have not had to take a single day off from work because I was sick. Same about college, and school before that, for as far as I can remember.

But this last week, we fell sick. Being the leave hoarders that we are, we still turned up at work, a pretty awful mess, with the awwws and ooohs, pouring in. But thats a separate story. So, I have this insane, uneducated philosophy, that if I act like I am well, then I get well. Sooner than I would have otherwise. That means I scoff at medicine, diagnosis, and its application to society, pop a pill that I have prescribed myself (Go Robin Cook, go Google docs!), and I get on with life. But this time, we must have caught something we haven't read about in a Robin Cook or a Michael Palmer, for ordinary OTC pills didn't cut it. So when I got home one day from work, crabby and irritable, with joint pain and fever and stuff, I just dove into bed. And believe it or not, I enjoyed the whole deal. Lying in bed with shivers and chills running up my body, moaning loudly releasing some anger, looking at the ceiling with the white light appearing a sick, dull, jaundice yellow, and crying tears and feeling the strange comfort of the warm liquid trickling down my throbbing temples. The ache in my eyelids offered me a sense of freedom from the mundane fears and worries that plague me all day. I could almost see why someone who is sick, might want to die. The traditional reasoning of getting liberated from the misery apart, I am sure there must be some people who are tempted to push the pleasure as far as they can, and so they beg to die.

I had almost forgotten how it feels to be sick. Mind you, I had no one to take care of me and to get me soup and stuff. But still, or perhaps hence, that somehow heightened the pleasure of it all. Like I knew I had to take care of myself, because no one else cared to. And thankfully, that has egged me to take this frikkin virus head-on. And for some sick reason (oh the irony of it!) I am enjoying the fight and that ended up in me enjoying my sickness.

But could it be? Can you miss being a different and particular kind of miserable so much, that when the time actually comes, you enjoy that misery? At least for a little while? Isn't this like some weird paradox or something? Not that I was ever one to care, but I don't mind considering throwing all health related caution to the wind and falling sick, till I get sick of it. Or die.

What good are those leaves and compensatory offs anyway!

She’s got everything she needs
She’s an artist, she don’t look back
She’s got everything she needs
She’s an artist, she don’t look back
She can take the dark out of the nighttime
And paint the daytime black

You will start out standing
Proud to steal her anything she sees
You will start out standing
Proud to steal her anything she sees
But you will wind up peeking through her keyhole
Down upon your knees

She never stumbles
She’s got no place to fall
She never stumbles
She’s got no place to fall
She’s nobody’s child
The Law can’t touch her at all

She wears an Egyptian ring
That sparkles before she speaks
She wears an Egyptian ring
That sparkles before she speaks
She’s a hypnotist collector
You are a walking antique

Bow down to her on Sunday
Salute her when her birthday comes
Bow down to her on Sunday
Salute her when her birthday comes
For Halloween give her a trumpet
And for Christmas, buy her a drum

Hawww!!! What heights hypocrisy can scale! Run! Hide! Avoid! Escape!

A month ago there was some shitty Green Day celebration in office, for no reason whatsoever. There was no occasion, but the HR suddenly had this brainwave that we needed to acknowledge nature and everything it has given us. So we were asked to come in green. A few token potted plants were gotten and placed around office. There were some sorry green card-sheet hoardings screaming “Go Green” in cheap faint sketch pens from the walls. The air conditioners were switched off and the windows were opened. Honestly, I hate this tokenism and Green Day and shit. But I didn’t want to throw the spanner that was my cynicism in the wheel that was the celebration. “Perhaps”, I thought, “I am just being too critical of everything. These guys could be serious. And it is a good cause after all. Who knows. They might even mean it, and may in fact do something real in this regard.” So quietly, I turned up in green. And the day was panning like any other. In the middle of the day, the ‘celebrations’ began. The team was called in one of the rooms with a potted plan kept on a table, in the middle of the room. It was supposed to be some bamboo thing- Chinese symbol for luck or something. Then, we were asked to make a circle around the table, hold hands and scream “Go Green” in unison. Thrice. That’s lame ass- thrice. Then, each of us were asked to describe in a few lines/minutes, what we were doing or planning to do to save the earth. No one wanted to come forth, but the HR had to force the issue. So then, people who would otherwise have loved to turn a blind eye to these issues were forced to think of lies that would further put them at discomfort at night. I heard stuff like “I will plant several trees this year”, “I will use a bicycle instead of a motorcycle”, “I will tell others to plant more trees!” (that one was my favorite). Anyway. I too said something, but was proud of myself that I didn’t have to lie. Then there were some speeches types from the bosses. Honestly, it all reeked of compulsion and obligation. But I guess they made some sense with what they were saying, and also talked of some grand plans and commitments towards the cause. All this while, I was still trying to not be cynical and to be supportive of the whole shebang. So the day ended afterwards, with a few more token gestures. I said whatever, and got on with my life, trying to believe some people had at least made a start.

