Vicious circle

Its hard, but truth is there are times when you love and hate the same person for the same reason. You love it when they are away from you. And yet, you hate it when you miss them.
You just can't help certain things from happening in your life.

The lock of hair.

She looked at me surprised when I pulled out a single lock of hair.
‘Ouch’, she said, echoing the hurt she had on her face. But it only added to my amusement as I wound it up on my finger.
You just can’t help doing the craziest thing when you are in the company of the woman you love.

Living with a lie...

Its bad enough not to be in a relation...
And even terrible is ... to be once in, and then out...
But could anything be worse than being in one... and all the time wanting to get out of it??

Missing you...

'I know....'
'...............'
'I know....'
'...............'
'I know....'
'...............'
'I know....'
'...............'
'I know....'
'...............'
Still I miss you....

An attempt to make it better...

I have always wanted to write like ... someone who knows how to write...

A pity?! Since I basically write for a living.

Initially when I began toying with the idea… of having enough (in mind?) to fill out a paper… I wasn’t quite sure as where to start…

Much before getting initiated, while still a little boy, I used to wonder, though mostly not extending my thoughts beyond what the elders preached and the books prescribed, how could someone 'write', just like that, as they (the elders) say…

‘You don’t have to put an effort and think about writing… it’ll come to you when it has to’, they’d say. They probably meant to wait for the right moment to begin… Or may be, they didn’t… but I’d never know… I never quite understood them well enough…

Quite a few kindly ones told me not to think too hard. And some others said thoughts came to us on its own…and on their (the thoughts) arrival, writing them down wouldn't take much effort… And that was what writing’s all about…

But then ...

Are there supposed to be thoughts of any kind at all in the first place (I mean… initially, I never had any to begin with)?? Then how could anyone write without having thoughts of any kind in mind? And if so, where did these so-called thoughts come from?? Did they originate on their own (from God knows where)?? And when it happened, how do you make out if these were good enough to be written down??

To be shamelessly (?!) honest, I even had some utterly stupid doubts like if they (thoughts) had any connection with the pen or pencil or whatever… writing instruments and if they depended on the quality of paper used??

Today looking back, I feel I haven’t changed much. I still am (very much) doubtful and tensed before beginning to write (Or, conceive) anything at all. Since at most times, these aren’t (unlike the kind they mentioned) unforced ones, but results of a much-screwed-up-mental-obligation. Which is why, perhaps, I have always been in awe of all of them who can write better. For that matter, do anything better than me. Anything at all...

These days, I do not wait for the thoughts to come to me. More than that, I really can’t afford to. Force writing thoughts, ideas and solutions, to meet the deadlines, have become a way of life. So much so, that mind has started to switch off completely when not faced with pressure of any form.

And as for thoughts that dare (to break the rules), I find them arriving at the most unseemly hours, quite disappointing (and irritating) me, for being not in a position to actually pen them down, at times when I am driving, or watching a movie in a dark cinema hall, or while I’m in bed, too lazy to give up the comfort, even for a second, and actually loosing (my blog entries, mostly, are the ones I managed to recover) them from memory forever.

So...why, ask me, am I into this now? Writing, that is?!

The reason is simple. Out of a compulsive realization. That forced me into believing there’s nothing else I could do better for a living. The realization of the fact that, good or bad, nothing else would get me the recognition I deserve.

And that realization remains my only strength!

The Man

Child is the father of man.
Woman is the mother.
Where does that leave him, the man??

Kids...

Someone asked me why I loved kids so much... Whats so special about them??

I couldn't, at the time, give them a proper answer... But then, how could anyone... Its something which can only be felt, and never be explained...

A contradiction??

I hate compromises when they tend to break my neck.... but generally, I'm ready for them...

But do I contradict myself when I say so?....

Tears...

He licked at the pearls that rolled down the corners of her eyes...They tasted of salt...

Woman. The mother of man.

(Read this somewhere, and found it too hard 'not' to publish it here...)

The woman is the mother...
However great and powerful may the man be, he can never be the mother... So woman should be respected...

Even in a relation, the pleasure is always mutual... but the pain that follows is not... which makes it just why she should be respected....

The betrayal

To him life wasn't that mysterious... It was simple... It reflected to him the story of a young man who found the mother of his child in the arms of another man... When confronted, it shocked him for once... But then he gathered himself up and left his past right there... And walked into the life ahead...

Ani. My little brother...

Ani, my little brother, looked at me seriously for once and said, ‘You are very lucky for me’.

Man, it made my day… Why, I can live my entire life hanging on to that one…

My guardian angel

‘Amma, are you listening…? You understood anything I said…?’
‘Off course monu, I’m listening…Go on… And then…?’‘Well, then… Tell me where was I?’
'Monu, go on… Its good to hear you talk…’

With an amazing consistency, this was how she responded every time I sat down to have a serious discussion (or, were they just monologues, since I was only one who spoke during our ‘conversations’) with her…

I was 15 then. And two years later, she died.

