When your mother sends back all your invitations
And your father, to your sister he explains
That you're tired of yourself and all of your creations
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?

Now, when all of the flower ladies want back what they have lent you
And the smell of their roses does not remain
And all of your children start to resent you
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?

Now, when all the clowns that you have commissioned
Have died in battle or in vain
And you're sick of all this repetition
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?

When all of your advisers heave their plastic
At your feet to convince you of your pain
Trying to prove that your conclusions should be more drastic
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?

Now, when all of the bandits that you turned your other cheek to
Have laid down their bandannas and complained
And you want somebody you don't have to speak to
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Ah won't you come see me, Queen Jane?

Well the pressure's down, the boss ain't here
He gone North, for a while
They say that vanity got the best of him
But he sure left here in style
By the way, that's a cute hat
And that smile's so hard to resist
But what's a sweetheart like you doing in a dump like this?

You know, I once knew a woman who looked like you
She wanted a whole man, not just a half
She used to call me sweet daddy when I was only a child
You kind of remind me of her when you laugh
In order to deal in this game, got to make the queen disappear
It's done with a flick of the wrist
What's a sweetheart like you doing in a dump like this?

You know, a woman like you should be at home
That's where you belong
Taking care for somebody nice
Who don't know how to do you wrong
Just how much abuse will you be able to take?
Well, there's no way to tell by that first kiss
What's a sweetheart like you doing in a dump like this?

You know you can make a name for yourself
You can hear them tires squeal
You can be known as the most beautiful woman
Who ever crawled across cut glass, to make a deal.

You know, news of you has come down the line
Even before you came in the door
They say in your father's house, there's many mansions
Each one of them got a fireproof floor
Snap out of it baby, people are jealous of you
They smile to your face, but behind your back they hiss
What's a sweetheart like you doing in a dump like this?

They say that oppression is a cruel tutor
And injustice is a nurse
You put your hand in somebody's who's nose can't smell
But you put your confidence in him, and that's worse

Got to be an important person to be in here, honey
Got to have done some evil deed
Got to have your own harem, when you come in the door
Got to play your harp until your lips bleed.
They say that patriotism is the last refuge
To which a scoundrel clings
Steal a little and they throw you in jail
Steal a lot and they make you king
There's only one step down from here, baby
It's called the land of permanent bliss
What's a sweetheart like you doing in a dump like this?

Iss mod se jaate hain
Kuchh sust-kadam raste,
Kuchh tez-kadam raahein...

Patthar ki haveli ko,
Sheeshe ke gharondon mein,
Tinko ke nasheman tak,
Iss mod se jaate hain...

Aandhi ki tarah udd kar,
Ek raah guzarti hain;
Sharmaati hui koi,
Kadamonse utarti hain

Inn reshmi raahon mein,
Ek raah to woh hogi...
Tum tak jo pahunchti hain,
Iss mod se jaati hain

Ek door se aati hain,
Paas aake palatati hain;
Ek raah akeli si,
Rukti hain na chalti hain...

Yeh soch ke baithi hoon,
Ek raah to woh hogi...
Tum tak jo pahunchti hain,
Iss mod se jaati hain

Iss mod se jaate hain,
Kuchh sust-kadam raste,
Kuchh tez-kadam raahein...

Patthar ki haveli ko,
Sheeshe ke gharondon mein,
Tinko ke nasheman tak,
Iss mod se jaate hain...

I'm searching for phrases
To sing your praises
I need to tell someone
It's soon after midnight
And my day has just begun

A gal named Honey
Took my money
She was passing by
It's soon after midnight
And the moon is in my eye

My heart is cheerful
It's never fearful
I've been down on the killing floors
I'm in no great hurry
I'm not afraid of your fury
I've faced stronger walls than yours

Charlotte's a harlot
Dresses in scarlet
Mary dresses in green
It's soon after midnight
And I've got a date with the fairy queen

They chirp and they chatter
What does it matter?
They'll lie and they'll die in their blood
Two timing slim
Who's ever heard of him?
I'll drag his corpse through the mud

It's now or never
More than ever
When I met you, I didn't think you would do
It's soon after midnight
And I don't want nobody but you

I don't want to cheapen the emotion by putting up some dreary superlatives and then describing how they fall short. I don't want to say something just because if I don't, it means I have nothing to say. I very much do. More valuable than all those reams of claptrap that have been spewed over the last 2 weeks…and those that are on their way to achieve new levels of meaninglessness in another 3 weeks' time. So in the middle of this relative lull, while dictionaries are being devoured by those who can write, in a quest to discover an adjective not used to death over the last 25 years, I will say what I must.