Fast forward to a month later. Mind you. That’s it! A month. 30 days. I walk up to the tea place thing we have in office and look for a cup to pour my tea into. I notice there are no cups. Instead, there is a whole stack of disposable plastic shit in a corner. Now I might be particularly hard on those things because I hate everything about them. They are tacky, cheap, too light, weightless, and formless. But more than everything, they are plastic. I can’t stand that one material somehow. With these disposable cups, I just lose it. I think they are a commentary of sorts on people who use them and don’t feel like something is drastically wrong with the world. So I look at these cups and feel disgusted. But I also felt pissed off with everyone who was nonchalantly using those cups like nothing had changed. I storm to the HR and ask her to explain how this development agreed with the Green Day charade. I get a pathetic “er ahem, you know, actually, well, ta ta pa pa” types response from the super dimwitted lady there. I make it clear that I want an explanation from her or I (and my whole team) are boycotting every celebration in office. She uttered the standard loser’s-last-resort-response and told me that the directive had come from one of the bosses. I ask her to come with me right then and force the boss to do the right thing, the same way she had acted all evangelisty asking us to scream “Go Green” a month ago. Devoid of any sort of mettle as she is, she tries to weasel out. I literally drag her to the boss’ cabin, mainly to make her uncomfortable about being a hypocrite. I knew she was not going to be able to say anything to the boss, because she had no guts. But more because I was making her pretend like she believed in a cause that she absolutely didn’t care about, beyond it being a “theme” for a “day”. But the argument with the boss takes the cake today:

“Hey, I just noticed someone has put out crappy disposable cups there. What was wrong with our clay mugs?”

“Yea, actually I asked them to use those. We will be using those from now.”

“Oh, ok. Why again?”

“The clay cups are a bit too much to clean actually. They have to be washed like thrice daily. These cups are better, don’t you think?”

“Since you ask me what I think, I think this is a really bad decision. I think you can hire an additional guy to wash them or buy more cups so they have to be washed only once a day.”

“Yea well, that would work out to be quite expensive. Plus, since we are growing, we need to think of a permanent solution. How many mugs can you wash in a day if we grow to say 200 people tomorrow”

“So ok. We can decide to go in for these plastic cups when we grow to that size. Its not like people need to get used to drinking tea in shitty cups so we need to train them from now, is it?”

“Look, I understand what you are saying. But its just not possible.”

“Ok. And the whole commitment to environment thing you said the other day…that was just for kicks then?”

“See, you need to view it practically. Sure, we are not doing the best thing by using these plastic cups. But we can make up elsewhere. Say by switching off air conditioners for one day every week.”

“Yea, that would be good. But I don’t see how that has to come at the cost of not using clay mugs? Plus, as I am seeing it, the theme really is sounding like cost cutting, rather than go green. Plus, are you seriously suggesting that the amount of garbage we’ll be causing by using several hundred plastic cups each week can be undone by switching of air conditioning for a day? Really?”

“Look, some decisions have to be taken even if they look painful. Still, let me consider what we can do.”

“Yea. I understand that. I understand it bigtime. But why ask me to make a fool of myself by holding hands and shouting and giving heartwarming speeches and stuff? If you want to use plastic cups, go ahead, use them. But at least let’s not make a mockery out of the cause by celebrating and expecting me to celebrate these crappy days in office? Are you getting what I am saying?”

“I understand. But it was all in good spirit. Like I said, we’ll see what can be done.”

“Ok. Thanks”

And thus the search for a less hypocritical employer begins.

It had to be this month. The rain had to come again, falling from the stars. It had to feel like a different season needs to begin. I had to be feeling down, like I could sleep through life. And I had to be here. Everything, just fucking, had to be.

If you can sense any beauty at all, you will know what I am going to talk about. There is just something about a relationship that a nine year old girl has with a big ferocious masculine dog. It is something to be studied I feel. I tried to make some sense of it from the bench I was sitting on. But about a minute into it, I gave up and just started admiring what I was seeing.

Now this is a big, super aggressive dog I am talking about. He is a cross breed between a mongrel and a german shepherd, I think. Off-white in color. People absolutely fear him. And with good reason. His barks are deep and full. His growling could easily be that of a wolf’s. The look in his eyes makes it double clear that there is no love lost there. Quite honestly, unless you are a thorough bred dog lover, this dog has nothing you could love him for. I am yet to see a person he is friendly with, leave alone playful. I also hear he has quite a few dog bite victim feathers in his hat. I, somehow, have some sort of an equation with this guy and he deals with me with a little more civility than others. Like he will only stare at me suspiciously but not growl. Or he will allow me to pet him for 10 seconds before he starts barking madly. I don’t know why he is so tender with me. Could be just because I am not as afraid of him. Whatever. And yet, I can safely say that I have never felt at ease with him. He flies off the handle and gets jumpy and growly in no time. I try and put on a façade like I have seen it all, but I am sure he can sense my fear. Anyway, I digress. That’s about the dog.

Now the girl. She is a huge brat herself. Knows she can get whatever she wants from whoever she is talking to. Throws tantrums like it’s a bodily function. I suspect she doesn’t have too many close friends at school. Has a nasty habit of never talking straight. She’ll keep saying the most inappropriate things all the time, assuming she is going to get away with it. I have heard her ask a dark person why he is so ‘dirty black’ and laugh. She is everything the word annoying has ever meant. Cute, but annoying. Now I have some equation with her too. I don’t talk as much to her anymore, because I know sooner or later she is going say something extremely inappropriate and I am not going to be able to ask her to shove it. But apart from that, she is quite fond of me and usually comes up to me and indulges me in some idle chit chat.

So there, an incorrigible young girl and a nasty big dog. But put them together and you’ll know why I don’t hate either of them as much as someone would. The dog never utters so much as a semblance of growl when he is with her. She will run towards him and jump on him and pull him by his tail. He will only be mildly amused by it. She will pull him with his snout and his ears. And he will pretend like he doesn’t have the strength to fight her. He will pretend to try to get away because he sees some stranger needing to be barked at. But she will not let him get away and will jump on his back and close his eyes with her tiny palms. She will walk around her house with his collar in her fist and the sweet guy will follow her everywhere, pretending like he is being dragged. He is her dog, in every way. Then, there will be times when the dog will come and jump on her little body, begging her to come play with him. When she is with him, she will not care about anything in the world. He clearly means more to her than her bicycle, her sister, her tennis racquet, her hairpins, everything. I have heard her mom get wild and yell at her asking her to leave the dog be and come in for dinner at 10 o clock in the night. I suspect she also talks to the dog and he listens. I have seen this. But I couldn’t tell if she was talking to him, or if she was just humming a song while she was with him.