Surprisingly, I never really missed her much all these years… May be the longing echo that brought me the kind word, had something to do with it… Or, may be it didn't ...

Convoluted reality

A story sounds original as long as it is a story... As soon as it becomes original, it starts sounding like a story... You seem to believe a fictious fact and not a fact! How strange is that?!

A concept that we call love..

First we fell in love...
Then we fell out of love...
In between, though, no love was lost ...
Hell... so, when did we 'love'?

Game of love?

Its useless to possess the body when you are sure the soul isn't for you... Its like venting it out on a prostitute..

A flash back?

I felt cold and lonely...

A vague and misty vision of an uncertain future hovered about me then... Directions were marked clearly towards everywhere... But none of them seemed to take me anywhere...

Trader of dreams

I am a hawker selling dreams... would you like to trade with me??

Broken Dreams

Broken, failed dreams do look artistic, like a crumbled tissue paper smeared with shit...

The book called ‘Penmarric’...

The book called ‘Penmarric’, that I lost (irrecoverably, at that...) to a very dear friend of mine, familiarized me with quite a few nuances of normal life at a very tender age... My voice hadn't even cracked up properly...

The real human weaknesses (Or, abilities?!), so to say… Words (or, should we call them concepts?) like jealously, greed, back-biting, love affairs, seduction, adultery, illegitimacy, inheritance (a far cry from my father’s ideologies) struck right across my face...

Not that they meant much to me then, but at an age I wasn’t too prepared to handle it all came the realization they don’t exist only in books and movies, but are very much around us. Very much, indeed...!

A complete family

If we (my brother and I) loved our mother so much (enough to feel insecure after her death), it dint mean we loved our father any less... it was just that we loved her so much that we believed our family would only be complete with all the four of us together. Both of them, the parents and both of us, the brothers... Any less would make it incomplete...

The pimple

The pimple on the tip of my nose hurt ... whenever it itched, I scratched around it ...
Only I was too scared of breaking it...
Things were cracking up then... I guess...

Age matters??!

May be she is young...
Or may be she was...
Anyways, she is beautiful...

Apocalypse ... Now??

Since quite long I’ve been wondering about what exactly ‘Apocalypse’ means. But being very lazy, just to check the dictionary, I let it go…

Recently a friend of mine explained me what it means… Apocalypse: a prophetic revelation, esp. concerning a cataclysm in which the forces of good permanently triumph over the forces of evil. Or, any revelation or prophecy. Or, any universal or widespread destruction or disaster: the apocalypse of nuclear war.

But point isn’t its dictionary meaning. He taught me a history behind the concept ‘Apocalypse’, which would have never occurred to me had I tried the other way…

Monsoons in Cochin

Given the rainy season ... there couldn’t be a better topic than this at this point of time... Moreover, my brother too had a similar write up on this in his blog.…

Much like him, I too have begun to hate the monsoons in Cochin - even though we waste reams and reams of paper (hours before the computer - typing - in my case) writing adjectives to hard sell the concept of a romantic monsoon in Kerala to a visiting discerning tourist from abroad...

For a traveler visiting, may be for a short period of time, that too within the safe confinements of a resort or a hotel, it might seem amusing... but not for an average citizen who has to move around and work on a daily basis...

With the incessant, heavy rains inundating the city, water-logging the inner streets, and the main roads, uprooting trees, disrupting power supply for hours together, jamming telephone network, for the routine commuters, be it on the bus or the two wheelers or the four wheelers, often find it near impossible just to get around… getting to the next junction, so to say… besides you have to survive with that irritating dampness, all day long… Not to mention your work, coming to an absolute standstill…

And looking out of the window right now, I don’t find romance … but the upturned ‘underground’ water tank (victim of a raised water table)… and an uneasy thought haunts you … God, what about corporation water supply for another one week….

Forget the work pressure, forget the deadlines, and forget your client’s fury… When its raining in Cochin…its raining cats and dogs and ... God knows what else…!

A moment's pleasure...

He covered the naked heap of flesh in front of him and stole a kiss from its lips...

Maybe she'd wanted this...
Or, may be he'd forced it on her...
And as he watched her in glowing moonlight, she stirred in her sleep...

A faint smile appeared on her face... Or, was that a figment of his imagination??

Tainted intellect...

She is certainly not a thinker.. And not a philosopher... not in the remotest of the senses... Only a profit seeking trash producing gossip monger...

All she knows ... is to strain her eyes through her tainted glasses... looking at the so called man's society.... And paint the world with the colour of her dirty mind...

She calls herself a writer and claims to be an intellect... And always get away with her histrionics?!... by calling her critics jealous losers who could never make it as writers...!

Reasons.... Ahh.... Reasons....!!!

"I am sorry too..."
"Its not your fault, I am delibrately not calling you..."
"I am punishing myself..."
"I am stopping myself from not calling you..."
"I admit, it's all my mistake..."
"But I am controlling myself..."