It sucks. For me. The fact that Sachin is officially walking away, well and truly does suck for me. I don't want to restate clichés about being from the generation that didn't have any other relevant heroes. I could not care less for that generation. However, as a kid, like a million other kids perhaps, I had built up my own subconscious mechanism of choosing the 'right' way when faced with any situation: 'What would Sachin do?' It may have been stupid. It may have been a way to externalize a 'nice guy' persona and project it on someone who was universally acknowledged as one. Whatever. But it still helped me never do anything that made it difficult to live with myself…for all my colossal teenaged dilemmas. It helped me rely solely on what I had and not turn to anyone for favors. It helped me not copy in exams. It helped me not jump red lights. It helped me never cheat. It helped me not be a douche generally. I can almost say I try and do things that way, to this day.

I wonder if I'd have been a different person, had I not grown up watching the nice guy win. Now, I don't really know if Sachin is a 'nice guy' or if he would do things a certain way off the field. So assumptions aside…what Sachin did do for sure was point out that the elusive middle path exists. In a society that either turns reflexively towards irrelevant extremes like the Gandhian way, or resigns and caves hopelessly when faced with a challenge too big to handle, Sachin carved his groove on that thin line. You need to give as good as you get, he said…but you also need to do it with poise. If you care enough to fight hard but fair, egos break easier than bones. And they don't fuck around with you after that. You simply stand up and do what you know you can. And while everybody already knew this as 'that virtue you find solace in after you lose', Sachin showed you can actually win that way.

He did all this for me. He did much more too. To this day, my blood boils when I see hypocritical scum that stands for everything Sachin does not, associate itself with him to nosh off of him. All those bottom feeders who have ever stood next to him in a picture or who have ever said they were his fans and how he is a great role model, make me want to grab a gun. And yet, in a lot of ways, Sachin has shown how you can coexist with shit without having absolutely anything to do with it. I can now smile, the same smile Sachin smiles, when I come across any of the countless douchebag poseurs I unfortunately have in my own life. Everyday, in a lot of ways, the most relevant question still remains 'What would Sachin do?'

I hate smudging my focus here, but it really makes me shudder at how much more awful things are going to be. When kids grow up believing you should do whatever it takes to get what you want. When ends are valued more than means, since that angle works better for just about everyone. I shudder at how awful things are going to be cuz there sure as hell won't be any Sachin to root for the right thing tomorrow. Not a winner anyway. And unless someone really steps up, we're all set to create a world that would one day have you believe 'Sachin has become an irrelevant idea' and 'he wouldn't last a day in today's world'.

My first reaction to finding out he's walking away was 'why can't he just stop playing…why does he have to walk away?' It wasn't like he was playing a great deal of cricket anyway. Couldn't he just hang around for another, I dunno, 15 years and just not play? Why does he have to announce that he won't be around! I hate using the term 'retirement' with Sachin…cuz everyone else retires…Sachin must surely do better. In time, this denial will give way to some useless wisdom and I'll make my peace with a world that just turned a darker shade of crappy. Nothing surprising there…but while Sachin has chosen to walk away, it is perhaps time for me to process what happened exactly…because whatever happened, for the first time in 25 years, my question seems to have returned a 'He'd say he's had enough'.

Well I got a couple more years on you babe
And that's all
I've had more chances to fly
And more places to fall
Ain't that I am wiser,
I've just spent more time
With my back to the wall
And I picked up a couple more years on you babe
But that's all

Well I have been down more roads than you babe
And that's all
And I am tired of running
When you're only learning to crawl
You're heading somewhere
But I've been that somewhere
Found out, it's nowhere at all
And I picked up a couple more years on you babe
But that's all

These words were unfinished since you were born babe,
And that's all
So I thought I'd play out of my league
And put on some gall
I've lived more winters to know
How scathing the winds blow
While you still forget to carry a shawl
And I picked up a couple more years on you babe
But that's all

If there is anything I hate, it is this awareness. This consciousness of how thoughts—perfectly pure, fluid, succinct, and coherent in my head—freeze up into a confused flux somewhere along their way to my voice box, the awareness of syllables clogging up at my throat. My tongue gets heavy and it is much less painful to just disconnect that mess from my brain and let it float unuttered in a nameless, placeless ocean; islands let adrift. Unfortunately, I am fast running out of ocean...

I want to say thousands of things to you. Beyond what I do. God only knows where I am even going to find the ether to say them, given that I am wont to filling up all the static that is ever to be found between us. It is a shame that more important, real things end up being compromised. There has never been a suitable moment to say how much that smile means to me. Or to explain why your eyes look so blue. My chest tightens when I wonder how I am ever going to express my adoration for all things innocent, loveable, simple, and clean. You think I have no fears. I want to tell you that when fears turn real, they become something else. Something more scary, something less worrisome. But there is never a right moment to say all this.

In a world where cities devour people and imitation love is celebrated, you managed to slice your way through. And my plight is that I can't even say what it means to me. You say I am your pillar, your grounding stone. Some day, when I find words good enough, I am going to tell you the difference between a pillar and a scaffold.

