Wine

 The wine takes hold

The words stir

The cuts bubble up

The nib dips

Does the pen bleed?

Eureka

 Ah, so that's what's been going on!

We all have our own Eureka moments. For some they come while lying prostrate in a bath tub and for some when an apple falls from a tree (though the jury is still out on that one). But we all have ours.

His arrived when he was in throes of a deep viral infection that was muddling his brain and breaking his body.

He had been conflicted for two weeks or so. He couldn't put his finger on it but there was something nagging at him, causing him to react or snap in ways he ordinarily wouldn't. He was told that it was the Mercury retrograde that was making him do so, and well, maybe that it was. But he wasn't certain.

Until that moment when on the phone she said what she said. That moment the penny dropped and he went - oh hey, hang on here! What just happened!

This whole business with her and Ethan had left him uneasy from the start. While on his drive back home a couple of weeks ago she told him how serious thing about Ethan is and how she is going to be under immense pressure to commit to Ethan because on papers he is the perfect match for her. She is out of reasons and there is nothing that she could do to postpone the eventuality. He could hear the panic and fear in her voice. It made him furious that he is thousands of miles away and can't do anything to help her. She was in trouble and there appeared to be nothing obvious he could do to help in a conventional sense. Over that weekend he decided that enough is enough and while he can't stop the incoming train crash, he can certainly do all he can to pull her out of the way. With that resolve firmly made, he arrived into work like a possessed man on a mission. He tapped every CEO, Managing Director, SVP that he could get his hands on and told them about this amazing woman who is open to work and that they would be crazy to let her go. Things still didn't move fast enough for his liking. He was still not satisfied with everything he did. Meanwhile She called him and told him that she has met Ethan. Not only on papers but in real life too he is the perfect match for her. He is tall, handsome, rich, single and available (everything he is not) and that she has been asked to meet Ethan's family.

He decided to roll the ultimate dice.

He called someone who works for him and told them to get on a call with this woman and see what they think. He made it clear that all budgetary formalities and other logistics can be handled if she is a good fit for the company. He is out on a limb now and he knows. Especially after the last two people he tried helping left him very exposed and quite vulnerable politically. It's risky but he decided to do it because he knew that she didn't want to be with Ethan. She wanted out and he would be not him if he did not move heavens and earth before giving in.

And then something curious happens. On an unplanned rushed call in the middle of the week she casually tells him that the match and the pressure is off on some technicality. He could hear the relief in her voice and that puts him at ease too. Thank God, eh! But then why did she not drop him an immediate text when that happened and rushed to tell him this? Why is this coming up as a casual topic in the middle of an unplanned rushed conversation? Ah, don't overthink it, he tells himself and moves on. The plans that he put in motion can continue to roll on. Ethan or no Ethan.

As is its want, the world gets more curious from that moment on. She is going on dates with Ethan. he is taking her clubbing, buying her expensive items including pretty anklets that he plans to enjoy with her together in unique positions, they are planning on working out together and what not. That kind of seems off though, doesn't it? He asks her if she is doing because she has to or she wants to. She replies back with a "I don't know". He couldn't help but remember the incident a few weeks ago when she asked him if he thinks they should be able to speak romantically with others too. When he said "Perhaps", she'd nearly bitten his head off! And yet here we are today. So when he reacts a bit strongly to this whole situation with Ethan and her, she tells him that he is thinking too much and how he needs to be more like her other friend Benji, who not only listens to her for hours but also supports her and hunts for designer lip balms that she needs which are out of stock. He needs to be more like Benji and less like his irrational self.

Errr, what now?

That didn't fit. He is part furious, part hurt and part just confused. He can't process it all at that very moment so he puts it away as there are other time sensitive matters he must attend to. Days roll past and him and her, they come back to this topic again. Another rushed conversation mostly about pulling her out of her situation turns into another conversation about Ethan and she tells him more of Ethan's unwavering attempts and what all Ethan is doing for her and he can detect a hint of enjoyment in that tone of hers, he is beginning to get pissed off again; and there, in his muddled, half awake mind comes his Aha, moment - he finally got it!

It's not her, it's him.

A bit of a let down at the end though, right? But it is him. It has always been him in these situations and these circumstances. Long before she came along, long before he wasn't him but someone else, it was always him behaving like this. She isn't unreasonable, he probably is. In all honesty it really doesn't matter who is reasonable and who isn't. It doesn't matter who or what is right or wrong. It doesn't matter what the reality on the ground is. It just wreaks havoc on his overactive mind and that pains him, a lot. And especially in situations like these where she just keeps throwing him one curved ball after the other and he just can't make sense of it anymore, of what she wants or doesn't want, he is truly clueless.

He is just not equipped emotionally to handle such situations or situationships. The crab gets overjoyed when the tide is high but when it's low, oh boy does he hurt! And somewhere down the path of his life, he had figured out how he is and resolved that the only way he can be not so, the only way he could shield himself was to put the crab long back in his shell and put the lion out on the guard. He can live without the highs but he really can't take the lows. Especially now when they impact more than just him. They impact an eco system of people around him. He can't ask them to pay the price.

And so when they both know that Ethan and her are so much of a better match, the crab needs to go back in the shell, the lion needs to stand a firm guard to protect them both and he needs to move on and work with the only emotions he knows how to handle well - ambition and anger. Yes that leaves him in a slightly precarious position at work with the balls he rolled to pull her out now that he isn't sure she wants to be pulled out but, he's managed worse than this. Of course it would makes things easy if she told him very clearly whether she wants to remain behind with Ethan or still need his help in moving on, but even if she didn't - he will somehow find a way to manage this tricky bit too.

