Gig Lamps

20th July, 2014.

Almost a month since my entry or rant here. Well, to be fair, there has hardly been anything that can get my level of boredom down to minimal, but then, things aren’t always so simple, or easy, or both. Yet, if I look closely, there have been some moments which I can possibly peruse to mention here.

To start with, as the results were out regarding our exams, there has been a serious turmoil within the small circle of people, whom I can call friends. No, I didn’t failed in my exams, but when one of us does, it really sucks; especially when the one I am talking about is fairly a good student. So one can possibly imagine the sheer shock he might be in. It took almost three of us to calm him down. Some outings, consolation, some scolding got him normalize a bit, yet the vestige of disappointment within him still persists. That will subside too in time.

Then there was the umm, visit to national gallery of modern art (no, I am not an art buff or anything, but the situation dictated that.) Bohemian was there too, that was a plus point. Well, to think of it now, bohemian’s presence was the only thing of any relevance in an otherwise mind numbing boring day, which would’ve went to damnation if the plan wasn’t made. I was um, given a word of a visit, which has not happened yet, so, fingers crossed I guess. I have this particular talent (*boasts) of waiting, so I will wait for that, but it would be good if that happens soon…the visit.

Monsoon has arrived in this god forsaken yet lively city. And as my own ritual, I never miss rains. Not a single one. So, this monsoon is a bit euphoric, nostalgic, and psychedelic or whatever adjective suits to describe it. I just go on the roof and sit there quietly until it either stops raining or I cease to ponder over things, whichever comes first. The subtle things and occurrences makes their way to the sandcastle in a very stealthy way, the suitable affairs that are going on these days are more than I can ask for. Moments, promises, and some silly things to confess…these are entirely new to me in their own entirety.

Then there are some other subtle moments of life, like inking the pages of my journals or finding some lost things from the yesteryears, which I keep in a box (habits…habits).

So, to conclude this ridiculous rant, I would just quote Virginia Woolf –
          “Life is not a series of gig lamps, symmetrically arranged.”

Regards.

Cost of Freedom

The plea was innocent!
to unshackle and let her
soar,high into
the unknown skies.
To let the chain
break  and free her,
to let her fly till her
wings hurt and heart is
content.
The king did so,
quite foolishly.
For him,
it was her heart that
mattered the most.
Quite foolishly,conscious to
the pain that’d be corporeal
that mark his death,or just an
existence with insanity,
the king gave in to
her  plea,thus unchaining her.
Spreading the bright silver wings,
with feathers of a divine flame,
she soared into the sun,
into her own sky of happiness
only leaving a trail of blood,
a satisfied face with a broken heart,
and,
a dead king.

A Summer Peruse

23^rd June, 2014.

Since it’s been a while that I’ve wrote anything stupid, and plus the month is coming to an end, plus I have particularly nothing to do, why not waste the times?

It has been a long month in every literary sense there is possible to describe how long this month has been. Even if I exclude the blood-drying heat that has comfortably settled itself over us poor delhiites, there was practically nothing to do or nowhere to go because of, well the heat (lame jokes, bleh!) and the reason that after exams, almost all of the friends were out of city. Even the slightest sign of life around was more than enough for me, (try to shut yourself in a room for a week or so, you’ll know what I mean).  The eternal boredom took its corporeal form in the shape of slow times, boring TV shows, and long afternoons with either books or naps. The same faces in my area with the eternal questions of –“exam khatam hogaye? Aage ka kya plan hai?  Service?” seemed like my neighbors are more concerned about my future than I am.

Anyways, I had to sought asylum in my books that I bought in case of any dire emergency that occurs, which proved to be true more or less. Succumbing to the bad habit of becoming a paraplegic while reading (no offense) or a vegetable, the month went away with accumulating and processing different characters and ideas. Exempli gratia, if you attempt suicide, you are an asshole, sex is not just two bodies with lust, but somewhat spiritual and is sacred (no I didn’t had any experience, it is theoretical and I don’t have any plans to engage in sexual activities anytime soon either), one shouldn’t forget one’s origins and so forth. The nights were/are devoted to fifa world cup (though in fairness, my knowledge over football and any other sports is damagingly feeble, so I won’t comment much on that).