Kisses turn to poison and engines sputter to a halt, babe. And while tonight you don't look any more hurtful than a fawn, I am still going to pray. I am too old to tell you I will make everything alright; but I am also young enough to tell you there is nothing I won't do for you. While you can put me down for any number of things, you can't fault where my heart's at. With any luck, from my side, I will end up never hurting you.

So on this all-too-familiar day, when my words won't yield, my diction has gone into hiding, and even my finger tips are almost refusing to oblige, all I can do is close my eyes and believe there will be a right moment, on a better day. And when I come up with the words, maybe you'll still have good use for them…

The evening was revving up alright
Nothing that belonged in the shadows was out
The music did a good job drowning whispers
And there was nobody who cared enough to shout
But in the corner the clock wound down so slow,
As reality leaked into the dream
Only one way this would play out now,
And words couldn't describe that scheme
Although a picture came to mind, I suppose…
That of a zipper that just wouldn't close

People, they all had something to celebrate
Some could've easily been wearing fur
Some I saw come with gifts,
Me, I just came with a disclaimer
I know I’m saying it right,
So don’t you wonder why I paused
No offense was ever meant, of course
But heaps of it was caused,
In fact, it was quite a heavy dose,
Like a zip that just won't close

We've measured distance in lifetimes,
Now we’ll just count it in miles
Don’t fret needlessly baby,
Life is rarely worth it’s while
First throw a rug over it
Then weep while it rots
I’m just gonna do what I should've all along…
Act on the first echo of my thoughts
And not be an obsessed old tailor who sews
Trying to fix a zip that doesn't close

The ticket girl’s gonna ask with a smile
“When would you like to pay the price?
It sure looks steep right now, doesn't it?
But be warned, any later, you’ll be paying twice”
As the planes take off beyond the wall
Now they don’t look up to code
Is that why it feels young lady,
Like your head is gonna explode?
Your shoes too are splitting at your toes,
Looking like that zip that just won’t close

Thursday when you are ready to board
Announcements all around
Once you've checked in, you gotta walk on
No help onwards to be found
The whispers in your head will get louder tomorrow
Tonight, go ahead, wrestle the gavel
Now this ain't nothing, but common sense
That it’s never a good idea to travel
With so much baggage that it shows
Through a zip that just won’t close

“Choose very wisely”, your game-host said
“Here’s a couple of stones”
“One of them’s precious, as precious can be
Something only a princess owns”
You picked one up without much thought
And now it’s just gathering moss
You bought high, you’re selling low
Face it, you’re booking a loss
And don’t you forget them inevitable throes
That come with a zip that doesn't close

The weather has long changed now
Even that shrug has turned a hopeless sigh
I swear the closest thing to the truth
I could tell you was a lie
That corner of sunshine has shrunk a lot
The moon too has bailed on its rise
The risk you run with your head in the clouds
Is that they often condense in your eyes
I’d imagine a fate like that sure blows
Like a zip that does not close

You wouldn’t know what I am talking about, because only I could see those intermittent flashes of light bouncing off of your face. More like peeling off. Peeling off like they didn’t want to leave. Every moment that a beam lingered on your face for seemed to brush a tiny bit of weariness away. The effort you were putting in to sing in key was intense…but woefully inadequate. I’ve heard very few people sing as badly. Of course, I would never break that to you. I would on another day, but not that one. Innocence has a tune but it sounds out of key, I realized. So I let you be. We laughed at a silly thing. Different laughs—yours that sounded like a question; mine that sounded like it didn’t have an answer.

 

On a journey that couldn’t have gone on long enough, the best I could do was pray that there wouldn’t be a fork in the road.

Denise, Denise,
Gal, what's on your mind?
Denise, Denise,
Gal, what's on your mind?
You've got your eyes closed, babe
But heaven knows that you ain't blind.

Well, I can see you smiling,
But oh your mouth is inside out.
I can see you smiling,
But you're smiling inside out.
Well, I know you're laughin'
But what are you laughin' about?

Well, if you're tryin' to throw me,
Babe, I've already been tossed.
If you're tryin' to throw me,
Babe, I've already been tossed.
You're tryin' to lose me
But babe, I'm already lost.

Well, what are you doing,
Are you flying or have you flipped?
Oh, what are you doing,
Are you flying or have you flipped?
Well, you call my name
And then you say your tongue just slipped.

Denise, Denise,
Are you for sale, or just on the shelf?
Denise, Denise,
Are you for sale, or just on the shelf?
I looked deep in your eyes, babe,
And all I could see was myself.