So there is something there that I can’t put my finger on. There is a girl that I don’t particularly like. Hardly actually. I can see her grow into a brat who will think the world is her private bathroom where she can do as she pleases. And the dog too is hardly my favorite, as far as dogs go. Now, the dog doesn’t do anything that he shouldn’t do. But even so, he’s not particularly endearing, is all. Yet, I love the chemistry they have. He acts so protective of her when she is talking to someone else. I think the only reason he grants me some latitude is because he has seen me interact with his girl and has detected a somewhat non-negative vibe between us. So I made the cut, so to say. But other random people dare not go and start talking to her and playing with her while he is not on the leash. I find that sweet. She too, is a little less of a rascal with me, because she sees some similarity between us (being fond of the dog). I always thought I would love to have that sort of an equation with someone. Anyone. A person. Or a dog. Where I don’t care what the whole world thinks about me, as long as the ones that matter understand.

I feel all girls should have a dog.

My composition - An hour in a grown up office

It was like I was 14 all over again. I was asked to explain why I had turned up at work in my usual ripped jeans and t-shirt when it was supposed to be Traditional Day. The problem was not so much about me and my attire, but that because of some weird stroke of misfortune, all the guys in my team had come in regular clothes, and all the girls in an astonishingly elaborate, super-ethnic attire. Somehow, apparently, that "makes us guys look like losers". And I was asked to explain.

The boss kept saying, "Come on guys, its just one day and there have been posters and emails and everything for quite a while now. The girls have shown so much interest and look at us. Is it that hard to not wear jeans and tees for one day?"

But I kept hearing, "You, roll no. 7, why is your uniform not ironed, and why is your hair so shaggy?"

And so, like a real fourteen year old, I honestly answered, "All that hype was last week. I totally forgot about it over the weekend. And so did all the other guys, apparently". Though I have weaseled my way out of such slimy jams in school all the time, I must have lost my edge. Because I couldn't sell the "I forgot" reason with reasonable credibility. Or maybe I just didn't care enough anymore.

Now the fact that the boss himself was wearing something that could not be more untraditional, is besides the point. He accounted for his own gaffe with smooth usage of the words "us" and "we" when reprimanding yours truly. The point is that it somehow appeared that the "rot" in the team came from me. Like somehow, I had secretly arranged an attire-coup of sorts to sabotage celebrations. I could not help control my laughter at how ridiculous the whole thing was sounding. I even thought that this was a perfect occasion to get mad and throw a tantrum and stand up for myself (seriously, someday I am going to do that). But the whole thing was too kiddish, so I just couldn't get mad! I got a vibe that things would still have been alright had only I been in trad clothes. What that the rest of the team had worn wouldn't look so bad then. I also suspected slightly that the boss and the woman in HR had some weird fetish to see me dressed in ethnic clothes, because that was the only sense I could make off their insistence.

Now I am not saying that anything the HR does is complete baloney. It is no more or less pointless than what I do, and what I think everyone else does, in every other office, in an existential sense. So I don't intend to trivialize their feeble endeavor to spice up our dreary, workaday lives. Its actually quite sweet of them. But I somehow don't see the sense of forcing a particular template of happiness or positivity on everyone. Not just in office, but generally. I have done that in the past myself. So I know it rarely works. Unfortunately, there is no known middle ground here. So we walk the line, the best we can. And sometimes, when we fall short, we need to step up our game. Whatever. And to be fair, the way this whole thing was unfolding, it actually was quite fun and amusing. Definitely better than a regular Monday morning. So, well...

Anyway, I had to "step up" and decide how things could be made right. I had to decide to either postpone the celebrations to another day (not feasible, not desirable, would imply delaying the inevitable) or to somehow ensure that the team made it home and back in ethnics in the least time possible. Kinda annoyed with the whole thing, we decided that everyone would leave and rush back in "proper" clothing. Basically, get over with it. There we were, a bunch of grown ups, being sent home from school in the middle of the day, essentially because the principal had objected to the properness of our uniforms. Just to get my kicks out of it, and also because the whole thing was kind of amusing, I did my bit to act the 14 year old. "Actually, I don't mind going home and putting on some nice clothes. But you see, I don't have the keys to my place with me. So I don't know when I will be able to come back." There! As lame an excuse as any 14 year old has ever given. (I have actually given the exact same excuse 13 years ago when I was asked to go home and get a haircut. The excuse had worked then. Full circle.) Obviously, no one bought it this time and I just had to figure something out.

I always have to. I always do.

Patterns

Mathematically, there is a pattern, even in randomness. Is there really? Let's experiment and check if anything can be established.

20 odd lines quoted from page 181 (randomly chosen number) from the first book I find next to my bed. Lets see what we get:

Now the tears did not run down his cheeks, but fell from his eyes to the ground. Let me see you cry, I said. I did not feel that he owed it to me. And I did not feel I owed it to him. We owed it to each other, which is something different.

He raised his head and looked at me.

I am not angry with you, I told him.

You must be.

I am the one who broke the rule.

But I am the one who made the rule you couldn't live with.