Fire on Fire

My mother said I'm too romantic

She said, "You're dancing in the movies"

I almost started to believe her

Then I saw you and I knew

Maybe it's 'cause I got a little bit older

Maybe it's all that I've been through

I'd like to think it's how you lean on my shoulder

And how I see myself with you

I don't say a word

But still, you take my breath and steal the things I know

There you go, saving me from out of the cold

Fire on fire would normally kill us

But this much desire, together, we're winners

They say that we're out of control and some say we're sinners

But don't let them ruin our beautiful rhythms

'Cause when you unfold me and tell me you love me

And look in my eyes

You are perfection, my only direction

It's fire on fire, mmm

It's fire on fire

Lyrics of Fire on Fire by Sam Smith

Oh I must let you go now...damn! 

I knew this day would come, I just didn't see it coming. I didn't see you coming. You hit me. Like a hurricane. You came sweeping in and before I could blink you had me. I couldn't see beyond you, I didn't want to see beyond you. For someone who stays in absolute control, you kicked the earth right from under my feet and I just didn't know how be with you. I drew you your own special circle, away from everyone else and put you there in your very own special place while I scrambled to understand what's just happened. But soon I gave up on understanding and from that point on when you were with me I wanted nothing else and when you were not with me I didn't know anything else and wanted to be back with you. All I heard, all I knew, all I felt was you and your voice pouring into me with each breath you that took and each word that you said and the oft long sigh you took when you realized you were hopelessly lost chasing butterflies as you did mid your monologues and I happily, slowly walk you back down your train of thoughts, back to where you started from and what you were trying to tell me. That's all I knew and so it was with us, just so it was, just.

And then there were times when you were not with me. When I knew you were out there somewhere in the dark night, dancing away a storm breaking many a young and old jealous hearts alike. When I knew there were hands grabbing you and eyes trying to grab yours even if for a second and somewhere in the background the music resonated with the crashing of the waves on the beach. I know you always told me that it didn't capture you like our times together did and even though many times that always sensing for danger part of my brain picked up on some events of the nights in yours stories that always didn't fit together, I simply smothered that part into silence every single time when it came to you. 

And so it was with us. I wanted you and I believed that you wanted me right back. I knew once you'd been away enough, you will run right back to me and fill me again with your never ending stories. I knew they will make me jealous and I knew you'd feign ignorance and carry on nonetheless until I have had enough and I drop someone else's name in the conversation which would give you a brief pause with your "Hmmm" but you'll put up a "I don't care face" anyway and carry on regardless - for a while. And before I know it, you'd find a way to throw that name and my words back at me , turn it into another never ending monologue which will end up with you chasing butterflies again and my walking you back again however this time I'll walk you back just a little further so you'd forgotten all about my name dropping and story weaving and you'd find something new to tell me and carry on once again. And so it was with us, just so it was, just so.

Velvety smooth nights laced with your voice would give away to harsh mornings without you which gave away to mellow afternoons filled with your incoming messages morphing into anticipatory dusk of your soon incoming voice which would turn into yet another velvety smooth night which would lead back into the morning again, repeating the circle day after day and night after night and so it was with us, just so it was, just so.

I know you said there are no regrets and no guilt and nothing else. And I know I agreed. But how could I not regret not knowing you? How do I not regret holding you close on the dance floor as you lose yourself to the rhythm before you realize that my hand is gripping your waist just a little bit too tightly, bruising it slightly as I grip harder. Before you stop and look at me, finally look at me amongst the crowd of younger, better looking, richer club owners and I don't know if I read apprehension in your eyes of my grip or anticipation of my next move. When I pull you slightly closer and you feel the affect you have on me and your eyes widen a bit and I realize that it's not just me who can't read you, it's also you who don't know the emotion that is slowly enveloping you from within and you are as eager as I am to find out which is which and what is what. When instead of pulling you in more, I relax my grip and let you slide back a bit and in that moment, that very moment the unmistakable disappointment flashes through your pearly whites and both you and I know what you want and I grip you hard again, pull you in again and kiss you. How do I not regret not having that kiss, ever?

Ecstatic, excited, happy as I was, I knew maybe that I am dreaming a bit too much. Maybe I am nothing more than a break from the usual people you speak with, a novelty for a while. Maybe I am making this world up in my head where you preferred being with me than anyone else and maybe it's not even me making it up but that hopeless romantic who I thought I'd rid of long ago and who here lead me astray as some sort of a long drawn out revenge that he was waiting for. Maybe he made me just dream all this and made you up and maybe I will wake up soon and realize you weren't so and I weren't so and that what was there was nothing but your nonchalance which I misunderstood horribly, and turned it into an imaginary world where you and I were out of control sinners wrapped around each other as the world disappeared from our peripheral vision. And so before you tell me this, for I know you perhaps already have and in my refusal to see anything else but what I dreamt of and hear nothing else that I wanted to hear, I chose to not listen to what you told me, I must wake myself up before the clock turns and tomorrow comes because tomorrow will be unlike any another day and before that day comes and this dream goes, I must let go of this you that I made up and; Oh I must let this you go now.

'Damn.

Maybe

A smile dances on your lips as those dark circles quickly sob under your eyes. You rest your head every so gently on his shoulders looking up at the phone he holds to capture this moment in its eternity as you arch your body every so slightly away from his.

