Looking back.

At first, you see a scratch on the surface; not completely negligible, but you sweep it away still, calling it a ‘one-off’ or an anomaly.

Then comes the crack; it’s defined but it was not there before. You had not noticed. It’s prominent. The sheet looks worn. A small doubt runs through the back of your mind. The image is still perfect.

The crack progresses; in many places at once and you are pleasantly surprised; this has not happened before, or has it? You don’t know. You’re a little confused with the whole change of scenery.

The visible cracks start forming patterns that you had not imagined; that train of thought had never entered your mind because it was always perfect. Not anymore.

You’re slowly coming to grips with what is happening simultaneously processing and denying the reality in front of you.

That sheet of ice is flawed, cracked but only now and then you look back and you realize something.

The ice has always been like this, today, you can see things as they are.


And then you go Mad

Don’t mind me, I’m writing this on my short sweet way to sleep deprivation; insomnia, I think, is the correct term.

I’ve done this previously; writing something, early in the morning, just as I’m about to sleep. It helps because my thoughts and intentions are focussed about what needs to be written.

This one is also different from the train journey where I fought to stay awake from my regular schedule because I did not want to wake up 170 Kilometres away at a different town.

No, today, as I am typing this, I lay wide awake, staring at my ceiling, wondering why we did not have a regulator in place for the fan because the settings are between Mordor and North of the Wall.

We’re dealing with somebody staying awake against his will; but it’s not voluntary; quite the opposite. Tossing and turning in the bed for the last 3 hours with nowhere to escape to, it has spurred new content to my faithful blog.

It’s not a serious case of sleep deprivation with adverse symptoms setting upon as the day progresses; no, it’s a simple problem with a not so simple solution. We needs to rest.

Momentarily we’re gonna stop referring to ourselves in the third person and go look for ways to sleep and if that does not pan out, I’m gonna start researching about insomnia.

There is high chance that I might not remember this when I wake up; so, let me know if you want a follow up to this in the comments, I guess.

To the dreamlands and beyond.


It was dark; as it always is, when these kinds of things happen. Kathir, our manager, was not in his best mood; his ex-wife had called him an hour earlier. We knew better than to prod into that story.

“I’m taking off early”, he said and was out the door before we could even react.

The last batch of coffee for the day had gone stale. Something about the gloomy weather we assumed.

It was also raining. Meghna giggled at me from across the counter. I happened to be the sore face that had to tell them that we were out of coffee.

“The weather I suppose” he said, and walked away. The rare good willed customer. He stepped into the rain and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“How long till the rain stops?” she asked me.

“How does it matter? You get picked up in a car” I was the one who had to drive a bike, drenched to my bone.

“Lose the attitude. You’re not helping anybody” she said, with the classic cold shoulder. Doesn’t matter, she’s of no consequence to me.

It was not just the weather that was gloomy. There was something about the inner workings of this place. I was better off not knowing and am going to act the part even after I finish narrating this. It’s out there and I don’t want one part of it.

Ranjith, the owner, the liberal thinker, the modern art lover, brushed it off as rival rumours.

“It’s always the people that make or take the gloom” he said, and he brought in Meghna and she was a bundle of light in this place; she had an air to her that did not seem to affect her; bright as day she roamed, being the best of everybody.

It’s the plight of the bachelor to be the caretaker after dark; unsaid rule around this place. Meghna left, just after sundown. I was closing shop; on the outside, we were known for being open until midnight. Naturally, closing, is a pain.

A lingering glance around the expanse of the floor confirmed that the floor was indeed empty and being the lock obsessor that I am, pulled the shutters down, tugged at the locks twice for good measure before turning around.

My partner, PD, did not stay to close today; he was picking somebody up; he left as soon as the lights were turned off. I soaked my way to the parking lot after the shutters were down. Five seconds later, I realized that my keys were inside.

Normally, I wouldn’t mind opening to get back but the rain made it so much more difficult.

The locks were off and I froze as I lifted the shutters.

There was a girl, a smaller, younger version of Meghna, sitting in there, sipping a cup of coffee. She looked a little pale and the coffee did her no good. There was a cold tingling up my spine as she shot a glance at me and at that moment, I realized that I was lingering on far too much and I did not get paid enough for this paranormal shit.

Took to my heels and ran away without a destination in mind. I finally sat down by the beach and looked around; the rain was driving everybody indoors.

There was a jingle to the left and I saw my keys, on the sand, next to me.

There was a familiar tingle as I heard the words,

“The coffee has gone stale hasn’t it?”

P.S : This is based on a true story.

Happy Friday the 13th y’all.

Not To Be

That is the answer.

Cinema. Films. Movies. And everything else that they’re called in languages the world over. This is a little about cinema, real life and gaming. From the roots of loneliness stem the thoughts that might keep you occupied for the next minute or five.

Applauds all over when cinema is able to reflect real life in a perfect way; but why would cinema serve that purpose? If I wanted real life, I’d look around and not go to the theatre.

Then again, I don’t want one man flying around and beating up baddies; that is taking the idea to a pulp and killing it, one frame at a time.

Yes, the perfect movie is difficult; one that can please all audiences and still be relevant to the person who walks home.