My thoughts are wandering, Oskar. They are going to Dresden to my mother's pearls, damp with the sweat of her neck. My thoughts are going up the sleeve of my father's overcoat. His arm was so thick and strong. I was sure it would protect me for as long as I lived. And it did. Even after I lost him. The memory of his arm wraps around me as his arm used to. Each day has been chained to a previous one. But the weeks have had wings. Anyone who believes that a second is faster than a decade did not live my life.

Why are you leaving me?

He wrote. I do not know how to live.

I do not know either, but I'm trying.

I do not know how to try.

There were things I wanted to tell him. But I knew they would hurt him. So I buried them. And let them hurt me.

I put my hand on him. Touching him was always so important to me. It was something I lived for. I never could explain why. Little, nothing touches. My finger against his shoulder. The outside of our thighs touching as we squeezed together on the bus. I couldn't explain it, but I needed it. Sometimes I imagined stitching all of our little touches together.

Now, 5 lines from a random piece of news from randomly selected newspaper page:

In a democratic age, bandhs have lost their pre-independence aura and have outlived their purpose. They violate fundamental freedoms and reek of the old style of doing politics, leading to Supreme Court strictures against them. With rising literacy and growing economic activity, modern societies search for moderate political methods such as debate, discussions or protests that do not involve public disruption. Today, bandhs evoke cynicism rather than promote any solution to the problems they invoke.


Last words someone said to me just before this post was published:

"I think yesterday evening was actually quite fun. Was it?"

Pattern anyone? Hmmm? Guess we'll need a supercomputer to decode if there is one...

There is just something about rain at night. When you hear the pitter patter on the plastic roofs on the terraces. It can wake me up out of deep sleep, and make me think thoughts I am scared to have, when I am awake. It is a welcome break from the routine nightmares, to be awoken by the beautiful rain; and the quiet eeriness of the night coupled with the chaos in my mind can transport me to a different world. One where everything is alright. One where I want to be.

A worried man with a worried mind
No one in front of me and nothing behind
There’s a woman on my lap and she’s drinking champagne
Got white skin, got assassin’s eyes
But I’m looking up into the sapphire-tinted skies
I’m well dressed, waiting on the last train

Standing on the gallows with my head in a noose
Any minute now I’m expecting all hell to break loose

People are crazy and times are strange
I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range
I used to care, but things have changed

This place ain’t doing me any good
I’m in the wrong town, I should be in Hollywood
Just for a second there I thought I saw something move
Gonna take dancing lessons, do the jitterbug rag
Ain’t no shortcuts, gonna dress in drag
Only a fool in here would think he’s got anything to prove

Lot of water under the bridge, lot of other stuff too
Don’t get up gentlemen, I’m only passing through

People are crazy and times are strange
I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range
I used to care, but things have changed

I’ve been walking forty miles of bad road
If the Bible is right, the world will explode
I’ve been trying to get as far away from myself as I can
Some things are too hot to touch
The human mind can only stand so much
You can’t win with a losing hand

Feel like falling in love with the first woman I meet
Putting her in a wheelbarrow and wheeling her down the street

People are crazy and times are strange
I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range
I used to care, but things have changed

I hurt easy, I just don’t show it
You can hurt someone and not even know it
The next sixty seconds could be like an eternity
Gonna get low down, gonna fly high
All the truth in the world adds up to one big lie
I’m in love with a woman who don’t remember me

Mr. Jinx and Miss Lucy, they jumped in the lake
I’m not that eager to make a mistake

People are crazy and times are strange
I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range
I used to care, but things have changed

10 confessions I would rather not make in the real world because I know they may be objectionable for various reasons:

1. I find the Beyond Here Lies Nothin' video extremely artsy and romantic in a very real way. It evokes emotions that I don't think can be expressed easily, but can be congruously identified with. The lyrics (just wow!), the music, and the video convey so much together. I find the end too beautiful.

2. I feel people who communicate using bad punctuation, wrong spellings, and awful grammar, just out of callousness ought to be sent to jail. Or at least ostracized from everyday society. To me, it is akin to, or even worse than, drops of spit flying right into your face, while the person continues talking to you remorselessly. I can understand when the person deliberately communicates with certain people in such a manner. But some people communicate with everyone, in only that one way. Those are the ones I am talking about.
I hate the sms lingo too. Yes, I use it extensively myself. But that is because I know it is not a criminal offence today. I will gladly give it up as soon as it is made one.

3. Once upon a time, at the root of my existence, somewhere, there was a trace of socialism. Somehow, I used to think there is something wrong when kids who had rich parents enjoyed and flaunted their wealth. I hated that 18 and 19 year olds got to drive around in swanky cars without having to work for it. I don't feel that anymore, but I once did, very strongly.

4. I love the air kisses thing. The pretentious cheek brushing and the muah-muah. I love doing it. And I love watching it being done. And I am a straight guy in my 20s, who would play hard football all day for no money, if the system allowed that.

5. There have been times when I have felt that Sex and the City is just as beautifully written as Seinfeld. I am still the same guy in his 20s.

6. I think we can help society and people better with a faceless online identity than we can in the real world being ourselves. I know I can.

7. Sometimes I wish a major natural calamity (not terror attacks or bomb blasts or shit) occurs right where I am. A major, high profile one. Like a volcano or a tsunami or something. I don't care as much for the fact that I might die, as for the fact that it would be something really exciting to witness and battle.