Maybe you are in love with him, maybe it is something else that binds you to him. Maybe in this moment a feeble beat of your heart sighed my name, maybe it is the intoxication of this single malt that makes me see an alternate reality that the senses don't, maybe I am finally what I always claimed to be - a raving lunatic and there is nothing more to you, him or me, maybe one day I will know for sure or maybe one day the world will run out of whiskey and I will be able to sleep.

Maybe.

Aaj phir

Chalo aaj phir ek dastaan likhein
Ek purani dabee umeed nikalein, ek bhooli  khoyi  yaad tarashein
Ek nas ka lahoo seenche, tumhe kagaz aur kalam banaein
Chalo aaj phir ek dastaan likhein

Phir us naam ki guhaar lein,
Phir us aks ki .... karein
Phir is kismat pe kabhi roye, kabhi hasein,
Phir ek gahri saans main tumhari khushboo samete
Chalo aaj phi ek dastaan likhein

Chalo phir is ass ki ibtada dhoondhein, Chalo uski inteha talaashein
Chalo is kasak ko koi doosra naa dein
Chalo aaj phi ek daastan likhein

Chalo aaj phir wo pehsaani us darakht pe ghisse
Chalo aaj phir us khuda ki mannat karein,
Aur chalo phir gusse main usko nakar, chalo phi  main-kade main basar karein
Chalo aaj phi ek dastaan likhein

The Divide

I stand precariously at the edge of reason hoping with every sip of my whiskey to be pushed beyond it. I stammer, I totter, I nearly almost fall but - I don’t.

Fuck.

This side of the divide I have discipline, responsibilities, sense, maturity and a million other traits that every gifted, intelligent human possesses.

The other side, the foggy, dark, tantalizing side I have – me. I have the nonchalant, devil may care genius. I have the poet, the writer, the dreamer, the arrogant proud warrior with a sword in one hand, pen in other, bleeding from a thousand cuts yet smirking at heavens refusing to genuflect let alone die. I have the lover dipping his quill in his blood and pouring his heart out on his parchment. I have the knight defying his Lord and I have  the monk defying his God.

This side I am sensible. I am a professional. I am mature. I know what to say and to whom and I know when to keep shut. I know how to play politics and I know when I am being played. I know when I am the pawn, when the king and when the king maker. I know what is expected of me and I know how to fulfil my responsibilities. I know when to pull which string and I know when to give in. I know my work, I know my business and I know which way the money will move. I am reasonable. I debate and I do not argue. I disagree yet commit. I observe the members sitting around the round table and I make a mental note of their names, their strengths and weaknesses. I devise a strategy to pit them against each other. I make a plan. I know who hates whom and I know who will be my common friend against a common enemy and who will be my enemy against a jittered friend. I wait for the right opening in the discussion and I interject with an argument laden such with platitude and empty verbiage yet with enough intelligentsia and business acronyms so as to confuse everyone else and prevent a decision that isn’t to my liking.

The other side of the fog I stand with my sword dripping crimson droplets on a crimson ground held oblique in my hand. My hair bellows in the wind while perspiration and blood bring a sweet irritation to my eyes. Where my hair bellows in the raging wind and my tongue tastes the familiar metallic acrid stench in the air. Where I slowly raise my head to the heavens, smile and blink once to clear my vision. Where I extend one foot gracefully in front while I bend the other knee slightly to shift my center of gravity and with my taut sinews I bring my sword parallel to the blood soaked mud keeping the hilt perpendicular to my arched body. Where I ululate the ultimate cry of war while I enjoy the violent headwinds whipped by the charging hordes of enemy beasts. Where I enjoy the anticipation of inevitable bloodbath. And when it arrives then with every formidable step of mine the earth reverberates and with every arching slice of my greatsword I cut open hoards of charging infantry of humans and beast alike and smear myself with blood, guts and intestines. Where I swing and buckle and parry and thrust again and again as I laugh the hysterical, maniacal laughter of a man possessed of heartache of love of hate of indifference of saint and devil alike and of a million different emotions that consumes him burns him and turns his raging blood to a mountain of lava desperate to explode from the infinite pours on his body. Where once I win let both my knees touch the ground as I arch my back and raise my chest upwards while I raise my head to heavens and let my victory cry reverberate across the heavens. Where I finally raise my blood stained sword and utter my war cry one more time challenging the Gods to come and face me if they so dare.

One more sip, one more swig. I totter more. I nearly loose my balance. My head accidentally dips across the fog and my nostrils pick up the stench. My heart beat flutters and my muscles tighten.

I shake my head, I bend my knees and regain my balance. I pull my face back. I shake my head and look at my feet.

I take another swig of my whiskey. I close my eyes. I sip more. My knees falter. A tempting tantalizing whiff crosses the veil and reaches my olfactory senses. With a half drunk mind I see her angelic smile, I see her hand materializing out of thin air across the veil. I see her exquisitely manicured finger tempting me, suggestively prompting me to take a step, oh just one step forward. I hear her voice echoing in my conscience, reverberating across my skin and echoing in my head, pleading me to cross over.

I swig more.

My head hurts. My corporeal essence is tearing. I am transcending beyond my 

metaphysical existence. I am going to do it. I am going to take a step forward and like a phoenix rising from his ashes I will once again be me. My knees bend. I look at heavens. There is no bellowing wind, my hair isn’t whipping, there is no acrid, metallic stench in the air. I fumble. I fall.

I close my eyes. The glass shatters. The whiskey spills.

