Breaks and Reminders

Cannot stop reminding myself how stupid I am. I accept, okay ?! That seems to settle it. Now, I can breathe free and write what I want to.
There are a lot of stops. Drinks breaks, unwarranted breaks, unreasonable ones and so on. Well, infact, the only thing there is, are breaks. The only thought that I keep reminding myself I have is ' I want to break free ' . Ofcourse, I have no idea what it is that I want to get away from. Given the oppurtunity, I think it would be myself.
I hope I could 'stand-by' and get up after this academic year ends. Well, its not as if I am not trying but mother keeps waking me up.
Now, there is this chemistry ma'm I am answerable to for not attending (the classes) for the past one month. I try to convince myself that I dont have to give any excuse because I am beyond her jurisdiction. They say there is something called social etiquettes. A thing quite hard to conceive.
Then there is this maths sir whose classes I have been not attending for, well, the past one month too. And to him, I am not answerable coz even he doesn't know it. But there is this lingering fear that he would catch me by the scruff of the neck oneday. Whoof......
And here I am sitting. Can't stop from putting on a smile, in hindsight. Uthaale ya phenk de, le le ya chod de
Then there is this small business of a career which everybody reminds me of.

There is this frustration of hurting the near and dear ones. The guilt that refuses to go away. I retort, to no avail. I refuse to accept, with the same result. I do nothing but make a big fuss about it and confess to the person I like confessing to, yet without any use. I dream of being a footballer just so that I could get away from this. I crave for a company that I get. So now I crave for anything that I could genuinely feel hard done by. I dream of being a successful writer, so that I can do the thing I like the most, which is, nothing. For that, I have to move men's hearts. Why can't you bloddy assholes read all that I am writing and be in awe of it and give me a job offer. Preferably, 30k per month salary.
Rot, rot, rot. Pester, pester, pester I don't know what more to say. Drifting off from truth, masking everything by revealing the mask. Suffocating purely because of no reason. Just suffocating because I claim myself to be suffocating. Accusing myself of being a dufus, an illiterate, someone who only sleeps, eats, and the other primal things. The only thing that I like is to be entertained. Is it much ? Can't sustenance and entertainment go hand in hand. I know its my outlook thats causing every trouble.

Well, Give me a break. A smile and shake of the head

Musings of a Ringworm Infected Underwear.

Inflated , Deflated.
Elated , Depressed.
Irritated , satisfied.
Boiled , spiralled out.
What more ? What next ?

Fast-paced / Flash-backward

Someone interrupts the confessions. Caught unawares, subject says she was speaking to an alarm. The alarming inability of the subject to lie straight-faced baffles me. The consequences lie in wait.

Now, I am jumping down aisles. James Bond has stepped on the gas. Quite unlike him, I finally manage to sit down on a vacant seat in the rear balcony. While all he has to worry about is existence, I've got to be wary of the ticket inspector.

I see Ganguly fend off the ball with his pads. I look at what he has scored . 32* . And suddenly it dawns on me going for the Quantum wouldn't be a bad idea. Grab the first shirt and 200 Rs.

I have a flashbang in my hands. I throw it wide out. Quite unexpectedly, I become blinded by it. I badly want to go for that gaming thinggy. I see a counter-terrorist's head poke from those crates. Didn't quite get the headshot.

The football blinks at me. Then, to my foot. A dribble and a cross aimed at no one particular. Sneer from the opposition, disappointment from mine.

Pulse races. My body oscillates. Wired to the subject responsible, through analog signals. Voices, sweet, excited, run amok.

I cross the ball, the leg gets it. Netted again. Greeted with cheers. Someone from opposition remarks ' Mark him. Else, if he gets it beyond the half, just add the tally'. I warm up to them.

Now, I think about the movie 'Memento'. I think of the scene they show the whole video running backward but the sound runs forward. How would it be if I were to put it into writing ?

Arrangements * I hate this post* *Yet Cant seem to delete it*

I thought about writing out my frustrations. Lying on top of 4 benches stacked together in lieu with a double-cot bed, I got this romantic idea of getting up and scribbling some words in the school diary. The lone window in the room displayed a sprawling green field. I awed at it not because it was beautiful, but the whole idea now seemed to be well-scripted. Here I was, alone in a fan-less class, the whole world beneath, celebrating young talents.

