my fone

I am not ready.

I bought a new phone but I am not entirely sure about how to set it up. I am scared, I will mess stuff up, as usual. I am not ready for this phone, this responsibility, the job of caring for it and looking after it; this accountability that comes with paying a hefty sum for an electronic device.

I am not ready for life, or grad school, or marriage or kids, or dealing with the fact that time is precious and every moment is slipping away like water held in cupped hands, slowly draining, spiraling away till its nothing but an empty void. I cant even set up a phone, how can I deal with life!!!

I suppose I am over thinking this, aren't I

let's go to the mall...... not really!

I was at my friendly, neighborhood H&M a few days ago. Something did not feel quite right. Apart from my usual gripes about not living in a cooler place, not being rich enough, or pretty enough, or anything enough, there was an odd, ominous feeling in the air- an insidious presence of something that could merely be sensed, not even felt. It hung like a big, dark, grey cloud, lingering and sapping me of the already elusive positive vibes.

Not my usual shopping scene.

Techno music blared from the speakers. Well, a mix of techno, house, EDM and trance. It seemed more like a party scene than a store. I remember how we used to lock ourselves up in the trial room for hours (minutes) and dance (move awkwardly) in front of the mirror. Something was discordant about this music today. It was good, yes. It took me to another place- a life I used to know and love, a life that was slowly becoming my past, moving further and further away as every day passed by. The music was good technically, but something felt wrong. I felt like I was stuck in a ironically hilarious horror movie, where the main characters resign to the impending apocalypse. People were milling about around the store, buying clothes. Buying and buying and buying. There must have been a million different articles in there that day. shirts, tops, shoes, suspenders, make up, nail polish, glitter scrunchies, bikinis.... it was truly something I had never stopped to think about until that evening. I used to ponder, and talk (albeit a bit pretentiously) a lot of consumerism, but I never felt it like I did that day. Huge factories, sprawling cramped sweat shops, all over the world, churning out billions and trillions of articles for the "consumer"- the glassy eyed, heavily made up (or intentionally under dressed bed-headed) girl, who bought another black top, and another one, and a pink skirt, despite owning about twenty five black tops.

Gone were the days when you would enter a beautiful shop, touch the soft, velvety cashmere, inhale the lovely "new clothes" aroma of brand new crisply folded cotton T-shirts. Sometimes, I feel like one of the zombie brigade, aimlessly walking around stores, picking up things without experiencing the thrill of acquiring something new, simply buying because "it was an irresistible sale". Then I realize, that most things in life have gone, or will go stale. From conversations to clothing, from movies to outings; life is slowly going from technicolor to sepia, fading like an aging carpet. Perhaps, this is a sign of aging, becoming a adult, the person who is actually nothing like you: not even a reflection of yourself in a spotty glass. Growing up has never been so disillusioning as it is in this decade. Let alone finding something to live for, there is nothing really to die for. We just exist all of us, zombies, actually more like souls wandering the Fields of Asphodel, lost, lonely and mirthless.

I went to the other mall the other day. Another day, another H&M, another track playing in the background and another black top at an "irresistible" price. A blue dress here and a pink shirt there and a wonderful blue top that fit me like a glove, practically perfect. Everything turned sunnier. Lights grew brighter and sounds of laughter rang about. I was filled with the rush of triumph of getting a pretty outfit for a steal. I suppose that is both the curse and the convenience of possessing the human mind. The smallest pleasures act as a placebo, a cushion that push the ugly reality to the back of our minds, to some secret corner, at least for a while. Finding an outfit (especially when you're fat), eating a delicious meal on the street, talking to some one after a long time and regaling in the stories of our past: these things give us the hope, the impetus to get up and get through the day, despite knowing how pointless existence is.

I am thinking of buying a new phone sometime soon. I think the dose of "positive vibes" should last for about a month. :)

Trapped in a bubble.

You are three thousand miles away.
You are three billion miles away,
add a trillion.
Sinew and skin grew over the part of me that you took when you left.
I still see your face sometimes,
but its through a mist,
morning dew drops,
melancholy winter fog,
haze of marijuana smoke.
You are still there,
but you're not.
And I watch you from far away and smile,
as we exist on two parallel planes of existence.