"To hell with you and your reasons.....All you have ever done is drive me crazy, girl.... So pray, never call me again!!!"

The Break up..

Inspite of being happy for not having to reject her... I felt bad for myself... for having been rejected...

Freedom...

Let's dedicate at least one day of our lives to...
All those who died,
So that you and I live...!!
All those who fought
so that you and I are safe..!
All those who suffered
So that you and I enjoy...!!!
Exercise your freedom. Express your joy.

This is an old entry. Not quite sure (which is why I labeled it as 'quote', to be on the safe side) if I wrote this for some advertising campaign, which is quite unlikely. Or, did I simply copy it from some where...

A big compromise... called life.

Question isn't what your way of life is, but how comfortable you are with it?

For the sake of it, I dint really go on with the flow... as the time demands... I hate adjustments... I am scared of it lest it may turn my life into one big adjustment...

A compromise isn't what I bargained for afterall...

You. My love.

Your dreamy voice.
Your mysteriousness.
Your silence.

I know nothing about you more than this. And may be, that's what I love about you.

The beautiful one

'What's it?', she asked.
'Its a dream', I answered, 'Its a dream that'll make you the most beautiful person in the world.'

Feel better...?!

Clever ones respond with, "no, its not like that...!", when asked, "is there someone in your life?" How are we supposed to react to that? Feel better despite failing?

Ego...

She dint call...
I dint call..
She dint call...
I dint call..
She dint call...
I dint call..
She dint call...
I dint call..
She dint call.
I dint call...

Where the hell has love gone??

Mustaches

I'd always wonder, was it really necessary for the defense personnel and policemen... to keep mustaches!!...

My father had it... His friends in defence had it... Men out of service had it too...

Choices...

One left a void in her, the other filled it up...

It didn't matter much to her if each of them were after the other's blood... as long as they didn't lay hands on each other...

All she knew was she loved the both of them ... And she didn't want the either of them to be hurt... Not in any way...

Feelings are like butterflies...

Overexcited, overwhelmed ...
In fact, these words exactly cannot describe the addictive, seductional outburst I keep getting from between my ribs...

Her...

When he lifted the cold bottle up from the table.. it'd left a clear circle of water...
He trailed his finger along 'n' traced it out...
Her name.. his passion... his love!!!

?!!....

Its just a bad dream... it'll pass...

Him. The orphan.

He was born and brought up in Kerala. Actually adopted (when he was still a little baby, when his parents died...They said his biological parents were in Kerela while he was born...)

His parents now were both strict, possessive and loving ones.. (as every parents are supposed to be...)

When his original parents died, he does not remember who they were... he had never known them enough... to remember... But he surely knows for a fact that the parents he now had, were not related to him by blood...

But this never stopped him from loving them as his own... He was just so happy with them being loved, cared and even punished...

My mate...

Let my mate be soothing to my eyes, ears and to my heart exactly as said in the holy book.

Pseudos...

I don't feel like thanking any of 'em who never did a thing for me... And yet, make it known, they did.
Them. Those pseudos! Them. The crack pots!!

My gift. My lost love.

When finally I'd receive my medal, it'll be from a junk dealer... as a thoroughly rejected second hand stuff.... when it'd have had lost its lusture... be just another piece of junk..

Maybe it'll still have a place in my heart...

Maybe I'll still place it on my mentleshelf.... along with the other curios and artifacts... and antiques...

As reminder of a paradise I never gained... as remainder of a dream I once had... and as... I dont know what else... To console me, myself....that it was mine afterall... and it still meant a lot to me!!

My biological father..

My father...

With all the flaws and pluses, he is still the one I would want to call 'father'. And believe in too... I mean, if out of the blue I get to know... that my biological father isn't him, I still wouldn't want another person as my father...

I love him... and hate him ....for all that he is...and he is not....

Not because he has officially been married to my mother... Not because he is the reason why my mother got pregnant and gave birth to me... Not because I have the liberty of using his name as my surname..

But 'coz he is the one my mind believes in. And my heart recognises. To me, he is the greatest man on the earth. For all the happiness and pain that he gave me in my growing years, I can never thank him enough ... Maybe the fact, I haven't known (as probably I have known my father) my mother well enough has something to do with it...

Once a character in a film that I saw had a doubt (about the actual reason of her birth)... was it out of love or were they only fulfilling their body needs... I never had any such doubt... I don't know why but I never considered that side of the story...

I'm only thankful to him that I'm here... alive and happy kicking...!

Am I doing it for the sake of it??

Am I attempting at blogging just for the sake of it...?? I am not quite sure about it...

Street dwellers...

They beg.
They eat rotten food.
They sleep at traffic signals.
They have sex in the open.
Whatever means 'future' to them..??
Do they ever think??
Do they ever dream??
But then they seem all contented...
Am I being myopic?? Or is there more to it than meets the eye??

She

I do care for her...
May be I will start loving her too... someday...
May be I will...
May be..