No, No. The whole idea of writing out the moments that I experienced before is quite difficult. You know what happened as I was lying there. I felt the urge to tell something to somebody. I didn't know who the somebody was and what to tell him/her. I got up and went over to get the pen and sat beside the window, feeling the noon sun on my face, to write. But nothing came. I was racking my head too hard, I told myself. But then I realised why nothing came. I wasn't sitting there to write, I was sitting there to advertise myself. You know, I hoped that the girls would come and see me there. But, obviously, no one did.

Infact, two of the guys did come and I hastily stacked the diary away. Writing is usually met with the same gaze that I guess only gays would have felt before. And so, I went back to lying-on-top-of-bench thinggy.
**************************
I am in the bus now. Street lights flash by. Inside, the ear is taking a beating. I want to join in the party. But the fact that I decided not to, is holding me back. You can't just scream out all of a sudden, you have to do it from the beginning.
I hear a conversation amidst all the yelps.
" Hey people, where are we ?"
"I dunno. The last I saw was Venjarammood "
" Does that mean we would reach the school in half-an-hour ? I have to inform my mother, if so."
" I guess it would take about 45 minutes from here "
" Okay. Tell me when we reach the place it becomes half-an-hour to "

Thats the only time I laugh during the journey. But dunno why :-??

**************************
"Yeah, if you haven't noticed, it's all because of you. You dragged me onto the place. You know I had no intention of coming and you know that you were the sole reason I did. And then, you run off unmindful of me."

" Sorry, what could I do to make it upto you ? "

Two minutes later, the line is disconnected.

***************************

I have to go for tutions after 3 hours. There is fear, insecurity, frustration and optimism. Well, Frustration is the leading one. I'll let you know what will come forth. Somewhere, someone would be watching Oppana feeling quite the same. Some other person, would be feeling quite the same for an entirely different reason. Some one else, would be unmindful of the fact that they would have to go on centre-stage to collect the prize of an unrelated person, who chose not to go for the prize distribution ceremony.

Boooboo

Funny place, all over here

Clouds, punctuation marks, sneezes and breaths

Ideas, revolts, tramps and trams

Millipedes, Winnipeg and even more

Makes no sense, no odds and nothing else too

Space tears itself apart into shards of blackness

The torn don't fall, they crash around me

The cause just goes, I can't see it coming home.

The moments die, I hear no SCREAMING.

And I know I don't mean anything too.

Beats up, lights down, enter liquid mobility

blessed with thousand fertile dreams.

Pace falls, the eye palls, self-inquiries arise

And Lashed out of existence again. ;)

Words crawl beneath the thoughts

Scratching their heads and tails

Hoping for a way they could make sense

Wired in with music, akin to Viagra's job.

Blasts of emotions, glances and damns

Eat onto me and overturn the skin,

Long nights in short days, overcrowded;

with selves, all in war, yet all as one

Choked, gawked, yawed, and yawned at.

But won't let go for fear of pain

Yet, bound to the wounding ecstasy.

Oh yeah!

Blah blah!

booodo....Voodoo.....Boobbooo

And that's it!

People are a problem

How I see things as of now.

Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Flashes of glimpses. Writhe. A long terrace. Some one at the far end. Vision closes.

Some boy looks on. I mumble incoherently. He still looks on. I yell.

The eyes spring up in life. He comes into light. I smile, and look over his shoulder to where his mom tends to the bushes.

Pushing aside his inquiries, I ruffle his feathery hair. I can tell he is not content with my replies. 'No matter how long I have seen her, she still has that angelic charm, your mother'
We kneel beside her and look across the vastly stretched paddy fields. The sky is as blue as June ever could have hoped for and the monsoon is to set in within three months.
'What was it that you were shouting ? '
I hesitate and tell her that its a bad dream. I keep ruffling his hairs,
'You know, somewhere, someone is not happy'

He looks quizzically. She tends to her bushes.
********************************

Flashes of glimpses. Writhe. A long terrace. Some one at the far end. Vision closes.

Some boy looks on. I mumble incoherently. He still looks on. I yell.