A familiar, fleeting voice whispers in the recesses of my fading being – It isn’t over. I am not leaving you yet. You will rise again. You will cross that veil again. And when you do you shall transcend through this fake reality and then in the truest dimension you will once again know the strength of your fingers and when you do the Gods will fear you. Come the day of judgement you will not be judged. You will be avenged. When the eternity arrives, you will make the Creator bleed.

Who Cares?

And the fair maiden screamed “Who cares!” and slammed the door right in his face. For a moment he stood there, whiplashed from the sheer force of slammed door, bunch of Marigold tied neatly with a ribbon in his hand, bottle of wine in the other a perplexed look in his eyes and feeling like a right idiot for not having a hand free to be able to stop the slamming door.

Not someone to give up he gulped hard put the bottle down, ran a nervous hand through his nervous hair and raised his fingers towards the door-bell. Again. What a daredevil. Fool but what a daredevil.

Chimes! The mellifluous chimes. Oh how that mellow door-bell chime wrenched his insides with trepidation. Will she open? Will she scream again? Will she throw a glass of water in his face? Will she tell him he is biggest idiot she has ever come across in her whole life or will she finally let him say his side of the story for once? Ah the agony of this terribly wait gutted him. Nervously he fidgeted shifting his weight from one foot to the other cursing himself again for bringing two things which tied both his hands and for million other things that went wrong in the past.

Hours seem to have passed since he heard the chimes. He was just about beginning to give up and ring the bell again even though he knew it would be throwing fuel to the fire. But then what other option did he have? This had gone on long enough. He knew she had a reason to be mad, hell he knew he had a reason to be mad but someone had to “care” enough to at least try once. Giving up is always an easy option but if the whole world simply just gave up in face of difficult times, what kind of a place we would be in?

Alas! Finally. He heard the echoing of the footsteps again behind the closed door. He straightened up, twisted his neck a bit, positioned the flowers slightly in front of his face (well what better shield to a projectile of flying water eh?) and waited. The echo came closer and closer. He heard the latch unlatch, the door know twist and instinctively he took a step back. She was on the move and coming for him. Careful now he reminded himself. Very careful. She could be as tempestuous as a storm in a tea pot when she gets going. Keep breathing, make eye contact and don’t rock the boat too much he reminded himself. You are not going to get a third chance. This is it. Sink or swim, make it or break it, you know her, you know how terribly this can go but then you also know she is worth it so buckle up and say honestly what you came to say and then so be it.

Lo and behold she opened! She stood there, arms crossed, feet crossed, one eye brow raised and…..and nothing. She just stood there looking at him. This was definitely not how he saw it going. But then this is the mystery of her. Always unpredictable, always mesmerizing, always a hundred steps ahead of him. He realized he is doing a Ross. He is standing there, not speaking. He is not speaking. Time is ticking and he is not saying anything. Nothing. Say something you idiot, anything. She is here, she is listening, she isn’t yelling (at least not yet). Say something!

Crawl

Crawl my dear friend. Crawl. Let those chaffed, broken, bruised, torn fingers dig in the soul of this scorched dilapidated earth and pull you closer iota by iota. Crawl my dear friend, crawl. Let the eyes shed the tears of sweat and blood, let the teeth grit and let the soul loosen a war cry of ……? But crawl my dear friend, crawl.

For there, beyond the edge of purgatory there lies you nirvana. Your moksha. You crawl to live a life beyond this realm beyond the manifested dimensions of metaphysical and karmic definitions. You crawl to leave yourself behind and be with yourself in a whole new entity unforeseen by all yet elucidated by the few who transcended that barrier. The being exalted in salvation in paeans in prayers and holy scriptures. You crawl to Him.

So crawl my dear friend, crawl.

Let the limp limbs hang lose behind you. Let the gnawing beasts dip in from the hell above and rip again and again into this mottled mass of blood and flesh that surround you. Don’t give up, not just yet. Fear not the raging fires of hell that erupt underneath you charring your flesh more. Fear not the cruel winds that pushes you further away from that illusive edge of the cliff. Fear not the elements, fear not the demons, fear not the hallucinations of life, sorrow, pain and death conjured by this myth of the universe. Fear nothing, ignore all.

Crawl my dear friend, crawl.

Done?

What is left of me now that I have bled my essence? My coherence trickles out of my astral conscious as the crimson droplets trickles out of my physical self.

I can see it happen, I feel it happen. My each sense screams its own end as it comes and yet I am unable to articulate it.

I am done?

Breaking the habit

I have never done this in the past but this beautiful Ghazal demands of me that I spread it to whoever might want to listen to it and help translate it.

This is the media file

And here is an absolutely beautiful, apt and perfect translation of this poetry which preserves its essence as it was meant by the original poet

http://amitdas.me/2007/04/13/gul-hui-jaati-hai-faiz

Phoenix

He was burnt. His ashes scattered across the multitude of this time space continuum, across the infinity of this multiverse. His essence sliced and diced and shredded and finally spread ever so thin ever so precisely that he lost his sense of being.

Aloof he spun. Across countless ages, across countless eons. He floated with the cosmic dust, got burnt by shooting comets, was consumed by gaping black holes, vaporized by exploding supernovas until finally he was lost somewhere within the fading memories of time.

He entered his purgatory.

Then he heard it. Something somewhere deep within what was once him. A call. A faint yet distinguished cry. His name. Something somewhere in one of his countless distributed ephemeral specks of dust stirred. It called out to him.