You are three thousand miles away,
or was it three thousand light years.
There is something different about you,
something new, something changed.
You are another you,
not my "you".
I am different too,
and the world is different too.
And we are clutching at straws,
clinging on to abstract notions.
of us.

I see people through a pane of glass sometimes.
Solid, tangible people,
yet through a heat haze,
a shimmer around their edges.
I am with them and yet, I am without them.
I am with me, and in me.
I see people through a sheet of clear, falling water.
Not a ripple on the surface,
just calm,
beams of yellow sunshine,
creating a rainbow like aura around the people on the other side.
I wonder whether I'm the one standing outside a giant glass bubble,
and watching them,
Or whether its really me,
trapped in a bubble,
trapped in a bubble.

A critical analysis of a coffee shop writer.

A writer in a coffee shop! Could there be a bigger cliche? Coffee is not the best inspiration to bring out the Kerouac or the Tennyson in you. Especially if your Starbucks at Starbucks is not as good as your Starbucks from another store. Then again, the taste was not my primary concern. I was very curious to know if people were looking at me. As the line grew longer, my craving for attention and the guilt that went along with it grew proportionally. Some part of me, however hard I try to deny it, lives for others. I felt like the character in some crappy, low-rated single season dramedy.

I saw myself as a writer. Correction, I liked to see myself as a writer. But like my dreams, my work was also limited and simultaneously limiting. God! I wished there was a shot of whiskey in my coffee. Even some cheap booze from my college days past, DSP black, Royal Stag or Blender's Pride, would do. I have wanted to be a writer for a while now, but i never quite knew what to write. Maybe, it's because my ideas are too specific or my thoughts are too limited. Maybe it's because i liked to see myself as a tragic heroine, when there was nothing really tragic about me. There was no inspiration, no story to build on and no cause to live for. Wannabe-hipster-centre-of-the-universe wasn't helping either. But then again, when do movies work in real life.

I wish I had a story! Something people would want to read. Something that would influence the world in some way! Positive or Negative. I wish I had climbed a mountain or slept with a C-lister. But that was not me. "Me" was normal, so fucking normal. "Me" was placid, mechanical, almost revoltingly so. "Me" was not crazy anymore. Not extraordinary. Not special. Barely Mediocre.

I sat there musing. I wondered if I used sadness as a tool to feel better about myself. These tears welled up,but not falling made me feel almost like a martyr. Or so. I thought. In a sea of laughing, faking, well dressed people, there was me- plain, fat and utterly unremarkable. Perhaps, this act of writing in a coffee shop made people look at me and say, "Oh so Intellectual!" Perhaps, all this was just another shameless ploy to be noticed and feel important. I suppose the truth is that people don't notice you until you have already done something; not even when your crying for help, languishing, visibly drowning in your own problems.

I suppose the truth is that the more we try for attention, admiration, love or what ever name one may give it, the less likely we are to find it. Man is species obsessed with sensation. It only notices what is happening at that  moment. What is big! What is loud! What is popular! things may be happening for years, but people only notice it is hugely sensational, blared out from the rooftops or "if everyone else is doing it". Perhaps, the goal must be to fight you inner demons long enough until you either die fighting or emerge victorious. People belonging to both categories attain eternal glory, while those who "put up with it" vanish into the pages of history. After all, only we can crawl out of the ditches we dig ourselves. In the end, I realize that we have to fight each day, struggle to get past each day despite the mistake we make, despite the regrets we face and despite the haunting memories of our past. Fighting to live is the only thing we can do. Now, how we fight, is what brings us that fame, that glory.

I got up and threw my coffee cup into the bin. Today, they claim to be using fair trade coffee beans and recycled paper, but we all know that these global business are essentially cut-throat and overwhelmingly capitalist. But we succumb to the temptation. Or perhaps we don't care anymore. I felt a sense of pride, along with the myriad of other emotions in my head. I had had epiphanies of epic proportions. I was so one my way, I thought naively. Soon, my name will be on the cover of a book, I thought, even more naively. It took all of about five minutes for the coffee induced high to come down. I was back to square one, with my thoughts, opinions, prejudices and petty pain. The truth is that, I am but one in a sea of billions- billions of people having the same self confidence related issues, regrets about procrastination and inactivity and obvious heartaches. So, its just me and my average thoughts and pains. I realized one thing though- the pain kept me alive. The pain gave me motivation and on rare occasions, purpose. Perhaps, I should learn to live this pain, and moreover love this pain. It may not only humanize me, but also produce a "person" out of me.

morning blues

She appraised herself in the mirror- gave herself a long once-over. She has started the day well enough: woken up earlier than usual, deciding against a shower as her hair still looked glossy from last night's shampoo and hot water treatment. She wore a sunny yellow kurta, no, mango yellow. She felt happy, looking at the bright colour. After all spring was coming. So with a new outfit, new shoes and a new positive attitude, she went to check herself once before leaving for work.