Up over the head-high wall
There were crackles of laugh and lie
So looks like I'm back
With nothing much to say
Although I'm always up for another try

Balance is an illusion
I've given up pretending to stand
It's been sixty four weeks,
Since I yearned for your lips
And since you thoughtlessly shook my hand

Next time someone's drowning in a lake,
Try throwing out a rope 'stead of an anchor
Who knows, this time, next life, baby
You could be cash and I could be a banker

Can you tell the difference between a hug that's tight
And a strangle that they deal very faint?
Remember what I said
After I understood what I read
When you were busy fighting your demons with nail paint

Don't know what rules games are played by
Not sure if it's ever tit for tat
Same time, next life, baby
I just hope the opposite of this won't be that

We played the convincing game one time
I said "For you, I promise to jump and kiss the sky"
"Promise?" She asked me right back
In a way that threw me off-track
"Isn't that just another name for a lie?"

Now I'm known to do everything silly
Though gun to my head, I'll rather dance than sing
Maybe this time, next life, baby
We won't even owe each other anything

Now dead horses, they won't be your pet
Same reason, a soiled rag can't be clean
And slayers sometimes ride a crutch
These situations are a deceptive bunch
You know even an orange is sometimes green

Now time is just not playing out right,
Both our worlds have gone wrong too
But this time, next life, baby
You see what you can do...

Seen a shooting star tonight,
And I thought of you
You were trying to break into another world,
A world I never knew
I always kind of wondered,
If you ever made it through
Seen a shooting star tonight,
And I thought of you.

Seen a shooting star tonight,
And I thought of me
If I am still the same, or I ever became,
What you wanted me to be
Did I miss the mark,
Or overstep the line that only you could see
Seen a shooting star tonight,
And I thought of me.

Listen to the engine, listen to the bell
As the last fire truck, from hell
Goes rolling by, all good people are praying
It's the last temptation, the last account
Last time you'll hear the, sermon on the mount
Last radio is playing...

Seen a shooting star tonight,
Slip away
Tomorrow will be,
Another day
Guess it's too late to say the things to you,
That you needed to hear me say
Seen a shooting star tonight,
Slip away.

Tell me,
Tell me, I've got to know.
Tell me,
Tell me, before I go.
Does that flame still burn?
Does that fire still glow?
Or has it died away
And melted like the snow?
Tell me.
Tell me.

Tell me,
What are you focused upon?
Tell me,
What I'll know better after you're gone.
Tell me quick
With a glance or a sigh
Shall I hold you close?
Or let you go by?
Tell me.
Tell me.

Is that the heat and the beat
Of your pulse that I feel?
If it's not that,
What is it you're trying to conceal?
Do you have any secrets
That will only come out in time?
Do you lie in your bed
And stare at the stars?
Is your main friend an old known
Acquaintance of ours?
Tell me.
Tell me.

Tell me,
Are those rock and roll dreams in your eyes?
Tell me,
Behind what door your treasure lies.
Ever gone broke in a big way?
Ever done the opposite of what the experts say?
Tell me.
Tell me.

Is this some kind of game
That you're playin' with my heart?
How deep must I go,
Where do I start?
Do you have any morals?
Do you have any point of view?
Is that a smile
I see on your face?
Will it lead me to glory
Or lead me to disgrace?
Tell me.
Tell me.

Tell me
Is that my name in your book?
Tell me
Should I come back and take another look?
Tell me the truth,
Don't you tell me no lies.
Are you anyone, someone
Prays for or cries?
Tell me.
Tell me.

"All you have left are moments, fragments of images swimming in and out of focus: delicate fingers gliding along the piano, wrapping around a cup of steaming tea, pulling back a strand of unruly hair. The sharp ring of wind chimes distracts you momentarily and you look up, straining to feel the breeze. A pitter-patter announces the dog’s clumsy arrival; that dog, the one she called about in the middle of night, the one she cried over, the one she still misses. A thousand walks blur into one and you feel her fingers slide between yours. You squeeze reflexively, but her hand slips away. You remember a line from Junot Díaz: “It’s never the changes we want that change everything.”"

Everything went from bad to worse,
Money never changed a thing,
Death kept following, tracking us down,
At least I heard your bluebird sing.
Now somebody's got to show their hand,
Time is an enemy,
I know you're long gone,
I guess it must be up to me.

If I'd thought about it, I never would've done it,
I guess I would've let it slide,
If I'd have paid attention, to what others were thinkin',
The heart inside me would've died.
I was just too stubborn, to ever be governed
By enforced insanity,
Someone had to reach for the rising star,
I guess it was up to me.

Oh, the Union Central is pullin' out
The orchids are in bloom,
I've only got me one good shirt left
And it smells of stale perfume.
In fourteen months I've only smiled once
And I didn't do it consciously,
Somebody had to find your trail,
I guessed it was up to me.

It was like a revelation
When you betrayed me with your touch,
I'd just about convinced myself
That nothin' had changed that much.
The all rounder in the iron mask
Slipped me the master key,
Somebody had to unlock your heart,
He said it was up to me.