So, this, the aforementioned trivial things in which I have been engaged with can be assumed as a quick glance over the dull monotonous life that follows, and I am in hope that this changes to a “garden that bursts into life” (dumb metaphor again, but I guess you were not hoping something awfully witty from me, were you?)

Regards.

P.S- it was a whatsapp message from dear bohemian that woke me up this evening with the dreaded news, “results are out”… good thing is I passed, phew! Heh…this demands one hell of a celebration…maybe Aerosmith’s “living on the edge” will be appropriate!

Placidity

06th June, 2014.

My previous entry was about the lethality of a dull routine that one follows with reluctance during exams, which leads to a placid state of mind. Who knew that this was going to follow after the exams? So, if I had to, I can divide this placidity in a chronology, I can divide it into past, present and future.

Past – before my last exam, my stars may have decided to play a practical joke on me, like “hey, guys, come see this, it’s real fun, I am going to give this guy CHICKEN POX..HAHA’’… so yeah, I fell down with pox, and the placidity starts. When you are suffering from pox, take it from me, you really want to see the world burn. Firstly, the food; no salt or spice in the diet, just freaking boiled veggies. I mean really?? I am a BONG for god sakes, how can I live without fish curry and stereotypical Bengali food?? Secondly, the rest. You are quarantined to a room with nothing, maybe with your mobile with songs and laptop with movies, but it gets on your nerve. You really don’t know what song is playing or what are those human figures trying to do in a movie. You are not awake, you are not sleeping. You turn into a psychopathic insomniac, laying down the whole night with your eyes wide open, the wheezing fan on the ceiling, the dripping faucet in your kitchen, the snoring of your tired father from the other room amplifies a hundred times, and you just want to kill everyone, the days are boring and more or less same like nights; whatsapp and facebook bores you and the days become placid, stagnant with same routine.

Present – post pox days. I am recovered, just the spots on my face, and I may have gained a bit weight too (though not morbidly obese, I am fatty..huh..the only cross I bear). Now, to expect that someone would visit you with a fresh bouquet of flower would be childish, but this human nature does expect things invariably. Dishant did came though, quite unexpectedly. Yet, I was somewhat promised a visit by someone else, but it didn’t happen. Oh well, I can’t say I was disappointed, I have practice to get disappointed so yeah. And people are busy these days, so, no complaints. And plus, I can’t do anything about some things, so yeah, present is placid too. No one to meet, no one to come. Maybe just some old habits to pass the time with.

Future – so, summer is burning Delhi to a crisp, and most of my friends are leaving. Close ones actually; I don’t have many friends (sociopathic behavior or asperger syndrome?) I now feel like the unnamed hero from Dostoevsky’s white nights, where he felt forsaken when everyone in the city was leaving for summer vacations. So, with them gone, I don’t have anything to go on with, and with the heat wave, the remaining ones won’t risk going out just to get burned by the raging sun. I will be quarantined in my rooms, with the few new books and old movies (need new movies) to keep myself sane. Occasional visits to the sand castle and some writing maybe; the placidity will go on.

Regards.

Psychosomatic Rendition

17^th May, 2014.

Have anyone of you ever felt like living in an eternal loop? Like in a repetitive state, doing the same thing over and over and over, like until it gets stored in your muscle memory, so that the thing you were doing becomes an involuntary action?

It has been over a month that I've written anything here, due to exams, and more importantly, due to the lack of my preparations, though in fairness, I would say, none of us prepare until the exams literally knocks on the door. To keep myself busy, the only thing that I could do was to start studying. Believe me when I say this, its one thing to study, and to study for exams with same repeated topics, it kind of makes your previous actions oxymoronic. The ones who were all about “fuck studies” are now “do not disturb, I am studying”. Its all fine until it becomes a psychosomatic rendition, when you literally start speaking in phases and paragraphs for something that need no verbose, no extra details, and if you start seeing chain mails and muskets and a symbol consisting of a scythe and a hammer in your dream, you are done for. Like a subtle tremor in your limb as a PTSD, you are in need of a good therapy. All of your vanities, veneered by the paint of rosy days and velvet nights turn into banal excrement of a male bovine. I am not saying that we or I am feared of such exams (hardly, the marks are distributed like free alcohol in a marriage ceremony) but if I start repeating things that are bromide in nature, utterly meaningless, it really is not a great idea.