8. I feel at some level, education really leaves you emasculated. It cuts your balls off. I think I am the biggest pushover in the world sometimes. People can dish out (and have) any nonsense to me and rest assured that I will probably only grumble about it on some blog. I am not comfortable tackling a situation head-on, or picking a fight and resolving issues right there. Also, its not so much about being generally non-confrontational (that too!) because I love to argue and debate and stuff. Its more about overthinking and over analyzing consequences. That comes from education.

9. When I was a kid, I used to have some fabulous ideas about how I would be when I was 'grown up'. I didn't know what age that would be at. Even now, sometimes, I want to be certain, drastically different things that I am not right now, when I am 'grown up'. And I still don't know what age I am talking about.

10. There are several things I want, think about, and wish for, that I may never be able to admit to. Even on an anonymous blog.

Google is only second best...at best

My brother bugged me for the 63 millionth time in a week to clear some space up on our shared computer.

Confidently, I replied, "Dude, there is nothing that can be deleted, I just need all that stuff. You are going to have to back it up."
"I'm sure you don't need all of it!"
"Well, turns out I do. Like you know anything about data! Scoff"
He then swirled around on our new revolving chair, and randomly opened some folder and a file within it and went through it. "Are you telling me, you need to know what time you ordered a Smokin' Joe's pizza on the night of December 21, 2007? As cheap as you are to jot down the time of ordering, so you can ask for a discount when they overrun the delivery time, do you really have to maintain that record forever after that?"
I was caught unawares. "Uh, well, its just a text document dude. What do you need, 2 bytes of space urgently?" I defended feebly.
"Its not about the 2 bytes man. Its your whole personality. Delete some crap dude."

I ended that duel without an answer. But I pondered over it later. What he said was true. I am a hoarder. I big fat hoarder who is eventually going to run out of space. A hoarder of text documents with random telephone numbers. Hoarder of receipts from restaurants I haven't visited in ages. Hoarder of random internet links that I thought someone else would find interesting. Hoarder of clothes. Oh! Clothes! Thats a Pandora's box right there! I have a shirts and t-shirts in my cupboard that I have neither worn nor been able to fit myself into, since years ago. I hoard old jeans thinking maybe one day, when I am in dire need of shorts, or if mens' hot pants ever come into style, I would have something ready. I have a sweatshirt that must have last kept me warm when the Queen was still hot. I hoard pictures, I backup old emails and chats, I do it all. My security guy has asked me around 250 times if I wanted to sell my bicycle that hasn't been used for years now. I tell him off each time, with an unconvincing reason- that I will start using it some day. The real reason is that I am a hoarder and I can't let go of anything. Not the good, and not the bad.

It is actually a vice of sorts. It consumes you. Its an obsession with random things that once upon a time may or may not have been special. Preserving old pictures and gifts and books is normal, healthy even. But the separating wall between a museum and its attic is paper thin up here. And this attic has apparently rendered many a fertile acre of mindspace, fallow. Regardless...

I have come to realize that this is a personality thing. One, that hasn't been typified in any personality class (type A/B, X/Y etc). At least to my knowledge it hasn't, which is actually not saying much. So yea. Hoarding, and an inability to generally let go, is a part of a bigger philosophy that we hoarders inadvertently follow. I can't remember at what point I chose to be a hoarder. But ever since I have converted, I have been a staunch follower. Which incidentally, is another hoarder trait. We don't switch sides easily, if ever. Sometimes, this is confused with having a big ego and generally being stubborn asses. But the truth is, we get so attached to one side, that we consider switching sides as an act of betrayal. Betrayal unto our own selves. Which is why we just blindly refuse to budge from our positions. For better or for worse.

One more hoarder trait is that of not being impressed easily. When someone recommends something to us, be it a movie, a restaurant, a book, anything, we find it difficult to appreciate from the get go. We like to explore our own stuff and to get attached to it for life. By ourselves. If the recommendations come from a fellow hoarder, then they go down a little bit better. That brings me to another point. We seek out hoarders. Active as well as unaware.

A somewhat helpful, but definitely not confirmatory, test of a hoarder is good memory. It indicates how much random stuff has been well-indexed in our well-oiled brains. Some of us may not be able to rant out old dates and times. But give us a scent of a memory indexed up there and we will easily trace out the entire day before and after that...with the crucial details.

There are several such traits I can cite. Thats not the point. The point is we are. Personally, I think hoarding makes us more endearing and more enriched as people. People who are able to easily let go, may be more blissful and happy in general. But I find them too shallow. Like a flat plate. Like a computer with a small page file memory. They exist in the extreme present. We exist mostly in the past, and somewhat in the idea of the future. I find that cute. For all its pitfalls and potential for self destruction, I wouldn't want myself to be any different. So in a way, what I told my brother was actually true. I actually did need that stupid text document. To be who I am.

So here's to it all. All that is in here. To stay. To the files and the folders. To the shirts and the shorts. To the bicycles and the books. To the times and the people. The shitty ones and the jewels. To the ones who escaped, and to the ones who stayed. To the ones who returned and to the ones you thank your stars didn't return. On behalf of the hoarder community, I thank you all. For it is all of you, that make us the awesome people we are!

Actual conversation:

Boss: Why don't you use the big rectangular bag you have to carry the laptop home anymore? The laptop really stayed safe in it. Is this bag as good?

Me: I love that bag for a slew of reasons. But there comes a time in a guy's life, when he needs to stop using bags that are exactly the shape of his face and head.

Boss: Yea, I guess. Don't worry. This new bag isn't too bad.

Save our conscience!