Well, I watched you slowly disappear
Down into the officers' club,
I would've followed you in the door
But I didn't have a ticket stub.
So I waited all night 'til the break of day,
Hopin' one of us could get free,
When the dawn came over the river bridge,
I knew it was up to me.

Oh, the only decent thing I did
When I worked as a postal clerk
Was to haul your picture down off the wall
Near the cage where I used to work.
Was I a fool or not
To protect your real identity?
You looked a little burned out, my friend,
I thought it might be up to me.

Well, I met somebody face to face
I had to remove my hat,
She's everything I need and love
But I can't be swayed by that.
It frightens me, the awful truth
Of how sweet life can be,
But she ain't a-gonna make me move,
I guess it was gonna be up to me.

We both heard the sermon on the mount
And I knew it was too complex,
It didn't amount to anything more
Than what the broken glass reflects.
When you bite off more than you can chew
You gotta pay the penalty,
Somebody's got to tell the tale,
I guess it must be up to me.

Well, Dupree came in pimpin' tonight
To the Thunderbird Cafe,
Crystal wanted to talk to him,
I had to look the other way.
Well, I just can't rest without you, love,
I need your company,
But you weren't a-gonna cross the line,
I guessed it was up to me.

There's a note left in the bottle,
You can give it to Estelle,
She's the one you been wond'rin' about,
But there's really nothin' much to tell.
We both heard voices for a while,
Now the rest is history,
Somebody's got to cry some tears,
I guess it must be up to me.

So go on, boys, and play your hands,
Life is a pantomime,
The ringleaders from the county seat
Say you don't have all that much time.
And the girl with me behind the shades,
She ain't my property,
One of us has got to hit the road,
I guess it must be up to me.

And if we never meet again,
Baby, remember me,
How my lone guitar played sweet for you
That old-time melody.
And the harmonica around my neck,
I blew it for you, free,
No one else could play that tune,
You knew it was up to me.

I had a lot of chores to take care of
I made a list of people to meet
A shopkeeper, a professor, bus conductor,
A journalist, a weatherman, and a priest
Between all of them, I’d find the answer
To why some people fill gaps with giggles
And thus began the day
When my soul got smashed to pickles

I’ve always loved hearing from the horse’s mouth
So I got my news straight from the journo
“If you step back and quit bugging me”, he said
“I’ll tell you everything I know
A whistle blew so shrill today
It made me think of you my dear,
Nothing profound, but the news I’ve got
Is just what you’re afraid to hear”

With my palms sweating I scrammed away
Had a store to go to, to return a gift
I looked the shopkeeper in the eye and said
“Oh how easily we shift!”
“What I offered wasn’t spotless baby”
He reasoned, “It was a slightly off-key tune
But it wasn’t impure like promise babe,
It was sweetly mottled like the moon”

Shaking my head, I walked away
Thought some science would do me good
So I walked up to a professor and said
“I hope that telescope ain’t made of wood”
He laughed, “Look, there’s something in the sky
Don't come here you can see it from there
It’s burning like everything you ever said
That’s still hanging in the air”

By now I was depressed with everything around
The weather forecast was my only hope
I seeked the weatherman out and cried
“Please throw me your longest rope”
“I’d love to but I can’t in this weather
Tonights gonna be mad, rumbling skies
Incantations will flood one side of the road,
On the other, moondrops will drip from some eyes.”

Right then the answer dawned on me
Maybe the earth would heal my scars
But the priest hinted, “Even gravity takes sides
It's biased towards falling stars
Deliverance is cool, but it makes you weak
People failing you makes you harden
Look at that artsy gal out there
Who was failed at art in kindergarten”

With no cheer, I began walking toward a bus
But it just kept moving away
Furious as coal, I cursed the conductor
“What the hell did you just say?”
“Oh, if I ever said "Leave", I musta meant "Stay"
But now I have no new words
Put a necktie on that scarecrow all you want,
It's no damn difference to the birds”

Bahot door mujhe chale jaana hai
Bahot nazdeek mujhe aana hai
Teri baahon mein mujhe
Aaj mar jaana hai
Kissi ko iss jagah pe nahin aana hai
Kissi ko iss jagah se nahin jaana hai
Teri baahon mein mujhe
Aaj mar jaana hai

Jaane mile ya na mile
Phir aesi tanhaayi
Dil ki lagi le ne lagi
Seene mein angdaayi
Mujhko chhupa le
Dil mein basaa le
Dekh bura
Yeh zamana hai
Kissi ko iss jagah pe nahin aana hai
Kissi ko iss jagah se nahin jaana hai
Teri baahon mein mujhe
Aaj mar jaana hai

