Macavity

I can’t believe its me who is thinking what I am thinking - I am unhappy for another person’s achievement! Me?! I don’t do that!! No! It is not really the achievement. That is no matter. I think what affects me is - that nervous excitement in applying to a place where one in fact stands a chance of getting through. That filling up of forms and writing SOPs and putting your best foot forward all the while hearing your supporters cheering your victory in your head.  That tingling anxiety in the stomach while waiting for the application to be processed and making it sound like no big deal to all sundry who ask about it. That final moment of reckoning when the heart sinks into the stomach, the forehead is smeared with perspiration and the heart beats terrifyingly fast while you key in your roll number. You want that god damn result, alright. But. But, you need some time to go to it. However, that would be no more than the time it would take to key in those 8 digits. With ...

I tried my hand at baking even before mum would let me flip chapattis on the tawa. Though now she berates my utter indifference to the kitchen save when my friends come and my apathy at her plight to also cook (at least 4 different kinds of meals) while she works. She expects me to help, in the least, but my revulsion to household work spares me the guilt pangs. Ummm… Let us get back to baking… As these words get typed I have put my clumsiest ever cooking into the oven. The Oven , you see, is hardly ever used in our house. We are vegetarians (where the kids now have come to eat eggs) and that too of the baser variety. We eat simple food (save the brother who is a monstrous epicurean and still vegetarian) which has always been made that simple traditional way. But, the father is a spontaneous shopper. Sometimes even to things which are least required in the house. So, one day he surprised us with this, creamy, big, well exquisite Oven! Space… ah! That shall be the rant for anothe...

It was terminal It could never begin It was drawing It got happening It was anodyne It started beaming It was boundless It kept flowing It was in fragments It was replete Consummate Without ever beginning

I don't feel the compulsion to write too, but I experienced a surge of emotions, yet unlived.  Of being revealed of my poverty, yet of my plentitude! The misplaced ego gets amply quelled when a brighter, more powerful and compelling luminosity shines upon it.  It is left bare, pared of its sheen, in utter submission. The glow is mesmerising to a point of rapture. The realisation that you are yet discovering it explodes the possibilities of it, that be.  That it chooses to be just as attracted by you is befuddling.  You are just glad that it was you.  That you found such a place to be where the moon struck, Where the beam illuminated your being, of which yet unaware Where moments; countable, satiate When having felt the glow, you have found that you have come to life

I want to fly away, right away Now, not soon I want, by my own, I find my own Not be told, not here on I want to taste the sky Roam the night Walk Paris, the cobbled streets Sip the wine, Golden, Sparkling I want to dance the night Prance in gowns Burst balloons Flirt around Mesmerise Capture that time Freeze my dream Toss the coing Flip it all Let go  And still go on

For the profundity they carry, certain images get imprinted within us. I had to take a particular bus at 8:50 in the morning to make it in time for the 10 'o' clock class. If I missed that, I'd have to change a bus or take an auto for one-third the distance, take that much longer to reach, and pay thrice as much as the direct bus ticket. I'd reach before the lecturer alright, but all along I'd be trying to calm and tell myself that think as much as I may that the bus needs to move faster, and the traffic needs to clear sooner, the journey will last as long as the distance is not traveled.  Once, 200 meters away from the bus stand, five minutes past the scheduled time, I saw the bus pulling away. It was yet picking up speed and the thought crossed my mind to chase after it. While I thought, the bus accelerated. As it did, I almost decided to run, but before I could, I discounted my chances to catch up with it. And while that happened, the bus, easing out of the...

A semblance of peace alone can embalm calmness. For no particular reason, one feels at ease and pleasant. It is like driving at 60 on a good highway. The scenery is not particularly picturesque, but it ain't pallid either. It is just fine. Cattle might cross your way, but you break at a good distance, stop and watch the cow slowly tread past without losing your cool. FM is  playing on the stereo, hitherto mindless to the gibberish, you cue into the odd good song that plays in. The feet juggle the peddles fine, the hand steers away. You are neither cautious not careless. You just play to the rythm that has set into existence and let that be.

I can't stop raving about Dhoni in the new Pepsi ad. With the handle bar moustache and buzz cut, as he gyrates to 'gatak gatak' (and looks Oh, so deadly handsome!), Raina, Harbhajan, and whoever else is there, become non entities. It is the ultimate 'yennada, rascala?' Chennai's Super King look and the eyes are only for D! What were the others doing in the ad? It probably has to do with Pepsi's Men in Blue campaign. But this ain't the only one in which Dhoni has more than just him in the ad and where without him the frame is incomplete. It is not without reason. It is the Dhoni persona. He is part of the crowd, just as much as he is a legion by himself. "If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, If you can walk with Kings and not lose the common touch..."-Kipling I pause to think. When did he become so statuesquely? When did he emerge to outshine  greats like Sachin without ever trampling upon their space? Since when did he begin to...

MKG just popped into my head. I was trying to help India attain Independence all over again when I stumbled upon something that he said. "I travel because I fancy that the masses want to meet me. I certainly want to meet them. I deliver my simple message to them in few words and they and I are satisfied. It penetrates the mass mind slowly but surely."  Somewhere MKG and I struck a chord. I have always been averse to people and situations being portrayed as ideal and flawless. It is pretty depressing, to say the least. To say the worst, it is inhuman! We are not God because we are flawed and that's just how we must stay. Well, you see, God really doesn't have the luxury of going wrong, while we, humans, are entitled to sin!  My learning today was that MKG was yet another bloke, vain and with vice. And if identification at the level of vanity were grounds to forge bonds, I'd  shake hands with him. There are people with calibre to change things around, and they ...

Just as I sat in the bus I got a call. All I could hear from the caller's end was noise. Things being picked up, put down, shifted....and then, 'meow'. MEOW. It was a little louder, and then persistent. MEYAAAAOW!  Now, it was a demand! "Buggy, tinu., tinu.." Dad called out... The bloody bugger was back home! I smiled to myself - all teeth visible. This called for me to write my second blog. Utter Glee! That was what it felt like. Then gladness spread. Through my veins, shooting through my legs, sprightly through my fingers, swelling in my heart and exulted out in a whiff of smoke. Then, it was all over the place. Shrouded, in gladness...in mist... "It's COLD!" I mumbled.  It was then that frost bit, the fingers curled and snuggled deeper into the sweater pockets. Momentarily, I rubbed the reverse of my palm against my nose. It was frozen. I was falling in love yet again... It is WINTER in DELHI! And, Delhi, I Love You :-)

Usain Bolt with Lightning Bolt!

I am not sure how blogs really work. For me, the little writing I've done has always been personal. I used to write a diary, about 5 years ago for almost about a year.  It ran into 3 volumes, but as time passed, I stopped writing. The need to express was felt less frequently. Then rarely, now, almost hardly. But when I see people writing blogs and publishing, I feel jealous. That people are writing. More importantly, that I m not writing. I used to write my Diary thinking that one day they'll be discovered after I am no more, and great meanings would be derived from those verses and words. (Ha! Ha!) I guess, each one of us, in some corner of our hearts want to feel 'great'. Not necessarily, famous. Feeling great about yourself is a special feeling-It makes you feel, 'Great'. I am not sure if the feeling is indeed 'jealousy'. Until much recently, 'writing' was a coveted art, known and done by only a 'gifted few'. In school, we us...