Source for the words steam out of a lonely Sunday evening. The power cut on a gloomy day forced me outside to take a whiff of the city after sun down.

My royal steed and me took to the roads and if you’ve watched enough movies, you will get a third person view of what it looked like. Carefully avoiding the mud puddles, weaving through traffic and between the government buses who claim all roads in the vicinity for themselves. The angry 30-something with his wife who is late for the movie and is fuming because his car is stuck in traffic and the damp sunday air, for a moment, it did feel like the movies.

Real life lacks background music.

The sunday breeze across the beach road, the smug feeling of irritating that one driver who’s been honking like a madman when I am clearly out of road to drive into and the cop, who stands there, looking at me, without the helmet, in a busy road, on a sunday; but he does not stop me, he’s not bothered to take the effort. Well, he’s got a whole month to meet his targets so that’s the last of his worries.

I got lost on the train of thought about games, so, excuse me.

The question, I guess, is, loneliness. To be or not to be and I’m sure somebody has already said this before, but let me go,

“A man trapped with his own thoughts and memories is never lonely.”


Do we become stagnant because we run out of ideas or do we run out of ideas because we become stagnant.

And with that, this has the potential to turn out to be a reflection of life, in it’s entirety or just this blog post specifically.

Something from personal experience that I’ve come to hear around is this, “Change the status quo”. Hooray for everybody trying to being about the change but, in all the revolutionary ideals, do they or by extension we, stop to think if the change is necessary?

What if the status quo seems ideal? Two possible outcomes come to mind. Either we have started living in a self satisfied utopia or it’s evil and similar twin, the dystopia. Dystopias spring revolutions but as a wise man once said, ‘It’s everyday life and routine that kills people’.

Getting used to something would then mean the end would it not? Stir things up once in a while to keep it interesting; sounds a lot like relationship advice and therein lies the beauty of everything around us.

I mean, not relationship advice per se, more about taking ideas from once aspect and projecting it onto something else entirely to see if it would work.

That, I guess, is how we do not keep running out of ideas. You do two things a thousand times; what would happen if you switched the way you did them?

Nothing like demented philosophy on a Monday morning. Good times!

Murphy and Karma

There is the notion of starting out by having ‘One Rule’ that should never be broken. As adults, as kids, as organisms capable of sensible thought, this is something that everybody has chanced to look upon at least once, if not many times.

Fool proof as the idea may seem, it’s not really practical. ‘Drink but never get drunk’ might be one of the harsher ones; but in a room full of friends with no plans for the immediate future, it makes sense to bend the One Rule a little. But, where does this stop?

Story time. The laziness quotient allows and controls us to do the maximum amount of work with the least effort, either physical or mental; the desire to do them, is in a different box; there’s also the question of loyalty, dependability and being a good Samaritan in general.

Cue me, wanting to play Ultimate, service my bike and go watch a movie. Ideally, they need not cross paths because the game is after office, the service station is closer to where I work and movie time is generally balanced by my current sleeping habits. This is where Murphy’s law comes in.

It so chanced upon us ordinary individuals to play the game on the day whence we had booked the tickets for the movie (based on a whole ‘man of my word’ deal). Now sparks the brilliance, where I decide to throw the service in, because, hey, I’m gonna be up all day.

So, the game and then I’m back home where I fight to stay awake till the service station opens. Phase I is a success as I walk out of the service station, figuring it’s a quick cab to the rendezvous point for the movie.

This is where the s#%t hits the fan, or turbine, depending on how you see it.

My network bails, leaving me with no way to book a cab. No problem, we have recharge shops every 10 feet. Nope; the network has bailed on them and I’m still stranded, zero balance, sweating and at this point, awake for close to25 hours (graveyard shift).

This is where karma steps in. I offered a ride to a random person on my way to the station and here, as I stood, the shopkeeper in the last shop, allowed me to use his data to book a cab.

Murphy’s law is a b%^&h but so is Karma, if you don’t treat her well.

There was another disaster after that but it’s enough words for now.


Plastic Melts

An idea is like a, something that I cant remember to recall. The point of that train of thought was get ideas down to writing as quickly as possible but, clearly, it’s lost on me. Another day another post.

Getting things into perspective will solve a lot of things in our mundane everyday. That each person you meet and see is the hero of the story; they have the villain, first crush, best friend and a bunch of other extras. Now, the perspective thing is a little clear when you are part of the main cast or even the supporting one for that matter. But, take a break for a minute to imagine yourself as one of the extras. A nameless face with a little to remember by will be all that is left of us. Little bit scary.

Then comes the traffic signal. You start caring for a bike like a child, keeping it clean, making sure it does not go over to the dark side and most importantly, making sure that it’s safe.

I wear flats (flip-flops, depending on where you are from) most of the time and this line is just a rant about how how it is in my part of the map; I feel the waves caressing the open half of my feel as I place my foot on the brake pedal.