The eyes spring up in life. The bed comes into light. Drowsily, I take the alarm clock and try to settle my gaze on the time. Ma's yells already ring out to me. Burying myself in the pillow, I try to recollect what the dream was about.
A beautiful lady. Me living at my old home. Some stair cases. Now where did the staircases come from ? All the little snippets slip out of my grasp.
" Da, get up, study one hour"
I yawn at her.
"Please"
Of recent times, even while I dream, I realise that its a dream. I sulk a few paces across to get a sip of tea. The mirror shows my overgrown hair stretched across the ears. I try to give it as much a presentable look as possible.
The drenched walls of our neighbour's becomes my new object of interest. Heard some new folk have rented it. A sheepish grin and I leave the room.

The Lost Letter

Dear Somebody,

I am a nobody. I am so big a nobody that, even now, I think that I am somebody. I have not seen how life is, whether it comes in six packs or not. But I have seen enough of it to rule out the possibility of anyone being sane in it. Okay, I know you would raise a few eyebrows on hearing 'sanity' being mentioned. But I was alluding to the universally accepted credentials it projects. Moreover, I have recently discovered that all that seems is not true. All that seems is just all it seems to be. Nothing more. Usually, sire, I have the habit of envying life-forms who lead a life much rosier than mine. But then, on inquiry, I found out the above mentioned 'all that seems is not all that is' thing.
I am sending this to you to let you know that, at the moment, I am so emotionally and physically drained that I am not able to put in any more an effort to pen out words that look extremely beautiful but make not much of an ounce of sense. Moreover, its this thing, you know, this thing that lives inside me and tells me what to do, what to think, what to write and so on, that is making me do this work. The most wonderful thing about this thing is that it makes you wonder whether the punctuation marks are right even when the whole world seems to be topsy-turvy.

I don't know much about you other than that you have a little bit of curiosity about me. You reading this testifies that much. But whoever you are, I hope you are cheerful. Probably you could lend a bit of it to me. I am desperately in need of happiness. Amidst the rolling days and nights, I wondered if I would ever meet some one like you. Then, when you didn't apparate, I traversed feminine worlds and found the odds slightly lesser. So then, I decided that you are here, amongst all this airs and cars.

But, mate, I had made a big mistake in passing through the female corridors, for some memories remain like those sands that fail to get lashed back into the oceans. And most mornings I wake onto half-finished, snobbish dreams that I finish later while brushing my teeth. Most evenings are spent in morose, half-sleepy guilt that arises from obtaining rather odd red figures on odd white sheets of paper. Nights ? aah! they go this way.

I hope you realize that I wasn't extremely personal to you. Otherwise you would have seen that I am far more emotional than what I intended myself to be. Its with this place you know, rather, its with this thing called me. Excuse it. Some one in Australia called it a 'complex' of some sort. Anyway, I have to ask you only one thing before going off to another round of sleeps. Do you exist ?
I hope I do receive an answer to it, if you do, that is.

Yours timidly,
Entity.

Some Douggy words

For Children: You will need to know the difference between Friday and a fried egg. It's quite a simple difference, but an important one. Friday comes at the end of the week, whereas a fried egg comes out of a chicken. Like most things, of course, it isn't quite that simple. The fried egg isn't properly a fried egg until it's been put in a frying pan and fried. This is something you wouldn't do to a Friday, of course, though you might do it on a Friday. You can also fry eggs on a Thursday, if you like, or on a cooker. It's all rather complicated, but it makes a kind of sense if you think about it for a while.

About Universe: If the Universe came to an end every time there was some uncertainty about what had happened in it, it would never have got beyond the first picosecond. And many of course don’t. It’s like a human body, you see. A few cuts and bruises here and there don’t hurt it. Not even major surgery if it’s done properly. Paradoxes are just the scar tissue. Time and space heal themselves up around them and people simply remember a version of events which makes as much sense as they require it to make.

About self: If I ever meet myself, I'll hit myself so hard I won't know what's hit me.

On Politics: To summarize: it is a well-known fact that those people who most want to rule people are, ipso facto, those least suited to do it. To summarize the summary: anyone who is capable of getting themselves made President should on no account be allowed to do the job. To summarize the summary of the summary: people are a problem.