Kya zindagi kat jaayegi
Bas teri yaadon mein
Yeh raat bhi dhal jaayegi
Kya yoon hi waadon mein
Armaan nikle
Ya jaan nikle
Pyaar mera
Deewana hai
Kissi ko iss jagah pe nahin aana hai
Kissi ko iss jagah se nahin jaana hai
Teri baahon mein mujhe
Aaj mar jaana hai

Mere badan mein oh sajan
Jaagi ek chingaari
Toot jaayegi jal jaayegi
Iss mein duniya saari
Iss ko bujha de
Shola banaa de
Kehta yeh
Parwana hai
Bahot door mujhe chale jaana hai
Bahot nazdeek mujhe aana hai
Teri baahon mein mujhe
Aaj mar jaana hai

Bahot door mujhe chale jaana hai
Bahot nazdeek mujhe aana hai
Teri baahon mein mujhe
Aaj mar jaana hai

The air had gotten noticeably thicker. So thick that his words were not being able to make it through. He couldn't even see through it. It felt like being stuck in an awful dream where situations seem real but details are bizarre. His mind was spewing thoughts in a frenzy but his diction wasn't being able to keep pace. Thoughts lined up at the base of his tongue, waiting to be articulated. They kept piling up into a lump in his throat, choking him. Soon, they fused into one glob of gibberish that dribbled out of his mouth in a continuous stream of goo. All of them fluxed together. The truth, the sadness, the tragedy, the laughs, the tears, the memories, the dreams, the imagination...all of it commingled shabbily into one slimy ball. He wanted to scream them all out at the same time. Some thoughts that couldn't make it out even through the goo, made their way out of his eyes.

The heavy air and the clouds inside his eyes made it more difficult for him to see. He felt each of his senses waning more and more. Dying away. Had he been able to force himself on the situation and get it all together in that moment, it would have been a different world from there. But this was perfect too...perfect in the context of this world he was living in, where nothing was right. Everything about the moment was going so wrong that it couldn't have belonged to a different world.

"Well, I don't know" he simply said. And blinked furiously so he could clear the water from his eyes and watch out for that ditch in the tarmac.

Clementine: This is it, Joel. It's going to be gone soon.
Joel: I know.
Clementine: What do we do?
Joel: Enjoy it.

She:
Oh, I'm sailin' away, my own true love
I'm sailin' away in the morning
Is there something I can send you, from across the sea
From the place that I'll be landing?

He:
No, there's nothing you can send me my own true love
There's nothing I'm wishin' to be ownin'
Just a-carry yourself back to me unspoiled
From across that lonesome ocean.

She:
Ah, but I just thought, you might want something fine
Made of silver or of golden
Either from the mountains of Madrid
Or the coast of Barcelone

He:
Oh but if I had the stars of the darkest night
And the diamonds from the deepest ocean,
I'd forsake them all, for your sweet kiss,
For that's all I'm wishin' to be ownin'

She:
But I might be gone a long old time,
And it's only that I'm askin'
Is there something I can send you, to remember me by,
To make your time more easy passin'?

He:
Oh how can, how can, you ask me again?
You know it only brings me sorrow.
The same thing I would want today
I would want again tomorrow.

Oh I got a letter on a lonesome day.
It was from her ship, its sailin'
Sayin' "I don't know when I'll be comin' back again.
It depends on how I'm feelin'"

If you, my love, must think that a'way
I'm sure your mind, it is roaming
I'm sure your thoughts are not with me
But with the country to where you're going

So take heed, take heed, of the western winds
Take heed of the stormy weather
And yes, there's something you can send back to me,
Spanish boots of,
Spanish leather

Working all day for a mean little man
With a clip-on tie and a rub-on tan
He's got me running 'round the office like a dog around a track
But when I get back home,
You're always there to rub my back

Hey Julie,
Look what they're doing to me
Trying to trip me up
Trying to wear me down
Julie, I swear, it's so hard to bear it
And I'd never make it through without you around

Hours on the phone making pointless calls
I got a desk full of papers that means nothing at all
Sometimes I catch myself staring into space
Counting down the hours 'til I get to see your face

Hey Julie,
Look what they're doing to me
Trying to trip me up
Trying to wear me down
Julie, I swear, it's so hard to bear it
And I'd never make it through without you around
No, I'd never make it through without you around

How did it come to be
That you and I must be
Far away from each other every day?
Why must I spend my time
Filling up my mind
With facts and figures that never add up anyway?
They never add up anyway

Working all day for a mean little guy
With a bad toupee and a soup-stained tie
He's got me running 'round the office
Like a gerbil on a wheel
He can tell me what to do
But he can't tell me what to feel

Hey Julie,
Look what they're doing to me
Trying to trip me up
Trying to wear me down
Julie, I swear, it's so hard to bear it
And I'd never make it through with out you around
No, I'd never make it through without you around
No, I'd never make it through without you around

Wednesdays are different from Thursdays. But some Wednesdays and Thursdays are more different. In a lot of ways, things have changed. In a lot of ways they haven’t. Some, probably never will.