There I was, blissfully speeding along with the one unified thought that everybody had, ‘To get out while it’s still green’. I glance around and there is the boy in the work clothes, looking tired after a hard day at work. The averagely rich lady inside her taxi with a couple of moderate shopping articles in the bag. The really rich lady with the german car and the hat wearing chauffeur, holding on to bags of stuff that I only really know the names to; have honestly got no idea what those things are. The taxi driver impatiently honking the daylights, in a magical attempt to do away with the traffic; he must have himself confused with the dude who split the sea.

The green rolls on, 4,3,2 and BAM, I turn around to find this woman/girl staring at me with an apologetic face towards the lights. Determining her age was difficult because she was wearing multiple components of clothing over her face to protect it, I guess?

Anyway, here I am, and hopefully, some distance away, in this very city, there is somebody with the very same story with the difference that they bumped into a Bullet on the way home.


Yes I Do


A hiatus is temporary; a couple of hiatuses put together tend to be somewhat dangerous. Today, with this post, we break another one; always in the hope that we can and will come back once again.

The answer that never changes in the many times that the question is asked. We huff and we puff and we try to bring the house down, but the house, the house always wins.

The question brings us to the crossroads of a cultural obligation, a right of way and some basic human decency. The question once discussed around a cup of coffee and a really popular piece of stand-up comedy, took life this past weekend.

To set the scene in three ways, I was happy when I saw that my ticket number was 78. Every time, I make a pick at that little checkbox that says ‘Window’, hopeful that this would be the chosen time where I get to sit in my seat; 78, last seat, the small consolation being that nobody would go out of their way to sit there. Happy, sad, meeting somewhere in the middle and all that jazz. So, there was my right of way.

Cue me, walking on the platform all stylish, wearing a t-shirt that said, ‘Free Kisses’ (Yep! I’m a fan of the dementors) and getting the stink eye from the lady with the full makeup on her face; I mean, it’s 6.30, you’re not the shining light in your compartment, so, try to keep it a little low? The obvious couples and the oblivious parents/uncles/aunts dashing across for the bad coffee on the platform and for the limited copies of ‘The Hindu’ out on the cart-stall; and then me, looking at the reservation chart, 56M sitting next to me. ‘This should be fun’ I said to myself as I slid the door open; fully expecting a salt and pepper gentle man with a beige shirt/sweater and looking desperately at the air ducts. I was spot on. It’s half an hour to the scheduled departure; they’re not switching it on just because you’re sitting in it.

I look at the window seat, he looks at me (and my t-shirt) and then to the window seat to the form of his wife sitting smug with blanket around and talking on the phone to somebody from the US of A (“Aaahn, it’s 9 there a?”).

He did not bother with the niceties, “Would you mind taking that seat?”

The following words are a directive to all of y’all taking trains.

  1. Keep to your seats. It’s not difficult; they’ve got big round numbers printed on them.
  2. If you’re haggling a gentle man or a lady for their seat, have the courtesy to the wait for them to arrive before badgering them and or already occupying their seats.

Well, that’s about it. The words that I really wanted to say were “Yes, I do” but, being the good kids that we’ve been raised to be, I nodded, sat down and glared at him for the rest of the journey.

You know the rest.

That’s about it!


Look at that time stamp; it’s been six weeks since I last wrote.

Is it boredom? Reluctance to write perhaps? It’s certainly not for the want of a computer or an internet connection. It would, then, boil down to the person who makes the words.

Speaking of words, time for the title. Interesting word, ‘Meander’.

Meander (v) : ‘To wander aimlessly or casually without urgent destination’

There’s another definition that has to do with rivers and bends, but that is another day for science.

The verdict, in my opinion, is that I’ve been meandering. From this to that and something else with no purpose and end in sight. There have been words, yes, and ideas too, lots of them. There’s a google keep file with everything worth writing about; just sitting there, waiting to be acted upon.

I’m easing back into it. There’s a lot more to do and a long way to be. You know who I’m quoting here.

There will be words, yes, lot more of them. But, for now and for the day, consider this a start. The return from a hiatus. A restoration of the status quo.

One’s Own Feet

I originally wanted to title this ‘Tom Brady’ for a reason that I can’t seem to remember. Then I realized that everything is what we make it to be. Sifting through the words to the bare bones, it’s a way to manipulate things to work in our favour.

This marks a day. Let’s be normal people and call it an anniversary and a meaningful one at that. Not the ‘one year ago today, I saw her first’ kinds.

This one just happened. I did not think that one year ago, I would sit down to write this. Agreed, I wanted to make an anniversary post but, laziness and 30 days later, I had this brilliant idea.

There are phases in a boy’s life. School, first canvas shoes, first Cheetos tazoo (forgive the spelling), first Smack Down Pain, first bit of moustache teeming under the nose, first crush and yada yada yada. These are the good times, the better times if you may.

Then come the report cards, class tests, life choices, college and a host of other things that lay foundations for the future.

If you’re still wondering where all this is going, pray take a look at the title. It’s something that I’ve roughly translated from my mother tongue. It is the closest reference that goes to mean that you’ve more or less made it; you’ve become independent; something that my mom and dad have always insisted.

So, by the time you’ve read this post, it will be one year to the day that I received my first paycheque (just saying that because it’s cooler; it’s all bank transfer now).

To everybody who has the same day as me, cheers!

Until Next Time!