I was in a supermarket the other day. I bought some stuff and on my way to the checkout counter, I noticed they were selling eco-friendly bags. Made of jute or whatever. I felt they were priced way more than they should have been. But right then, as if hunting down my previous thought, came a conscience-driven reprimand. "Price? Is that what you are considering? When it comes to saving the environment? A few meager units of currency? Shame!" So I had to purchase those bags. And I must say, I felt really proud of myself. After all, I had spent money buying something I didn't need, just so I could save the world. If that doesn't make you proud, what does?

I came out, did some other stuff, and then went home. I was damn happy! People who were in the streets that day will vouch for me. They will testify that they saw a guy move around, beaming like a moron. Why a moron? Because moronic is what it was, I realized later. Its astonishing, the distance we will go, just so we can look into our eyes in the mirror. I spent a little extra money. Other people do something else. But, in the end, its all about that. Feeling good about ourselves.

What the hell are we thinking when we make/sell/buy stuff to save the world? Do we not know what the real, REAL problem is? Its that there are too many of us. Thats whats destroying the world. This planet wasn't built to have one species (humans too) breed to a seven billion number and dominate proceedings this way. If we really wanted to save the world, they'd sell "Put yourself to sleep instantly" injections at supermarkets. Not jute bags. What the hell is 'eco-friendly' anyway? You consume 100 and give back 1? Is that how we plan to "save the earth"? More like, "lets try and keep this place liveable till we are alive. There's no hope beyond that anyway!". The annoying part is that we (including me) actually know there is no hope. And yet, we continue to lie to ourselves. Doing what we can hoping it will be enough. Hoping...and denying.

Denial is not just a river in Egypt. We have taken it so far, that now its become a part of our composition. Its like we have a conscience...and then we have a metacognitive (word?) section of the brain that has genetically evolved to suppress the conscience. We have no control over that anymore. We don't want to acknowledge that deep down we all know its almost certainly a long lost cause.

The fact that humans live only for 80 odd years has some role to play there. Right now, all of us know that we only need to be bothered about sleeping well for the next 60 years. And jute bags do that for us. So jute bags it is. We don't really (I mean really) care for what happens after we are gone. Imagine if we lived for 400-500 years. You think we would resort to lame ass jute bags to bail us out then? Haah! We would have to acknowledge that the bags and such aren't even a speck of cleanser in the ocean that is our trash ridden planet. There is ABSOLUTELY no point in pretending like we 'have a solution, but the onus is on the people'. "A huge ocean is made up of tiny drops" and all that is too pathetic and we should just get off it already. We have no answer. Well, we do have THE answer, but no one is ballsy enough to say it.

I want some scientist types to explain to me how a gazillion eco-friendly consumables are going to save this planet, if we keep fornicating and reproducing like rats, consuming disproportionate amounts of resources on the other side. I know there is no solution in sight. But for once, I would like someone to just stand up and say, "You know what? This eco-friendly pretense is all good. But lets not kid ourselves. Until we start eliminating people or introduce a impotency inducing virus, we are headed for that wall. Maybe not us, but the ones after us. And for all the eco-friendly products that we buy, we are prolonging the end by a few minutes, at best."

I will continue to buy jute bags, 'do my bit' (whatever), and I will continue to hope. Hope, that maybe nature has a larger plan to reset things here. That maybe, we'll devise an organic fertilizer that makes tall trees grow in minutes. That maybe, one day we will invent cars that are made of wood and run on water. That maybe, air conditioners will one day give out fresh nutrient-rich air as exhaust. I will hope that I am so stupid and wrong that I don't understand how this 'save the earth' plan is actually going to work. I will hope, because I have tremendous faith in nature. It still holds the power to start a major shakedown anytime and restore sanity within hours. I believe I am smart enough to not undermine that force. But all this is the active and dominant part of my brain performing its job.

My conscience will always read 'Stall' whenever it sees 'Save'.

My dad, whom I have been seeing almost every day of my life, and who has always, always, had a beard, went clean shaven yesterday. I don't know why he had to shave off his beard, all of a sudden. I think there is more to it than 'I just felt like it'.

He is looking at least 10 years younger and attractive, and he was definitely feeling good about it. But having known him for so long, I felt really sad and betrayed looking at him. Betrayed. That is the word I had been looking for, all of last night. I couldn't believe I had never seen his chin, up until now. As a 27 year old, when you suddenly feel like you don't know your dad at all, just because he has shaved off his beard, it raises questions about own sanity and 'normalcy'. Its a really difficult and weird feeling to be dealing with. More nauseating and complex than what most people in this world will understand.

I guess a lot of people feel a more juvenile version of what I am feeling, when they 'go through' this experience as kids. Because I hadn't been through it, and because its not the same going through it as an adult, I wasn't equipped to digest it. I dunno...

I want him to grow his beard back.

A rainy trek with a shaggy dog

Its one of the few things that I can write about, without any disclaimer. It is just pure, unadulterated happiness. Its something I have wanted to do for a while now, and I have finally been able to do it. And it was almost as good as I had imagined.

A trek with a lovely dog. In the monsoon. When the sky is crying enough so you can afford a smile. It was one of those days when you feel everything around you is as it should be. Lush green mountains, huge roaring waterfalls all around. Green carpets of fresh grass submerged in water for as far as you can see. And a heavy downpour to make it perfect.

I think it is a sort of rite of passage that everyone should go through, once in their life. You learn so much about yourself and about dogs and about relationships in general. Whether it is the way the dog gets ecstatic after being let off the leash in a green, water sopped field; or the way it runs around jumping, swimming and rolling around in the knee deep water, or the way it ignores you and simply wants to soak in all the nature it can. You learn that pure affection is a vibe that never fails to come through. You learn that what really makes you happy is watching the innocent creature explore and push its realms. That one happy moment can make up for a whole weekful of sad ones.