This Wednesday wore the same colors as that Thursday. Yet it was a thousand times darker. The sky leaked at about the same time this morning too. But today, the wind bit in with a lot more spite. The wind, and a thousand other things with it. I looked into the mirror in the morning, as I did then. And I still liked and hated the same things. Just some more and some less. Some about myself, some about others. The world still radiated forth an idea that it was slowing down and would soon stop spinning, so I might be able to make some sense. But it has kept on keeping on through all these years. Back then, they wouldn’t pay me enough to work. Today they couldn’t pay me enough to care. The smell and the feeling of today was all too familiar. And not just in a good way.

I was stupid then. I don’t know about now. Then, I thought actions spoke louder than words. But now I think doing is overrated. You never have to do if you can say the right words. Unfortunately, words and I never got along. My parents never taught me to not talk to strangers. Now, after several lessons from non-convalescence, I learned that strangers have a way of making you smile, then feeding off your soul, and leaving you depleted. I know better than to make others' problems my own. That's why I wore fresh lavender then. And that's why I'd rather wear gray now.

This is a lot less closer to my dream. Maybe because reality is just another word for imperfection and wrongness. Or maybe because 5 years on, this is a Wednesday and that was a Thursday.

Down the street, the dogs are barking
And the day is getting dark.
As the night comes in a-fallin'
The dogs, will lose their bark.
And the silent night will shatter
From the sounds inside my mind
And I'm one too many mornings
And a thousand miles behind.

From the crossroads of the doorstep,
My eyes start to fade.
And I turn my head back to the room
Where my love and I have laid.
And I gaze back to the street,
The sidewalk, and the sign
And you're one too many mornings
And a thousand miles behind.

It's a restless, hungry feeling
That don't mean no one no good.
When everything I'm saying,
You can say just as good.
You are right from your side,
And I am right from mine.
We're both just one too many mornings
And a thousand miles behind.

The air is getting hotter
There's a rumbling in the skies
I've been wading through the high muddy water
With the heat rising in my eyes
Everyday your memory grows dimmer
It shouldn’t haunt me like it did before
I've been walking through the middle of nowhere
Trying to get to Heaven before they close the door

When I was in Missouri
They would not let me be
I had to leave there in a hurry
I only saw what they let me see
You broke a heart that loved you
Now you can seal up the book and not write anymore
I’ve been walking that lonesome valley
Trying to get to Heaven before they close the door

People on the platforms
Waiting for the trains
I can hear their hearts a-beatin'
Like pendulums swinging on chains
When you think that you've lost everything
You find out you can always lose a little more
I'm just going down the road feeling bad
Trying to get to Heaven before they close the door

I'm going down the river
Down to New Orleans
They tell me everything is gonna be all right
But I don't know what all right even means
I was riding in a buggy with Miss Mary Jane
Miss Mary Jane got a house in Baltimore
I've been all around the world, boys
Now I'm trying to get to Heaven before they close the door

Gonna sleep down in the parlor
And relive my dreams
I'll close my eyes and I wonder
If everything is as hollow as it seems
Some trains don't pull no gamblers
No midnight ramblers like they did before
I've been to Sugar Town, I shook the sugar down
Now I'm trying to get to Heaven before they close the door

DISGUST ALERT. Graphic details of something that should probably never be discussed appear below.

Here’s a list of reasons why I am better than about 99% of the men in office (and probably in the universe in general), if we were to judge them on their real selves that they let loose in the mens room several times each day. Yup, the culprits of the following (should-be) crimes cover 99 out of 100 men around me. No exaggeration. I have been trying to be as lenient as possible hoping I can somehow find at least some guys who don’t flounder on any of the items in the list. Yet, instead of finding more guys, I only find more items to add to this list!

Spitters, hocklers, snorters, etc. They discharge stuff from their mouths (spit, phlegm, bits of food stuck in their teeth, etc.), into the urinal, before they begin to actually pee in it. It is just too disgusting, to everyone around. Is that a balancing act or something? Like every time they go to discharge something from their dicks, they need to balance it with something from their mouths too? I wonder if these people also pee in the wash basin when they go to brush their teeth?

The Jerkers. After the deed is done or when it is nearly complete, they tend to hold their dicks, and jerk violently. Their whole body shakes! Right from their back, the shoulder, the whole arm, elbow, forearm, wrist, fist (presumably), and fingers. What is wrong, people? I don’t quite believe your pee is so thick and viscous, that you need to shake it off like that. How about a doctor?

The Perfectionists. They believe in clearing out any potential obstacle posed by their paraphernalia, to have an unfettered leak. The belt, buttons, hooks, the trousers themselves, and hitherto tucked in shirt…they all come off. It’s like these people were late to the demo that the guy who invented zippers was delivering.

