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!

Eleanor Rigby

It’s a bright sunny morning; suddenly I regret the thought of not purchasing curtains. We think, we write, we think about writing and then we actually get to it. Picking up the words after a temporary haitus, I would really like to get done with follow ups to a lot of unfinished business on the blog, but this, is just an observation that I’ve made.

Not a message to the world; just pointing stuff out.

There are these stages, that everybody comes through. I actually really made it up just as I was typing out the last passage. Honestly, it makes a lot of sense.

Stage #1 – Dependent Responsibility

We’re kids, growing into a teen and our lives are practically run for us by the wonderful people around. There are snags, bickers and every bit of rebellion going through to set identities apart. Jumping at every opportunity and frowning at every ‘no’. Although, it’s not an ideal arrangement, the world at our feet is not much to complain about.

Stage #2 – Dependent Irresponsibility

This is college. The greatest time of our lives. If you’re reading this while in college, you sir/madame, are living the dream. Things cannot get any better. It’s like the time to go out and be everything we could ever imagine. It’s about taking chances, making mistakes, stopping in the middle and starting all over again. So, the cute girl that you’ve always liked, go talk to her; the world won’t stop if she says no.

Stage #3 – Independent Irresponsibility

From the point of view of someone in Stage #2, this seems like the best thing ever. As my dad likes to say, it’s the phase of the bird spreading its wings to move out of it’s nest. It seems like a dream. Let’s call this the honeymoon period. Nothing seems far off. All the things that we once ‘no’ are suddenly ‘yes’. Place to your own, check. No curfews, check. Cool things to do every weekend, check. I’d give it maybe a year, based on my experience.

Stage #4 – Independent Responsibility

This is the stage where I kept wondering why wars are so easy. It’s because they’re simple. You shoot some people, burn some empires loot some gold and that’s it. It’s the peace and the routine and doing the mundane everyday things that kill us. But still, there’s a sudden realisation of why we do what we do. Why being regular makes sense. It’s about doing the unexpected ever so ofter while having something that we can always come back to when the flags are all up. I know because I learnt from the best.

By the way, I’m assuming y’all know who Eleanor Rigby is.

Ini Ellam Sugame

This was originally to be named as “One Year On”, the reasons for which, will follow. Skip directly to the second paragraph if you want to get on with it. But “One Year On” sounds so generic, so effortlessly made up, to commemorate something that happened one year ago; right, I’m not allowing that to happen.

To the day, one year ago, came around the end of something that I am sure, everybody involved, will look back upon in the brightest happiness; because, that was the time to be and that was the time to do.

I might be taking a dig a specific people through this but they’ll never know and quite simply, that’s the beauty of the whole thing. I also have specific reasons for putting it out on a Friday evening because, I believe a lot of online clicking happens during this time.

We have jobs, we have lives, we have dreams and plans and one year ago, all that was wishful thinking. If you’d asked me if things would’ve turned out this way, a year ago, my, and for that matter, all our answers would have been ‘no’. The blogpost was surely on the cards what with me and my dramatic (read attention seeking) posts.

But, one year on, true love, that one girl standing under the tree, the promises of forever have all changed. Time grinds on and so do we along with it. Separation is temporary but for the three who are out to Germany, you’re gone for four years. The ones that we don’t regularly talk with, there’s still an unsaid bond because, friends are forever. Hate, love, desperation, the promise of things turning; all these come about and fade away. The people stay. You live with them, talk to them on the phone, comment on their Facebook statuses, ping them when they are on the other side of the globe.

In the logical sense of all things to come, college coming to an end is one the most emotionally wrecking things that a twenty year old can possibly go through.

I probably lost my bearing halfway through the post. I assure you it is boring, but, post like this, doesn’t really matter.

Until Next Time!

The Girl With Kaleidoscope Eyes

The science of lazy people might be worth looking at, given the current context of me leaving a ‘Part 1 and to be continued’ story hanging. Although if I had take the effort to look up the actual science, I would at least have a clickable link that takes you to another dimension *cough* I mean webpage.

Now if you could go back to beginning and read it in the voice of the wonderful folks from ‘Minute Physics’ you would get the better experience because that was the voice over in my head as I wrote the first few lines.

Now, there have been a lot of times when I’ve made a delay on my blog post so, right now, there’s no making excuses. I’m lazy and I’ve made my peace with it.

Lets get started now.