And the multiverse laughed. A deep guttural throaty laugh. A laugh laced with pity and drunk with its own supremacy. It echoed from the gaping, yawning icy depths of the the Malebolge where the dark forces stirred too. Ever so keen to indulge in the carnal pleasures of feasting on a soul lest that soul should find its path again - they laughed, they danced, they sharpened their hooves and their claws and their fangs. They lit their fires, the waiting pyres yet again. Overjoyed. Waiting.

The speck spoke again. It said one word – No.

No.

Not again. Not this time. No.

The narrative was faint, weak. Merely beyond a whisper, barely an audible. Yet that No reverberated. It resonated. It permeated the ether of this cosmic energy and it entered the hum of creation. It disturbed the patterns of destruction. It found matter and anti-matter and dark energy and forced them all together within the confines of a singularity. It was merciless, unstoppable and like a star collapsing under its own weight it tugged at every bit of me all across the infinity.

Carnal. Visceral. Nigh feral. Of the tug at the strings.

Slowly but firmly his ashes came together. Bound together and drawn mercilessly by the resounding echo of this one oh so negative a word they flew as one towards the speck which spoke. The worshippers of Lucifer oh how they shied away. They cowered, they hushed. They sliced themselves open and drenched the lit pyres with their satanic, demonic blood lest they draw the wrath of this one speck, this ever growing entity that is now submitting everything in its path to resonate with its own rhythm.

He was forming again. Bound in part by his name and in part by the single No he was coming together again. Slowly, gradually the ashes took his shape. Still fragile, still ephemeral, yet the blood started to make his ashes stick together.

And then it peaked. The disturbance, the resonance, the hum of this energy. It reached its crescendo.

With the force of countless stars it exploded annihilating the entirety that it touched. It fused matter and energy into one amorphous creation which it then pushed into his faltering silhouette.

He drank. He soaked. He gaped and gulped and consumed this combined medley that was pushed into him. 

He let it flow through him. The pain was searing; burning. Rivers of red hot scorching lava flew through him fusing his name together into a concrete shape.

He was reborn. The last remnants of the molten red pools glowing softly in his eyes He stood in the deafening silence of destruction.

He was complete. Fists clenched, head bowed, eyes shedding blood, and taught sinews and rippling muscles glistening with sweat - He was ready.

Phoenix.

Memories

Roll me a weed, light me a candle, strum me a guitar, coo me a Floyd and let my world go to cinders all around me.

Where am I!

Hey People!

Apologies about my absence but I have been very busy recently with lots of things happening here in my life. For starters I got myself a new job, had to buy another car and am also moving house!

I promise to be back very soon!

Keep checking!

A Perfect Evening

An evening perched precariously on the edge of sanity swaying intoxicatingly between the realms of soberness and freedom, a cube of ice melting its essence in the warm embrace of single malt scotch, a laptop cooing songs that drape a veil on vision, a tear dancing on the verge of lips crooked with sarcastic smile whispering their silent prayers to the heavens above and their darkest desires to the Satan below , some random images of a past life fluttering all around as beautiful butterflies enlightened with the joys felt and a half sober mind helplessly and hopelessly striving to catch them and put them together to make a coherent picture, few broken fingers trying to capture this mixed torrent of thoughts, experiences, memories and emotions while they dance their broken dance on this keypad and caught between these interdependent elements of my existence my dwindling self........

A perfect evening

Awesome!

This is so awesome!

This is one of the videos in a campaign by the UK government to promote road safety in the UK. Please see the video and leave us a comment telling us if you did it or not!


Enjoy!

Yesterday

Time
Don't let it slip away
Raise yo' drinkin' glass
Here's to yesterday
In Time
We're all gonna trip away
Don't piss Heaven off
We got Hell to pay
Come full circle

(Song "Full Circle". Band "Aerosmith")

Times change a man.

Yes they do.


From over the top of his three work monitors he gazes vacantly up at the flat screen monitor on the wall right in front of him running endless CNBC Europe with all manners and shapes of charts, bar graphs with numbers scrolling up and down and left and right all endlessly hammering his mind with incessant information. He stares at the screen watching all "Breaking News" headlines as they jump around pretty faces of business women with a "I mean business don’t fuck with me" written all over their forehead and middle aged pot bellied men offering endless opinions on stock prices, company actuals, EPS numbers, EPSREP numbers, EBG numbers...XYZ numbers.


He simply stares.


He averts his gaze which inadvertently falls on his three work monitors. These smart handsome boys scream another tale of the same world that he now lives in. Emails from Reuters, Bloomberg, traders, stock analysts, Quants, techies, stock prices not coming in, numbers bungled, sedols wrong, issuers fucked up...oh damn!


He was a Delhi boy through and through. The kinds that roam endlessly, freely over NOIDA toll bridge at 2 in the night with a plastic bucket full of melting big ice slabs and 12 bottles of Fosters chilling in them. The mission - to ravage these 12 bottles during the journey from west Delhi toll bridge to Gurgaon where more booze awaits. The kinds that would dance bhangra and break dance routines all mangled into one limb jerking madness of an orgy which would take place over cheap cello taped dance floors used commonly in weddings, throwing his stole up in the air as he yells on the top of his voice the lyrics of any song he could remember. Never mind if the so called DJ was playing a different number altogether. The kinds who would catch every movie featuring Bipasha the day it was released and towards the end get insanely jealous of John, and then work out in the gym diligently after every Bips movie only to give it up after a month till the next Bips movie kicks the entire cycle again.