Most people won't believe me when I tell them of an incidence that happened today. It was the most beautiful experience. She had run ahead of me, ignoring me, jumping and scampering across gushing brooks and over bushes. She kept rushing back behind, just to make sure I was on track and hadn't gotten lost. On one occasion, as I was trying to climb up a slippery slope with an unrecovered torn calf, she ran back and looked at me with innocently raised eyebrows. She sensed I was in pain. Then she did the most amazing thing. As I hung there in limbo, neither here nor there, she came and licked my face sweetly. In the rain, out of nowhere. Then, she offered me her collar...to help me climb up the slope! She actually looked over me and beckoned me with her paw, to grab her collar so I would have something to hold on to. How overwhelmed I was with that gesture is beyond words. So much for all the ignoring I thought I was getting...

It was obvious that she was having the most enjoyable afternoon ever. She felt like she could conquer the entire landscape. The way she ran around madly, trying to liberate herself to the extent possible was awfully sweet. She wanted to convince me that she was indeed establishing herself on all those overbearing trees and powerful streams and impregnable rock faces. But when the moment of truth arrived and we turned the corner to stare up at a roaring, intimidating waterfall, the girl could do nothing but stand next to me and look at it timidly. Head titled, eyes full of fear. All her energy drained itself out and the best she could do was to run away from it and hide behind an excuse of a bush. When she saw me wade through the thickets towards the waterfall, purposefully, she meekly joined me and kept herself at my feet. As if expecting me to respond to her trust, by protecting her from this disaster. She would have much rather returned to one of her ponds and swam around blissfully with me. But because I wanted to enter the waterfall, she decided to tag along, fighting her own fears! Or perhaps she wanted to come just so she could look out for me!

The world will still have its problems, and an afternoon, no matter how beautiful, won't make everything alright. But in that moment, as I sat at the edge, with her cuddled up against my chest, scared, depending on me to shield her from the monstrous waterfall, I knew I could put off worrying about everything, for another few hours.

Europe was good. Frankfurt was nice. I fell in love with Grenoble. Paris floored me. And Brussels was just fantastic.

Paris was good. Did a lot of Parisian things there. Mostly cliched. But didn't care. I walked by the Seine, ate cake, browsed bookshops, sat in a roadside cafe, read a book and smiled to people walking by, played with strange dogs, took lots of pictures, lost myself in a song, felt loved, cried, felt hated, spoke in French and giggled, walked through obscure and unknown Paris streets, looked at ordinary buildings with awe, walked through the rain in beautiful narrow lanes, ambled pointlessly in a violent hailstorm with couples all around clinging to each other running for shelter, stopped at the corner and listened to a lovely song that the street musician was playing...

Europe really was good. Did a lot of strange things, especially after dark. Drank ridiculous amounts of strange and brilliant alcohol every evening, and beer all day, like there was no tomorrow, got hopelessly drunk and cut loose, tried to make up for lost time, sang horrible karaoke in front of strangers who were sweetly amused, tried my hand at dancing to reggae music with a hot teenager, almost got talked into a getting a body piercing done, woke up at 12 and went out at 1 everyday, watched French movies late into the night, with an adorable girl by my side who painfully explained each scene to me...

And now the suns gone down...but the shadows will linger.

Hair, fair or unfair?

Perspective! Got it! Like always. Probably fickle again!

So I was very happy with the way people were helping me out in Europe, right from the time I landed. Strangers asking me where I was from, how my trip had been so far, how India is...and so on. But then something changed gradually. I had come to Europe with the perfect length of hair, clean shaven and what have you. Slowly, the perfect length of hair overgrew. A stubble appeared. And the warm and friendly people too disappeared. More people were now mistaking me for being Turkish and Pakistani than for Spanish or Portuguese. The moment I said, "Excuse moi, madame..." women sped away. People didn't smile to me as much in the streets and looked at me strangely when I smiled at them. One gentleman asked me upfront, 'Are you a Hindu'. I was just too amused to care about how random that question was and what its purpose could have been. Another very sweet elderly gentleman, walked up to me and started talking in Francais. When I spoke all the French I knew to tell him that I didn't speak French, he reluctantly ran his hand over his smooth cheeks and kept saying, 'Espangole? Espangole?' He then said something very fast and when I looked clueless, he reluctantly produced a zero machine from his bag and began giggling. I think I was about 83% amused and 17% confused. Or maybe I was 100% confused.

To add to my plight of being misjudged for another hapless illegal immigrant...a Muslim immigrant too, the cold weather cracked my lips with blood oozing out from them. I don't speak the language here, nor do I have much money left. About 85% match with 'All-time Classic Illegal Immigrant Traits', I think. But the incident from today morning just beat everything hands down. That will be another post. So...

There are two things possible here. One, I am totally crazy and paranoid. Two, people judge me now because I have shaggy hair and a stubble. But that throws up another sub-dilemma: I have seen scores of white guys here with all kinds of dubious hairdos and stubbles. Some of them couldn't have attracted so much attention from people, if they went up to them asked for it. Yet, my 10 day stubble stands out so much. Is it because it is a 10 day stubble on a brown face, instead of a white one?

I will have an internal discussion over this later in my head. For now, I am not going to let a few (or a lot of) stinky apples spoil my dessert. The Pain au Chocolat beckons in the background...