You’re going on a train; this one you like, because it’s the one that will take you home; it the one, provided you don’t sleep through, will carry you across a shifting landscape that sifts through your memories one by one. Every time that you’ve gone on the train, fighting for that elusive window seat with siblings, the desperate look you give your dad whilst secretly scheming for the teacoffeevada(thank you Arundhati Roy) guy that passes by, waiting for the one glimpse that lets you know that you’ve won.

And suddenly the landscape inside changes; the little boy sits somewhere inside, wondering of everything that was and could have been; the teacoffeevada man is just another vendor; there are no glimpses anymore because it is simply a matter of stopping him and making the exchange. That’s when you realize that you’ve grown up.

Then the other expectations start. Although I would primarily blame cinema for this. The running train, the winded guy and the girl; yes, there will always be a girl.

There’s a book in your hands; you’re early for the train, the headphones are still twined inside the pocket of your jeans. There is a freeze, she walks past the windows, a flutter of hope here, and then gone. You get back to your book again, living on borrowed time, waiting for the rails to halt at that place which you call home. You hear the voice again, say “67” and casually glance up, noticing that its’ the window seat right in front of you. She looks at your book and there’s this glimmer of recognition and you know that she’s got taste.

Too good to be true right? Yeah, the railways has an algorithm that will never let this happen. *Glasses Crashing Down*

To whomsoever it may concern, there is something that I should have done that I’m absolutely not doing because ego and stuff.

Well then,

Until Next Time!

*Tips Hat*

Mysore Travelogue Part 1 – The Tennis Player

“I am going to write about that trip when we get back”

Will probably be a thought tucked into the minds of many a traveller as they get off the bus/train/plane as they step back to whiff the first senses of familiarity of home or something in that general direction.

This post is brought to you by part ego and part desire to not be the stereotype who commits to nothing at all. The case of giving out the photos is an altogether different matter.

Long story short, we (as a team) were in Mysore (city of Silk, I reckon?) for the weekend  to a take a break from everyday proceedings.

But, the devil, as they say, is in the details.

Part 1 is going to be extracts from the onward journey.

Refer picture below (hereafter referred to as Exhibit A) for a look at one of the sample Boarding Passes at the onward journey (Names redacted because Chrome has an awesome extension that lets me do that)

Screen Shot 2015 04 07 at 15.32.21

There comes a point for every human being where they look upon things that are about to happen and there is a clear distinction between things that are within and beyond their capacity. All the trouble afterwards comes because of the small errors in drawing the lines.

Now, this theory need not necessarily be applied to events of cosmic significance because, the cosmos takes care of itself.

Of all the things that are not supposed to be done on an international flight, among the top would be to not lose Exhibit A. Although if you’re smuggling something, I’d be more concerned about not getting caught.

Murphy’s law intervenes and we were in the middle of the airport arguing with somebody because one person lost his boarding pass while walking from the tarmac to the security gates.

The second rule is to not piss of the official who happens to be already pissed off about matters concerning national security (probably).

The third is to not probably wear matrix glasses when being questioned by customs but that’s a lighter tale for a different day.

Apologies for sounding mundane, it’s been a long time.

P.S To regulars, the title has not been explained. Ping me if you’re curious.

To one part and to many after it!

The Big Score

When you cease to exist, you fade away.

Considering that the last post was a ‘smashing success’ Ram has decided that the best way forward would be to keep writing. The quotes are making a comeback. Three cheers to whatever that they mean! Who’s with me? I’d sincerely like to thank WordPress for making a formatting called ‘Quote’ that makes my words sound deep and resonant.

The answers to life’s questions pop up at unexpected places and you’ll never see them coming even if you read between the lines. The best of thoughts are those which originate in the shower but by the end of the line I have this nagging feeling that the reference has already been made in another one of my posts.

Psst. Nobody would remember. Keep it coming.

That was not me! That was the red guy on my left shoulder who keeps giving me brilliant pieces of advice like putting out the question of, ‘What is known as breaking the fourth wall?’ Look to the first line of the second paragraph and tell me that I’m not awesome! I dare you. Refer to Deadpool comics writing methods to get an even better insight on the whole breaking business.

