Juggernaut

There is a child
There is the child
Pale skin and mellow words
Cold eyes, sometimes mild.

Dreams of a child
Dreams buried
Deep in a mine
No longer a damn
About the past
Or the hourglass.
You know why?

Cos' that child
Suffers an existence, of
Too many thin lines
To many parallels.

'Cos that child
He never cries
He never smiles...
The juggernaut in him,
Long ago, died.

Speed 97

Speed-97 is what makes the engine smooth, even at 100 KMPH. Felt extremely nice buttt... no other difference at all. No point in filling it. Absolutely none. I could've bought one extra litre of unleaded in lieu of 5 litres of 97-octane. So much for my experiments. Bigger hydrocarbons kathe. What a semi-piss-off!

No need for sympathy, it's only for the weak
On bleeding knees I accept my fate...

A little anger, a little hurt and a bike along Bangalore-Mysore Highway is a very interesting combination. Especially when the clean shaved rider had eleven rupees and fifty paise in his wallet, 5 litres of speed-97 in the fuel tank and 3 litres in reserve, AND a Need For Speed. Thirty kilometres on the highway, a coffee and a cigarette, and a return trip in the rain. A feeling, indescribable and immeasurable. Ultra awesome. And far-off words echoing in your head - "So... Do you think you can tell blue skies from pain, Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell?"

Am I forced to have any regret?
I've become the lie, beautiful and free...

A drift through scenes of yellow fields of crops, clear blue skies in metamorphosis, smoothly into a blue sky with white clouds and then to a sky with black clouds. Pleasant warm wind, and on the way back, cool wind and raindrops on my unhelmeted face. Rain. After a smoke. Extremely smooth and quick 100 KMPH accelerations. Toying with, harassing and then overtaking pissed off lorry drivers.

Shake the silence and hear what it says
The tranquil pride that become the lie...

I would want to live that way forever. But I can't. Cos' I need the ordinary, the mundane and boring, and the anger, the betrayal, the hurt to enjoy my deepest comforts. It's nice to live out your own version of your most cherished songs in reality.

At least once in a while. :)

Reserved

Well...
So...
50(possibly more)% seats for SC/ST and OBC guys.
And we are expected not to go abroad. Brain drain kathe. Yeah right...
So this is what the land of opportunities has become.
Fuckin' communalism and sectarian, caste based politics.
Arjun Singh and the Govt. can KISS MY ARSE.
Saale jhaat ke pakode...

Confession 8

One fine morning, you'll wake up on the right side of the bed and you'll ask me why I killed two innocent little children?

The little smiling girl holding a bouquet of red roses, whose smile melted even the coldest of hearts. And that little chubby boy with a zeal that who could move, and bring to life even the coldest of stars.

I would say, I never killed them. Those two children are just lost in time.

I'd watch you lean on my shoulder with a sad smile, the way you always ought to, and I would caress your hair, the way I always had to.

Time would freeze, I'd stop in my tracks and I would wonder - Whatever happened to the two little children in us?

That's one reason why I do not like to go back in time. I need to make confessions. Lots of them. And I hate confessing.

Actually, I did kill them.

Rainmaker

High above on a bright blue sky, them Eagles did soar,
Watching us mortals wander for grace.
High above on a dark black sky, the thunder clouds did roar,
Watching us mortals, this semi-divine, frail human race.

Dancing consciousness, a Higher Power's mirth
Thine Images and Words, Divine Giver-and-Taker, My Maker
A preciousness, cleansing God's Green Earth
'twas a gift from you, a gift from the Rainmaker.

He stood beneath, looked up, danced with joy.
The rain, she played with him; was demure, sometimes coy.
Hands raised to the sky, said he - "Take away my pain..."
While Man-made objects stood by, impermeable to rain...

The others they stood, sheltered from reality,
So near yet so far away; In their minds, rain was a far cry.
Caught in Matters of Importance, illusory perceptivity,
So far away, yet so near; False notions, faces wry.

Dancing consciousness, a Higher Power's mirth
Thine Images and Words, Divine Giver-and-Taker, My Maker
A preciousness, cleansing God's Green Earth
'twas a gift from you, a gift from the Rainmaker.

The rain, she twirled his affections 'round her little finger,
Of the rain, he seemed, nay, was indeed a harbinger.
His vision, a horizon of water dispersed orange-red on a canvas of gold
His emotions she laid on a bed with hers, orange-red in a heart of gold.