She hangs her head and, cries on my shirt
She must be hurt very badly
Tell me what's making you sadly?
Open your door, don't hide in the dark
You're lost in the dark, you can trust me.
'Cause you know that's how it must be

Lisa Lisa, sad Lisa Lisa

Her eyes like windows, tricklin' rain
Upon her pain getting deeper
Though my love wants to relieve her
She walks alone from wall to wall
Lost in a hall, she can't hear me!
Though I know she likes to be near me

Lisa Lisa, sad Lisa Lisa

She sits in a corner, by the door
There must be more I can tell her
If she really wants me to help her
I'll do what I can to show her the way
And maybe one day I will free her
Though I know no one can see her

Lisa Lisa, sad Lisa Lisa...

Oh, the streets of Rome are filled with rubble,
Ancient footprints are everywhere
You can almost think that you’re seein’ double
On a cold, dark night on the Spanish Stairs
Gotta hurry on back to my hotel room,
Where I’ve got me a date with Botticelli’s niece
Yup she promised that she’d be right there with me
When I paint my masterpiece.

Oh, the hours I’ve spent inside the Coliseum,
Dodging lions and wastin’ time
Oh, those mighty kings of the jungle, I could hardly stand to see ’em,
Yes, it sure has been a long, hard climb
Train wheels runnin’ through the back of my memory,
While the daylight hours too increased
Someday, everything is gonna be smooth like a rhapsody
When I paint my masterpiece.

I left Rome and landed in Brussels,
With a picture of a tall oak tree by my side.
Clergymen in uniform and young girls pullin’ muscles,
Everyone was there and nobody tried to hide.
Newspapermen eating candy
Had to be held down by big police.
Someday, everything is gonna be different
When I paint my masterpiece.

A few days late, but here is a desperate attempt to document some of the beautiful things that I have seen in the last four days. I only hope that even several years later, these words will help me touch all those areas of my brain that have these images embossed and relive all the imagery each time.

Day 1:
Left India at 2 in the night. Don't really want to think of and write about anything that happened till I landed in Europe. So I landed at 6 in the morning. Checked out at 6.30, and with nothing to for 6 hours until my train to Paris, I decided to wander the streets. Alone, obviously. Its a very beautiful city. But not for its roads and shops and buildings and parks and the weather. To me it was a beautiful city because everyone was nice to me. People saw me wandering the streets at 7 in the morning and stopped to say hi. I hardly met anyone who knew English. They just came up to me, smiling, and started talking to me. When I said, 'No Deutsche...sorry...' almost all of them made really sweet attempts to talk to me in English. I was amused to find out, that some of them thought I looked Arabic. People told me I was in the wrong place if I wanted to see Europe. They said there was nothing in Frankfurt except the headquarters of all the major banks in the world. When I kept pestering them to tell me of some place I could visit as a tourist, one person reluctantly told me to go to the old part of city and look around it. Maybe I would find something interesting, he said. So I walked there, talking to strange people on the way, taking pictures of everything that came in my lens' way and utterly overwhelmed by how nice everyone was being to me. Whoever told me Frankfurt is like Mumbai where a first timer is dead meat is the dumbest person alive. The only similarity I could notice was that both cities thrived on the Financial business. Anyway...

So I went to the old part of town and I was floored. Easily the most amazing place I had seen ever. There were old churches, some sit out restaurants, cafes, bakeries and all kinds of quaint places. Most of them were opening up since it was still early in the morning, but that gave the whole landscape an even more old world charm. I sat on a bench for a while. Thought about everything. Felt sad, then alright. One man walked up to me and asked me if he could sit next to me. Even though there were several other empty benches around. I smiled and he sat down. He asked me where I was from and things like that. He too turned out to be a single traveler. But he was traveling on business. He had a flight to take sometime in the evening. Whenever he had to came to Frankfurt, he came down to that part of town at odd hours because everything there seems so nice then. I could only nod and smile. He then asked me if I would like my picture taken since I was alone and was only taking pictures of everything around me. So just like that, since he saw I had no one to take my picture, he offered. It was extremely touching. He took two pictures of me and I did of him too. He asked me if he could take a picture of me with his camera. I was kind of skeptic. But the next second I hated myself. That was exactly why I had come there for. To just be. So I let him take my picture, we said goodbye and he walked away.

I sat down on the old wooden bench for a while, just thinking of something. I noticed this beautiful young couple across the cobbled courtyard, reading a book together, holding each other. It was very sweet. Sometimes I feel eachother should be one word. I asked them for a picture and the girl happily climbed down from the bench to take my camera. When I told her that I wanted to take a picture of them, she suddenly cringed and became very reluctant. "Why us?" she asked. There was no way I was going to be able to explain that to her. "Well..." were the only words I managed. She asked her boyfriend and he too was somewhat reluctant. I decided to not pursue it and said sorry and began walking. Well...

I saw a very small old church and decided to look at it from inside. I opened the door and I was quite surprised to not find anyone there. It was completely empty. But fully 'working'. It was heated, there were candles burning, beautiful soft lights and chairs and everything. But no person. I waited there, sitting on a chair, and did nothing for 15 minutes. It was a very strange experience. Like there was a God there if you wanted to see it that way. But it was a very beautiful place either way.

At mid-day, I came out of there and walked back into the city, walking towards the train station. I saw a lot of very interesting things. It felt good to know that people liked me, or at the very least, weren't repulsed by me. And thats what I loved most about the place. I realized I loved people smiling at me. Some even made the effort to talk to me in a language they didn't know. It was very pleasant and it felt very good to be there. Add to it the fact that this was supposed to be a monster of a city with no heart, driven by commericalism.

If that was so, I couldn't wait to see what Paris would be like!