There are two men; they come from similar backgrounds. They had a hard life as boys; struggled as adults to keep their feet on the ground. They had street smarts, skills that only come through experience. They began to love their lifestyles. It was independent and it was free. They were answerable to only a couple of superiors in their line of work. But it was not enough. There was peace; but they yearned for a different kind of life; the one in which everything is paid for and the bills don’t matter; the kind that goes to art galleries and shops for ‘abstract’ art; the kind that has a chauffeur to take them on the car that would take them to the car that they are going to drive; the kind that could sit out in an empty balcony and sip coffee, with only a few things to worry about, because let’s face it, nobody can be truly careless.
One of them is working his ass off for an MBA admit; the other one is casing a bank that he’s gonna rob next week.

They’ve got their eyes on the big score.

The words within ‘’ are meant purely for sarcastic purposes and are not meant to be taken seriously.

Next up by the boring blogger : The science of talking to oneself in the third person.

Well then,
Until Next time.

I dare you to comment! (‘Reader Engagement’)

The Last Goodbye

Some things you write about and some things, you don’t. This obviously falls under the first category.

Point number 1. The Blogpost hashtags are gone. Why you ask? Because nobody seems to give a certain rodent’s hairy backside about it anyway. Honestly, that got me thinking. Why doesn’t anybody give a damn? Literature, like all great media, must make you feel involved, otherwise, what’s the point? Too many question marks right? See, I did that again. Let’s just call them a culture in reader engagement.

I hereby invite upon you to comment upon my articles either here or on if you were redirected from my Facebook page, over there. Sounds good? Please start challenging my opinions and picking out my lame attempts at being funny. That would help me in the long run also the short and medium runs.

Point Number 2. The things that we write about. This has been on my mind for more than a week. Now, all this might look like I’m opening up and sharing my so called feelings and stuff; but as always, I assure you, it’s something that you’d have to figure out for yourself.

*Secretly hopes that he is not talking to a wall*

It’s taken me all of one week to write about what I’ve been meaning to write and let’s just say what happened and what I’d hoped for, are two different things. There are bridges that take us to where we want to be and what we want to see ourselves as; we keep some, we nurture some and we desperately cling on to some. And then there are those that we lock away due to our own actions or due to the actions of those around us. Are you still with me?

Point Number 3. But it’s always about the things that you don’t want to write about, right? Let’s get down to the point of why i started writing the whole thing. There is one more bridge; the ones that we burn. I’ve burnt a couple of them over the last week. Shook my hands and told goodbyes. One of them was the last goodbye and ergo, you have the title.

P.S Soon enough someone is going to catch on to what I’m ranting about but forgive my ambiguous thoughts. You should never trust the words of a man who writes just because he can sleep until 6 AM.

Well then,

Until Next Time.

Rule #1 of Science Class

I read of a syndrome once where, if you read about something, you keep seeing that more and more in the subsequent days. Right, anyway, I’d like to suggest something of an alternate theory to this; the case being, there was this word that I happened to notice a couple days back and it’s kinda stuck ever since.

So, good luck figuring out what the word is.

Well, circa early 21st century when I was still a sixth grader, there was an important lesson that I learnt. I was learning a lot of lessons in the subjects, but I’m talking about the kind of lessons that stick for a long, really long time; so long that I have the residue to make a blog post about it, ten years later.

The first thing about graduating from primary to secondary school was the fear of Sriram (name changed to protect identity) sir that was put into us. I kid you not when I tell you that this was more than the fear of god that the management tried to put into us. He though physics, discipline and good behaviour; most of the times, it was in good faith. This being one of them.

Case in point. It was a class test that was upon us and me being the innocent kid that I was had prepared in full and proper terms to tackle anything physics that would come my way. That being said, we moved on to the test, the question papers being handed; I set myself to the answers and found myself gaping at the 9th question. Memory does not serve me to the question but I do remember that the correct answer had something one the lines of “total force is equal to the product of blah blah blah”. The shadow of the grammar nazi that I was, I promptly stood up with a question,

“Sir, do I write ‘total force’ or ‘the total force’ for the answer”

He was grim faced and 12 year old me had trouble comprehending what he told me next,

“Strike out that question. You will not receive marks for it”

Circa 2008 when I was sifting through memories and then it hit me what had happened to deserve that one mark being taken away from me.

Lesson learnt : Do not question the grammar while sitting in the physics class.

You’re open to comment on the article if you require further clarification on the article.

Brownie points for anybody who can figure out what the secret word is.

Well then,

આગામી સમય સુધી.