The Ocean Sounders. People who ignore acoustics and don’t bother making an effort to avoid the inordinately loud, disgusting, gushing sound. I can understand if this happens with women. But shouldn’t men exercise some navigation, given our anatomies? Just maneuver it a bit to find that angle of incidence of the stream on the urinal walls so that you don't give us the illusion of a waterfall. Sometimes, it is so loud, I can imagine the froth and what not!

The Peer Reviewers. Let’s assume a loo has 4 urinals on the wall, one next to the other. I go in, see all of them empty. So I go to the absolute last one. A guy comes in next, looks around. Now there are 3 terminals available to him. He can choose any one of them. But he chooses the one immediately next to mine! WTF dude? Keep some distance. If we were at the movies and the hall were almost empty when I came in, should I come up right next to you and occupy the seat adjacent to where you are sitting? Or should I try and sit as far away from you as possible? There is a lesson there!

The Hobnobs. Social butterflies who engage you in idle chit chat while they are midstream. It could be anything. Casual social enquiries, gossip, general cribbing etc. Now I don’t know why I have a problem with this, but I think I deserve to be understood. If I don’t respond, completely ignore, or sometimes even appear disgusted with you, I shouldn’t be judged. Cuz what you are doing is NOT NORMAL. And honestly, I don’t think we are that busy, ever. If it is something you need to discuss, put your dick back in and we can discuss it like civilized people. If it is not that important, we shouldn’t discuss it ever!

The Stargazers. These folks actually mind their own business. And quite seriously at that. From the time it comes out, to the moment it goes back in, they just put their heads down and focus. They admire their assets. Sometimes, even fantasize perhaps. I dunno. What is to observe? I really don’t know. But it is very weird to see a person you know stare at their penis so fondly a few inches away from you.

The Fake Washers. Note: I can see how some people think it is ok to not wash their hands sometimes. I don’t approve, at all, however. But the people in this category are slightly different. They use one hand to hold it. But they wash the other! Unknowingly! That’s cuz they are washing their hands for society’s sake. While I respect the effort, you need to do a better job. People like me, while very few, notice. And classify you. This category also includes those who wait in line at the wash basin, and spend those few seconds brushing their hair with said hand. What’s the point after that, I ask. Unless you also take a shower right there. And some of them offer a handshake with the same hand when they see you in there. Thankewwverymuch I say.

The Escapists. I swear I have seen people take strolls in our loos. People walk in, undo their zippers, and wait. That’s right! They wait. There is a complete absence of activity for several seconds, almost minutes, you’d think, before you hear an apology for a stream. You couldn’t have acted on that call man! Come on! What are you running from? The boss? The work? Someone else? You know what, next time you take a leak to unwind from your mad mad world, think about how privileged you are. There are men in Africa who don’t get even one good pee a day. Ok, the Africa guilt trip doesn’t exactly apply here. But I’m sure there are people out there who want to pee at that very moment, but can’t for whatever reason. Think about them.

The Nonflushers. I think these folks have a superiority complex. They feel their pee is better and cleaner than ours. And they don't need to flush it like the rest of us. I'm sure these arrogant men were the reason the auto-janitor had to be invented. Bonus asshole points if you are a spitter and a non flusher! And I'm not kidding, there are tonnes of them out there.

The Half Squatters. This is probably way too common to still be weird you’d think. But I fail to get it. People walk into the loo, face the urinal, undo their zippers, and before they whip it out, they do a quick half squat! Like they are enabling it to jump over some hurdle or something. In all my years, I have never ever felt the need to do this. The longest known penis in the world is 14 inches. And I have visualized it. Even that gentleman probably doesn’t have to adjust himself for this most natural of ablutions. So why do so many people do it? Do they maintain their penises in the wrong positions or what? Or are they wearing a metal cup or something, just in case someone kicks them in nuts for being superjerks in other walks of life too? Hmmm…

The Gum Spitters. These people should be in cages. Period. I could have included them in the generic spitters category above. But they are too audacious to fall there. They know that gum doesn’t dissolve or get flushed through the 6 small round holes. Yet they spit it in there. And then it gets clogged. And some poor soul has to get his day ruined by fixing it. Just arrrggghhhh!

Now, I can proudly say, that I don’t fall in ANY of these categories. While that is not saying much, considering how base some of these are, that does qualify me in the top one percent of men around me. Seriously, the amount of feel good it brings is something to experience.

Now this list has gotten long enough. So I am going to drop some really gross categories related to pubes and such (see? that’s how lenient I am). But suffice to know that there are even more categories out there! As an optimist, I hope this list shortens in the future, or at least doesn't grow longer than it already is. But I know humanity has a way of surprising and disappointing me consistently. So I just hope I am never in a mood to update this again.

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.