The kind for whom every girl was a pursuit, a challenge, a conquest he had to have and had to win, the kinds that would be brilliant, geniuses at college, at school but would always be hunting for books one night before the exam and be miserably drunk on the evening of the last one. The kinds who would be always missing from classes, intimidating, cajoling some geek in the college for his/her notes and who would always run up the most massive bill at the college photo copier before their exams and would promptly forget about the bill as soon as the exams were over.


The kind who would always be least bothered of whatever he is wearing, the kind who would lazily drag himself to the afternoon class in torn chappals and jeans having just woken up from a bad hangover of the night before, only to realize he hates the guts of this prof and would promptly turn back on his heels to head back to hostel again where in a room without any kind of air cooling system with a lone fan that wont work because there would be no electricity his royal wooden bed without any mattress would await him on which he would sleep the most glorious relaxing sleep in the hot Delhi July afternoon.


Yes he was a Delhi boy through and through.


Now he wears a suit every morning. His shirts are all designers with cuff links, his trousers all pressed crisp. His shoes shine; he wears horn rimmed designer glasses and lives in a world of numbers. Working in the heart of old money's financial capital, the city of London, for a reputed big hedge fund he gets up at 6 every morning and is at work by 8. He doesn’t shout, doesn’t scream with delight anymore, and doesn’t delve into the limb jerking madness while he is on a brilliantly finished posh dance floor in one of his organization's events dancing with pretty ladies around him. He doesn’t drive wild in the nights doesn’t go roaming over motorways with chilled beer in the back of his car and definitely is not up till 4 am. He sleeps on comfortable beds in temperature controlled room and yet has difficulty falling to sleep. He hates but takes sleeping pills.


His “friends” are all PhDs, learned fellows who can simulate trading patterns in their heads and rattle off the earning numbers for FTSE 100 companies while they nibble over their chicken skewers and sip their droughts. No more the neighborhood guys from the street who barely cleared 10+2 but for whom life meant this moment, this very moment that they breath in, nothing beyond this moment mattered, the moment that just passed never existed and the next moment would never come. Those who lived their lives right now, right here even if they are slumped on the floor of a hostel room piled on by 5 guys each side, all passed out after a session of good old hostel party and didn’t have a scooby about what class is at 9 tomorrow morning.


Gone are the roadside dhabas with 4 am Aloo ke Paronthe and their ultimate adrak waali chai coupled with a Fan that he used to relish dunking in. Now it’s Lavazza black Americano with a tad of cold skimmed milk on the side please and an occasional donut from Krispy Kreme or maybe just a fruit and nut bar hmmm?


Gone are the days of Royal Challenge when Blender’s Pride used to be a gourmet treat. Now it’s all Scapa and Jameson and Jack Daniels with occasional Remy Martins and Hennessey for our boy. No more drinking straight shots from plastic Pepsi glasses while stuffed into a dark hot and cramped room at the back of a small local cyber cafe hiding from parents, neighbors, other friends who didn’t share the cost of the whiskey or Kurkure. Now he sniffs his wine while slumped in comfortable leather bean bags, swooshes his crystal glass and gurgles it in his mouth before he spits it out for sommelier pretending to make up some cock and bull story about the flavor while frankly he couldnt give shit about the wine's "particularly woody tinge".

The boy has come a long way. A long long way rather. He acquired all that he wanted to and is on the path that would lead him to more of his desires. Things that he always wanted to achieve ever since he was a teenager living in a single room with his parents and siblings. Luxuries he could only dream of, life he could only imagine living. Now he has it all and soon would have all that is remaining.


Why then is he sitting on his desk, middle of a business day, staring at his monitors and asking himself – I achieved all I wanted to, want to, but is this really worth what I gave up?

Time
Don't let it slip away
Raise yo' drinkin' glass
Here's to yesterday
In Time
We're all gonna trip away
Don't piss Heaven off
We got Hell to pay
Come full circle

Slave!

That’s what I have become. It’s sad and pathetic and disgusting and frankly I am fed up of myself but to be honest with you, I have become one! My master is my new employer who is actually now dictating my life for me. And you know what I hate about this? I like it!

Oh fuck I am fed up of myself but I like this job. The official working hours are 8am to 6pm which even though might actually make my American readers say “that’s it, really” and make my friends from India shrug their shoulders and say “so what”, it is really something that was unheard of in the UK. In my last job I used to leave my house at about 8:55-9:00 am in the morning and used to take a leisurely stroll to my work. I would smile at others on the way, would stop to read new signs, would notice the change on the streets, houses etc etc and would eventually enter the office at about 09:15-09:20.

I would go through my emails, hop over to some guys and have some chat, come back onto my desk, do some work, raise my head from my monitors and make a comment on something someone said just now and get back to work.

I would take a lunch break about 12:30, come back by 2 and work/play some more. Often and I don’t care if my ex boss is now reading this because I don’t give a shit really :D, often I used to go for a quick movie in the afternoons ;). I would then leave the office at about 5:15, go to the gym, sweat out, leave the gym about 7 and take my walk back to the home.

Perfect!

Now I get up at 5:45 am, and zoom through the process of shit, shower and shave. I put on extreme business formal clothes (read suites) and am out of the house by 6:30. I sprint to the nearest train station, dash through the barriers and hop onto the next train to London Waterloo. Trust me I wouldn’t notice a stripping Pam Anderson if here satins were to hit me in the face while I am sprinting to the station. On my journey on train I would use my PDA to check my emails, reply back to family and friends to give them the impression that somehow I am still involved in their lives and before I know it I would hit London Waterloo. Jump out of the train, dash to the other platform to take the next train and push and shove and often trip people who get in the way. I would squeeze myself into the tube (the London underground trains) and hold my breath till I get off at the bank station because if I were to breathe I would

a) be taking more space while inhaling exhaling and space my dear friend is at its premium in rush hours in London tubes.

b) be inhaling some very very unpleasant smells from the mass of humanity around me that would promptly make me choke and eventually, retch.