Kaaviyathalaivan and the Hat

Blogpost#KaaviyathalaivanAndTheHat

There is a bloody brilliant movie out there made out of the struggles of actors, the ego of competition and the elegance of romance. I mean, the name of the movie when spoken in a native tongue has such a nice ring to it. Right, so, the movie is a period film set in pre-independence (Indian for the sake of clarity) era about a drama folk.

To stand out from the crowd means to be the one who makes all the difference or the one who is left behind. I really don’t know why I’m saying this but the point is, I’m not planning on reviewing the movie; just the events that surround it.

I’d like to talk a little about theatre experience. With India as it has been, the idea of cinema has evolved over time. Now, I’m not talking as far as the Madras talkies or Satyajit Ray; I’m gonna limit the brooding to experiences that I’ve had, growing up. There is a possibility that I’ve already had a rant about this but, it’s evolution that we’re talking about. It should be fun.

If memory serves right, the first theatre experience comes from Godzilla; that was way back. Now, I remember the movie probably because I cried my lungs out on seeing the dinosaurs; see that’s how memories are made. In that sense, Kaaviyathalaivan was a similar experience.

Honestly, the mall cinema experience is a little dull. It’s boring, people judge you for ripping out a whistle (that necessarily doesn’t stop a lot of us) and they’re like, ‘Sheesh, these people’. I might be a little biased about the whole deal and the rambling has branched out like a trailing kite without a base. Let’s set the ball straight.

So, to the hat now. The movie ended around 11 PM. We walked out and the mall was empty with two guards patrolling each floor. Mind you that this was the end of November and looking at Christmas decorations this early was a little annoying. There were elf hats, ornaments and socks hanging from the ceilings of the floors. The hats caught our eyes.

It was silent, with a look out for the patrolling guards, we jumped up to grab a couple of them and walked away with the panache of having pulled the Italian job.

I read back through this and realize that it’s an average post; but, superstars come and go; it’s the ones that grind away, day after day, that make a difference in the end.

P.S Thank you for reading and if she is reading this, let her know that where there is chance, there is always hope.

Well then,

Until Next Time.

The Journal on the Journey

Blogpost#TheJournalOnTheJourney

Lame title. Yes, I know! If you’re looking for purpose in these words, sir/madam, you’ve treaded into the wrong marsh. The path beyond is for those who can take a pinch of lame with their everyday (in my part of the world, it’s called ‘mokka’). There is a train headed in one direction (not a metaphorical one mind you), the same as my thoughts. Thank Guttenberg, we don’t publish hand written manuscripts anymore! This would have been shelved before the reader even got to this part.

My thoughts, they’re focused on staying awake at the moment. No spiritual notions; just a plain keeping-my-eyes-open affair. Why, you ask? The details are a tad embarrassing so, I’ll steer clear of them. Insert generic graveyard shift lament here. Honestly, I envisioned these words in a different way and so far it’s fulfilled 1/10th of its potential; but that’s still good, considering the fact that this train is quickly making me lose motivation and I’ve reached the part where I’m starting to miss my laptop.

Some things to brood upon : note to self – do not drink the coffee on board. As of now, the plan to writing has served its purpose, but still a long way from becoming ground breaking or anything. Pity me for thinking that there’d be a J.K Rowling levels of inspiration! I’d be grateful if I could garner enough material for a blog post. Also, Jagadhodharana is an awe inspiring piece of music.

For the record, this is the first line of the second page (screams inside : “Laptop! Now!”). The world would be a happier place if we all referred to each other in the third person.

Sriram thinks that writing on the train is both good and bad. Good because he comes up with strange and random ideas; bad because now he has no way of improving his handwriting. On second thought, his handwriting was a lost cause long before he got on this train. Sriram is happy that at least a few people read his blog. Giving up the pen for technology would be morally wrong on a certain level but for someone like him, the tech actually helps in that regard. It should be noted in no less capacity that Sriram loves his laptop and the best of his writing has come out of it.

He really hopes to fill the second page with this ‘third person’ thing. He is now beaming because of the lame number pun that he just made up. He is happy because the endeavour of writing seems to be working as he’s close to filling two full pages with words on a moving train. He proclaims that his words will make a mark on the world in the future. In regard to that statement, he also believes that random thought will pave way to regular writing. Insert generic verses about train moving across fields, greenery, old man with plough and all that blah.

This is the end of the second page and the third person fiasco. I would like to thank it full measure the two shots of espresso that came together in making this blogpost possible.

Well then,

Until Next Time!