The doodling in the pages of diaries, the poetic attempts to burn out the frustration, the filtered images on instagram that gives a feeling of Andy Warhol, or Ansel Adams or Robert Capa, a drag of Marlboro or a wills flake in privacy becomes your only solace. The static, suspended animation along with the robotic repetition ends only after you are done with inking the A4 sized ruled pages continuously for 3 hours, and then, grabbing a Mc-chicken from McDonalds.

P.s- out of irregularity, café Cuba helps a lot when you are messed up. Hah.. “Cuban revolution” my dear. Obvious really.

Regards.

Silver Pensive-farewell to college.

13th April, 2014.

Hmm…so…its time. The inevitable nature of universe finally revealing itself, and I am perfectly fine with it. Maybe a little over sentimentality got the best of me (vulnerability has not been in my repertoire, but in light of recent events, I may have to digress from the original statement.)
 23rd June, 2011 was the date when I stepped across the threshold of Deshbandhu College, 12th April 2014 was the date when I was formally stepping out, saying farewell.

First year student, a weakling with a considerably low mental acuity, overlapped by all kind of naiveté and foolishness, not to mention the initial consequences of being exposed to the new world, I mean come on! No one was going to welcome me or us with a bollywood style, impeccably choreographed dance and simultaneous rhythmic songs, but still…

Since that date, I must say, changes have occurred, and when I say changes, I mean a lot of mental, emotional, and/or other changes as well. If I start typing all of them, it will end up as a novella, being lethally boring and of no significance whatsoever; I’ll try to be short.
In the last three years, I got to know more of me, as a person, friend, foe, or whatever distinction a person can gain during his/her college days.., with a slight increment in my mental faculty. It’s not that much to brag about, considering the fact that there are far better people I know out there, with an enlarged acumen, to whom I am kind of obsolete, but I must say, I am not that much of an idiot now…well I can ‘think’ now. *a smirking laugh*.

Being somewhat of a shut in, or as nowadays the trend is to call self a sociopath, antisocial, introvert et cetera, 3 years later, I am leaving with a considerable number of good friends (never expected that to happen though), from college and from other places, some of them are incredibly genius, others being equally the coolest form of humans, keeping me remotely sane enough to carry on with the tirades and in turn, bearing my outbursts and trivialities.
My professors are equally cool enough, for they are to be blamed. They are the ones who actually turned me into this slightly enormous egoistic bastard, a voracious reader, reading anything that came across me, ending almost 2/4th of literary section. Prof. P.K Chaudhary, Prof. Rana Behl, Joshi ma’am, Ankan sir, Ruchi Ma’am and so forth. These peoples gave me the idea to think, read, write and thus turning me as some say, ‘intellectual monster’; overstatement, really…but a compliment nonetheless
During these years, I started a blog, wrote my rants and complaints, attempted poems and found my muse for sublime musings…romantics…really!! (Thanks for being there, you! Won’t have been able to write anything if it wasn't you..so..yeah.)

So, ending this blog, I would say, I am grateful, to every single soul I met, to each one of you, who made me what I am or what I will be in coming years. To you who taught me how to think, how read, what to read, how to love, how to stay, helping me keeping my promises, keeping me sane. I am grateful for the experiences, memories and every other feeling. I will leave the college with everything a guy can ask for…

regards.

A White Lily

                                  A white lily.

She lays now silently,

preparing for a new journey,

a new adventure.

She'll be setting her foot

to a new path, to the

Unknown.

She knows this, yet a

strange calmness surrounds

her today, made her peace

with the guide.

She didn’t ran or recoil,

nor panicked. Now,

she just waits for the dark

as a friend to the inevitable path,.

leaving something for everyone,

memories and memoirs to be

remembered. Moments spent, laughs and tears,

moments of silences, when the eyes talked

and lips were meaningless. Before leaving,

she left something for everybody but me.

For me, she left something else.

No smiles, tears, no silent nights.

Neither a moment of peace nor

regrets.

Respecting our differences, the vast outstretched

distances that can’t be covered, she

left me something else.

A white lily for me.

The last blossom of her life and that

was only for me.

A white lily for me.