I would run to the office and slide into the elvators. Here I am, clock ticking 7:55 am, inside the office and what do I see?

Most of the people actually come in at 7:30!

Oh fock me now Lord!

The day is crazy always. No access to outside emails, phones, messengers nothing. People hardly talk to each other. Everyone is this highly cultured sophisticated buttoned up well paid uptight snobbish jackass (okay include me too but mind you, I have just joined this week and hence I am still in the process of being moulded here!). The evenings are nothing but the same morning pattern of sprinting and shoving and running and pushing and tripping this time back to the home. By the time I get down at my station I am so exhausted that I cant even think about hitting the gym. While on my way back to the house from the station trust me I would still not notice that naked Pam Anderson if she were to come upto me and thrust her “endowments” into my face to make sure I am really not blind.

I didn’t join this place; I sold out for the money. It is a financial institution and yes the money is good, too good really. Hefty bonuses, marvellous perks (last xmas everyone in the office got either an iphone or ipod touch or a peronsal laptop depending on choice) and usual comforts that money can buy. I am on a slightly senior position, a very important role for the business and soon I would be managing a small division.

But that innocence from the life is missing. I feel as if I have killed a part of me, left it for dead in my last job. I don’t walk leisurely anymore, I don’t notice change on my town streets, I don’t recognize faces I see on my way.

Is this what is called called career progression? I would be honest with you completely and admit this is what I always wanted. I had worked with Morgan Stanley before and I had loved the finance domain. Ever since that job I wanted to get back in there with the traders on the trading floor and live in that high paced, fast moving, extremely electric money charged atmosphere.

I guess Oscar Wilde was very right when he said

“There are only two tragedies in life. One is not getting what one wants, the other is getting it.”

Ihave been here only for a while let's see how I fair. Stay in touch guys!

JFK - Just for Kicks!

LOL! I got these sent out today in an email and I so loved the idea. definitely am going for something like this when I finally go away

An escaping ambition

This is a repost of one of my earlier posts. I am doing this because this is what I have been feeling off late. If you read this to the end tell me please if you ever feel this way.

An Escaping Ambition

Last night a silent whisper woke me up from my slumber. Out of the corner of my sleep filled eyes I saw a shadow trying to tip toe its way out of my room. Perplexed and still delirious I called out, “Who are you and where are you heading to?”

On hearing my voice the shadow stopped and stood with its head bowed. When I repeated my question, the shadow as if imploring me said “Sir I am a small ambition who lived in your eyes since ages and I was now leaving.” This shocked me and I could not do anything but ask “Why my old friend. What grave inconvenience could have I caused you which made you break this old relationship and leave?” As if I had embarrassed the shadow, it spoke meekly. “Sir, I have been with you as long as I could remember. You gave me birth and you brought me up. You nursed me in your heart. You gave me a place in your eyes and a place in your vision. You catered for me in your plans and you accommodated me in your sleep. Still after all these years and all this work I remained a black shadow. I could never be a reality and come and stand in front of you. I have hurt you, pained you and I do not want to do this anymore. I was leaving so you could live in peace.”

I was startled. My eyes suddenly felt heavy, as if something was filling them up. Tears maybe but I didn’t know. I was at a complete loss of words. It was as if someone had hidden all my words from me. I could sense them and see them as stars twinkling around me but as soon as I reached out with my hand to touch them they vanished with a pop like magic and the more I strained my eyes to follow the crisscrossed trajectory of these flying words the heavier my eyes became. I didn’t know what to say to this black shadow which now stood so humbly with its head bowed and arms dropped down to its sides. Perhaps an era or maybe a lifetime later I asked again – “If this is true my friend then why leave so quietly? Why not tell me and shake hands and leave? Why leave like a thief, as if you have something to hide or someone to hide from. Surely it can not be me. I have loved you and as you said, treasured you. Why then leave without a final hug or so much so as a handshake? Is our bond so weak that you can simply shrug it off and walk away?”

As if possible the shadow sank a few feet in the ground. It suddenly appeared smaller and weaker. With a sigh the shadow replied, “I was not alone in your eyes sir. A small hope lives right next to me. She is not very strong. She would not have survived if she knew I was leaving. She would have cried and insisted on coming along with me and had that happened, you sir would have been left all alone. I never intended that to happen. Farewell sir and please take good care of that hope. If anything were to happen to her you would be all alone.”

A sudden noise outside my room woke me up. I think I was dreaming. Yes it probably was a dream. Shattered pieces of a broken ambition still sting my eyes sometimes. A small hope still cries somewhere within sometimes.

Ohh FOCK It!

The first few words I uttered as I slammed my laptop shut in frustration.

It had been a miserable complete waste of 3 hours that I have ever spent. And if you must ask what I was doing, I was trying to update this bloody blogger template! Jeez! Well I always thought technology is a means (to our end sometimes) aimed at making our lives simpler and easier, until I was hit by the foolish idea - to update the look of my blog.