Note : 1st pic taken by me. That's why it's not that good. Second pic, not taken by me. I repeat, not taken by me. Please do not credit me for that wonderful pic which I shamelessly ripped off the net.

Scene One : Hosur Road, 2.08 PM

I'm passing by college, riding my bike at 30 KMPH, that too in 5th gear. Cos' I'm lazy. Yes, my bike can go 30 KMPH in 5th gear just a little above idling speed. Enter new character. Kannadiga Mawali type "Asshole", henceforth referred to as just "Asshole", rips on his HH Splendour and overtakes me. Almost collides during the process.

(NOTE : Words in quotes like "Asshole" must be read in Dr. Evil style... For eg. The "Laaayser". Got it?)

Me being the cocky guy that I am, decide that this guy's not gonna escape me. Downshift 3 gears, shift posterior a couple of inches behind, lock knees on the fuel tank, incline my back from straight backed to a 45 degree thing and throttle away. (Abe, I positively hate it when smart-asses in underpowered bicycle-equivalents try to show me off.) I'm still in 2nd gear, closing in on "asshole". Speed : 40 KMPH. Upshift to 3rd gear. "Asshole" gets frantic, starts throttling all the way down. Diary circle flyover starts. Your hero "Arcane Crapper" is very much in 3rd gear and effortlessly reaches 60 KMPH and is now side-by-side with "Asshole". "Asshole" gets extremely frantic.

"Asshole" can't do a thing. He accepts defeat as he sees "Arcane Crapper" shift into 4th and then 5th and reach a speed of 90 KMPH. "Arcane Crapper" faded away into the concrete horizon.

End of 'Fairy Bike Tale'. Why 'Fairy Bike Tale', you may ask. That's cos my bike has a fairing. That's why.

End of Scene One. 2.09 PM.

---

Scene 2 : The Spoof. Remembrance of 10.05.2006.

Me (10.05.2006 2:47:35 Am) : When IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII was a child, I had a beaverrrr,
Sita (10.05.2006 2:47:43 Am) : oh
Me (10.05.2006 2:47:44 Am) : I turned to look but it was gone
Sita (10.05.2006 2:47:49 Am) : and u didnt feed it?
Sita (10.05.2006 2:48:06 Am) : and why are u listening to floyd at three in the morning
Me (10.05.2006 2:48:06 Am) : It will not bite my finger aany-more
Sita (10.05.2006 2:48:21 Am) : and making fun of it also
Me (10.05.2006 2:48:26 Am) : I.... have become... comfortably dumb
Me (10.05.2006 2:48:33 Am) : ROTFL
Sita (10.05.2006 2:49:08 Am) : and, your honour, he rests his case.

---

Scene 3 : Bedroom. 9.15 PM

There's something strangely romantic, and a sense of belonging that a person feels when he sits in his bedroom. There's something magical about the walls (maybe walls can hear things). There's a sense of comfort knowing that you're alone and yet... never alone. Supernatural stuff? Nope. The Internet. And the books, oh yes. Amazing things. Just looking at a pile of books stacked, arranged or strewn all over. Just looking. Is enough. To make a person beam with pride.

There's something soothing, almost heavenly, as I look at my fingers moving across the keyboard, at times slow, sometimes fast and parallely listen to my subwoofer thumping out beats of Priest's 'A Touch Of Evil'... 101 posts on my blog including this and I can only look back at the person I was 100 posts back. And a very unreal smile bursts open. I would not even be writing about retrospective thoughts if I had something better to ruminate upon. If I could see the moon out of my window, it'd just complete something almost perfect. But the clouds... Woe.

100th Post. But What The Fuck...

I stared blankly into the screen, and watched BitTorrent's progress bar notch up 0.1% by 0.1%. I've put up a movie for download. So much downloaded, yet so little. Winamp blares music into my ears, as it always does.

Engine's not tuned well,
One mess after another,
Taste of Biryani Lost,
Perfection destroyed,
Tranquillity evaporated.
Buried the hatchet.
Buried, cos' of the hatchet.
Pulverized by a trebuchet.
This poetry is fuckall
Oh, how it appalls...
And all I can say,
Is Balls.

The addiction is the first and last wall of defense.
Insanity and words come some-fuckin-where in between.
This fortified wall of defense is now one really thin line. Hair breadth probably.
I wanna close my eyes to this inferno, one without visible flames, yet burn the same.
This time, no words in between. Fuck it all.
Chaos.

I knew.
I've lost.
I knew. Definitely.
It's such a shame.
I've lost.
As I always had to.