In the mirror though, she realized she was dreadfully misinformed. Her yellow top was bulging. A roll of fat clearly discernible under her obscenely large chest, dark and hard pimples on the sides of her face, the bags under eyes. She looked around. Her dresser was falling apart; the drawers so badly jammed that they could not be pulled out, weighed down by years of worthless unwanted shit. Her shoe rack was broken, the doors hanging on its hinges, covered with dust. Her high spirits were dampened. It was like she was viewing the world through a kaleidoscope filled with broken glass and dirt and pebbles and old, yellowing paper. She reached downstairs and got out of the lift of her building. The lift door started stuttering and faltering as usual, and her dad gave the door an almighty shove. Even the lift was crying of old age. The world was crumbling around her. It her like a slap on the face in the bristling cold.

She waited for the traffic to clear so she could get to work on time. She had made an effort to leave early yet she was stuck. Stuck. glued, adhered. She watched her contemporaries everyday, growing and moving. She watched them as they worked interesting jobs, got masters degrees, partied, travelled, chilled, got married. And there she was, stuck hard to one place, living each day over and over, the same day again and again. She closed her eyes and saw herself walking through a wasteland, dragging her legs across the withered, burnt soil, kicking up dust and trudging in silence. The wanderer came across some magnificent ruins, a vast city that had gone to waste and become nothing more than a mass of relics. She ran scared but realized that she was back to the same place after a while. Back among the ruins and promises of grandeur.

She realized that in order to get back to the land of the living, she would need to break free. But she also knew that to break free, one would have to be extremely talented or extremely brave. Or perhaps be someone who had nothing to lose, but everything to gain. She wondered what she would have to lose to get there. A single tear contemplated leaving her eye, as she started ahead into the mundane traffic blankly, fixed on the white numberplate on a Prado up ahead, while her ears reverberated with a silent scream.

The Yash List

So, these are a set of songs that will forever be imprinted in my mind as a symbol of a friend of mine, and one of the most unique people I know. Although you might know him, but feel his old soul and his free spirit through these songs.

1) Arriving Somewhere But Not Here- Porcupine Tree
2) Zephyretta- Them Clones
3) Fire- Kasabian
4) I Need to Feel Loved- Reflekt
5) The Organ Donor- DJ Shadow
6) Paradise- Coldplay
7) Life in Technicolor- Coldplay
8) Hallelujah- Miles Kennedy and Slash (acoustic)
9) Hallelujah- Karsh Kale and Warren Mendonca

Enjoy the bliss and feel the tranquility :)

Community (Dont worry, I'm not earning anything out of this)

I recently told my friend Vani to quit watching stupid drama shows and watch this sitcom called Community. Although it admittedly may not be her thing, its still one of the best sitcoms on the air, and probably all sitcoms ever. In my list, this includes 30 Rock, The New Normal, Arrested Development, Scrubs and even my favourite show, Californication (Oh you GODLESS HEDONIST, you! :P ) For those who have not seen or heard of it, its the story of a rag tag group of misfits at the world's worst community college ever. Don't let this undermine the awesomeness of it. Innovative storylines, great acting, some truly unbelievable concepts including spoofs of every genre of movies possible and more, and some amount of tripping balls, its a show that takes every existing concept of tv and movies and gives it a whole new dimension. But what I like the most about it, is that one just falls in love with the characters ( I know people say this about all shows, but I feel bad for people who relate to Ted Mosby) and lose yourself in it. Testing the limits of imagination, the show just acts as a portal to a whole different world- an idea about how each and everyone of us, live in a different universe, in our head.

Over the top declaration of love? You bet! Will die off slowly to be replaced by the next surrealistic offering? Hope not! But recommended show for everyone? Absolutely. :)