I was immediately prepped up. Its like that proverbial bolt of lightning you see hitting the central cartoon character on Cartoon Network which then is immediately followed up by an unbelievable widening of the irises of his eyes and an utterly ridiculously stupid east to west grin on his mouth and a sudden appearance of a bright shiny100 Watt bulb on his head which then pulsates back and forth to catch the viewers attention. The character then swoops both his arms towards one side, lifts his leg, flutters his long ears and dashes from one corner of your screen to disappear in the other. The film proceeds and in the very next frame the character hits a big boulder, the widened irises come together to render the poor soul cross eyed, the tongue sneaks out from the corner of his lips giving a completely new dimension to the hitherto "oh so cute" wide grin, the bulb shatters into a zillion pieces that transform into small golden birds which start chirping and flying in a circle over his head when promptly like a log he lands squarely flat on his back.

I should say that completely summarizes my initial attempt of updating the template on my blog.

I was very inspired by the looks of Ashu's Blog and Annie's Blog and thought to myself "Hey! when they can do it why cant you!" while conveniently forgetting the fact that they are ladies of probably extraordinary intelligence while my intellectual capabilities can best be compared to well the character on the Cartoon Network. Nonetheless I used google and had a few million hits when I searched for blogger templates. I have no idea why this perked me up and made me feel as if I have really accomplished something. Even now I have absolutely no clue why in that moment did I feel so proud and satisfied as if I have really accomplished my mission in this life which if you have noticed I kinda keep questioning time and again. Anyways, I selected a template, downloaded it from its source site, went to the settings section of my blog, uploaded the template, read quickly through some warnings that immediately came up in red about some widgets (whatever they are) being deleted and not giving two hoot for any damn thing in this entire cycle, I clicked confirm delete and lo! I immediately had a weird looking error code on my screen which looked like straight out from The Da Vinci Code anagrams along with a small apology text that looked like Prez. Mush's letter to G.W. Bush after 9/11 (which as per few very popular jokes was dispatched on 9/10!).

I had hit the boulder, my eyes were squinting to make sense of this screen (not completely cross eyed yet), I was almost close to scratching my head but little did I know I am about to fall squarely on my back very soon.

I gave my famous Houdini flourish of the hand and promptly mouthed Hogwash(read Harry Potter if you dont know what this means) and I still don't know why I closed the browser down. I think I was under the impression that the Blogger servers live somewhere hidden in my browser and if I get rid of this particular instance of my browser the corresponding server would die (yeah! die you bi*ch die!) and would completely forget what happened and when I start another browser, a new server would start magically (ref. Harry Potter again, no wait try Lord of The Rings this time) and the mighty balance of the cyber space universe would be restored automatically and peace shall be bestowed onto these pages. So I started a new instance of firefox, promptly typed http://achingpen.blogspot.com and..........well now I was flat on my back!

Every thing from my blog other than my posts was simply wiped off. No blog catalog thing, no mybloglog widget, no favorites, history, my fav posts, simply nothing! My tongue would have lolled out had my mouth not formed a big O and my eyes would definitely have been cross eyed had they not been trying to imitate the shape of my mouth. Basically I was looking like a close up of the poor cartoon character when he was lying flat on the ground.

Stop grinning will you? This is supposed to be a saga of my sorrows. An odyssey from one template to the other where during the course of my journey I lost a lot, bid farewell to a lot of things that were dear to me and at times I simply passed out of exhaustion.

So back on the trail then. The reverberations of the virtual cosmic shock had me literally trembling all over. I scrolled up, I scrolled down, I scrolled right, I scrolled left (as if that would have helped!) but to not avail. All of my customizations had simply vanished, much like ethics from a corporate America and sense from a booze laden Britain and honesty from a corrupt India. I had no idea what should I do next. In vain I logged on to the settings section of my blog and tried moving back to my old template. As you experienced folks would know that didn't help either. Nothing, nope, nada!

And so began a vicissitude of experimental change. A new blog came up http://getmemylife.blogspot.com where I started playing. I ventured alone in the amazonian jungle of CSS, div tags, blogger code and HTML. I fought single handedly with the demons of xml and snatched the much sought arcanum of widget customizations. Yes it was tough, yes at times I yelled my desperate cries to the gelid Gods of blogger help sections, to the acknowledged gurus of template customization and yes more often than not I did think of giving up but my obdurate conscience wouldn't let me.

At the end though I stood victorious. The new blog had just the look I wanted. Exhilarated, ebullient and almost bibulous now I copied the template and uploaded it to this url here. More warnings in red again about widget deletions which made perfect sense to me this time and even though I pressed "confirm delete" again, this time I knew what I was doing.

Pray note that knowledge doesn't really make anyone wise. When first I had pressed "confirm delete" I had no idea whatsoever what I was doing yet I went ahead and completed the action but time when I knew all that I was supposed to know before making an informed decision I the mighty old cartoon character still nonetheless clicked "confirm delete"

Bang! Everything lost again! Duh! Prompt came out the three words which make up the title of this post and laptop was slammed shut.

I had heard the tocsin and decided I didn't care.

But of course I did. I gave it a night. I let my unfinished customizations hang in the cyber space for all to see and laugh at me. I woke up the next day and firmed my resolve to sort this out today. I went to my office and at the first chance grabbed hold of Ben who is the lead web UI designer in the office and pleaded him to sort this mess for me. And Ben being the gentleman that he is kindly agreed. Though he made it clear he had no idea on blogger format but hey he is someone who eats CSS, drinks HTML and breathes Xml. Took him about 30 minutes and the blog was ready!

So for now, I have left this blog as Ben handed it over to me as my gratitude to Ben. Thanks Ben! It's time like these when you know who your best friends are. I am sure the fact that I am the boss had nothing to do with your inclination to help my a** out of this mess :D

LOL!

Best,

J