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permanence.

The air is cold and heavy and with the tantalizing clear taste of finality. The Canadian winter has set in early this year; atleast, thats what they say. This is my first Canadian winter so I wouldn’t really know. My old, grey hoodie works adequately though and I’m warm even if my unclothed hands and bare face are numb from the cold and feel alien to me like some vestigial extension of myself that should not be. This is my first snowfall ever. Fresh snow is so very pretty and pure. I found that out first-hand last night. The tiniest bit of dirt you spread on it sticks out like a sore thumb and when you try to rectify your error, it just disturbs the layer more, leaving behind your insignificant attempts and your ugly hand-prints as irrevocable, concrete evidence. Scanty, inconsequential futility imprinted  in mocking travesty. Sometimes, you just have to learn to let things be. Do you know what else fresh snow is good for though? For walking on. The flakes provide sufficient friction for you to walk surely on. Once it is condensed and compacted though, the same turns icy and slippery and difficult. A couple of days later, when the sun finally peeks out, the remnants of the same picturesque snow is nothing but ugly, half-melted, compacted ice mixed with dirt and bits of grass. … continue reading this entry.

KTM revisited. October 5th- November 8th, 2010.

Writer’s Note: If you are looking for excitement, adventure and thrill, now is not the time and place for it. There’s a time and place for everything; for the aforementioned features, this is not it.

That was pretty much it. Insanity loomed close. A couple of packets of Cheese Balls, a few swigs of the wine left from last night, and a movie starring Dev Anand that was shot in Kathmandu later, the craving for the nicotine was just too great to mortally endure silently (I did yell out randomly a couple of times during the afternoon alarming my unsuspecting mother who was quietly ironing some clothes). Man can only put up with so much. That to me poses the single, greatest challenge of living at home- the need for the cigarettes. I’ve been trying to quit for as long as I remember smoking. I am not blessed with a strong will and driven integrity. But that’s just me. Please adjust accordingly. We were supposed to go watch Anjaana Anjaani and I politely offered to head out and purchase the tickets for later.  Plus after living in Bangalore for so long, staying at home in the Kathmandu suburbs and listening to the silence is deafening. The metropolitan call is just too persuasive to ignore. … continue reading this entry.

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september rushes never end.

Swear to me,
swear on me-
That nothing is ever going to change.

It moves away,
chugging steadily over
endless sleepers.
Miles over miles laid
seamlessly
Promises to keep promises
sincerely-
Jaded truths and faded white
lies and sleepless nights and drunken times.

It all rushes away;
It never stops.
Rolling steadily past the alleyways
washed clean in these September
showers, they shine.
Faces blur and dresses fray,
in the windy turmoil of the day.

What could have been and what should-
these taunting pixies never tell.
hovering brightly amidst these
city lights dimmed by the break of dawn.
Their muted, rancorous laughter
drown out the sound of
the pouring rain; piercing stares-
they elevate my pain.

It just won’t stop;
Helpessly I watch; I can’t make it.
It moves, races, and shrinks away
turning gradually into a speck
vanishing into the grim, gray scenery.
As I stand here naked and drenched between the tracks
clutching my thumping, torn-out,
bleeding heart in my trembling hands;
Vulnerable.

moving to a new location.

This blog has been temporarily suspended until further notice.

familiarity vs annoyance. round 1.

It has been a long time since I’ve devoted any time to my posts. Its not like I didn’t have much to write about; procrastination just led to things piling up one above the other and I couldn’t really begin to get myself to start unraveling all those tangled strings of thoughts and put it down coherently into something singular. Even now, I’m not really writing this with any point in mind; but I do feel a sense of direction. I even tried to write a few posts earlier but at the end of the day, all I really had to show for my efforts are some random incomplete drafts. Maybe I can make this about the last few weeks of my life which really wasn’t much. Just random college hours, a few obligatory and a few spontaneous outings, odd hours on the Xbox strung together to complete a picture of a mundane, unexciting lifestyle in its very essence. Be as that may- a rather comfortable one as well. Sometimes, there is more to life than the larger picture; robotic drifting through the cycles for one, bundled with an abundance of familiar, friendly routine and the ability to whizz past time.  Nothing exciting has happened around for quite a bit now. But then my adrenalin is produced in fewer circumstances now. Adapt. … continue reading this entry.

music heals me. thank you, music.

It is the same sad song I sing on repeat,
Listen in closely,
the joke’s on me,
and
maybe for a fleeting instant you will feel
the misery and melancholy lining my world;
lost and alone,
stuck between the words.

Sit by my fire and listen in
into music played over
frayed heart strings.
Notes that sting,
and claw and tear into
illusions of everything you hold dear.

The night is far from over
and I will go on singing
until dawn breaks and
sunshine floods these broken walls;
Tunes that drip with confusion and despair,
Verses that I have so lovingly prepared.

Sit by me beside my fire,
Merrily cackling and burning endlessly on.
Sing with me, swing by me.
Harmonize.
Won’t you please join in, chant and share my music with me?

the reclusive bastard

He never seemed the type-
I could see it in his eyes,
Introverted with his hermit head always looking away.
The only gregarious streak he had-
his dense hair growing berserk. Lawless.
Lost in his thoughts, he mirrored no one.
Nothing reached him and his vacant eyes.
They called him a snob and
pointed accusing fingers his way
as he went, on his own, down the deserted alley of his own making.
The opportunity did arise eventually-
and when it did, he did screw me over.
Everyone jumped with glee and sang-
“I fucking knew it! He is a total bastard!”

The next day, he cut his hair short and fit right in
with the rest of them.

the hynea, the vulture and the hippo.

They were an unusual platter of friends.

She was inflammably plastic and the doctor had advised she to stay away from open fires. He was a pathological ass-kisser. Her was ordinary personified; ordinary to South India and wore her stereotype snugly around her neck.

They met each other after been subject to a common environment and immediately took a strong dislike to each other. However, complaining to one about the other and having the latter expose the hate-laden rants to the third left very little secrets between them. When the cycle was complete, life was infused into the newly born friendship.

She couldn’t help stop laughing at the smallest things, at inappropriate things, to just fill in the potentially awkward silences. She was born with a deformity- a congenital neoplastic zygomaticus major that wouldn’t give contraction a pause. … continue reading this entry.

*borrowed mood elevator*

Movie gossip. College gossip. Movie gossip. College.
Even trying hurt his insides now, bringing with it uncontrolled tremors and vehement chills. The faces, painted and tattooed, were crafted, adeptly, to smile and seduce, make promises. The feathers on the back of his neck bristled; anger was key. Deep anger layered above with petty annoyance and embellished with carefree apathy. She was dancing into a marriage he thought would end in another primal male-female ritualistic symbiosis, with her worshipping the ground he walks on and him, well, being him. He did not care enough to intervene though. That and the fact that it wasn’t his place to. Everyone needs something to look forward to. Time drags its paralyzed hind limbs forward slowly when you are willing it to fly gracefully by. Slow motion begins with an inceptive attempt. Sands of time only obey gravity. Voices are harder to drown out when they only fluctuate when they get louder.

– He is verrryy strict with his sisters.
   Age difference, no?
– Oh my God! I cannot believe this!
  (Indecipherable squeal)
– He says someone has to be strict otherwise these girls will be out of control, no?
– Oh my God! I cannot believe it!
  (Routine, practised, encouraging, neutral squeal)
Sighs don’t push forward. Nor does it alleviate suffering. He knew that now.

… continue reading this entry.

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