Creative Cliché

My experiments with self-plagiarism…

2010-11-05T23:30:00.001+05:30

I have been having a bit of writer’s block, again. Actually, this ain’t new; I have writer’s block all the time, chronic. In layman’s language, its ‘in-built’ or ‘default behavior’, which also means I’m not a good writer. But nevertheless, I have not been able to write shit since a long time.

I have been plagiarizing quite often, big fan of the whole idea of stealing someone’s text and showing off as you have written the whole damn thing*. It also has its setbacks, since you have hardly understood the real meaning or the whole idea that another lonely blogger has put into words. So, the problem with being a self-important nutjob is showing off the text amongst others. See, now, they will ask if they won’t understand a word or an expression, consequently, you are in some deep shit.

Speaking of deep shit, I’m already into it a little bit. Because they don’t write good stuff enough these days, and I have to really think hard and come up with original freaking text. Now trust me, this is damn hard.

So I plagiarize my own text.

This has been fun so far.

*That’s why I’d eventually end up in hell.
Read my older post called “Death of a Blogger”…
Well, actually this one is inspired from that one.
See, I did it again.

Enigma

2010-10-13T10:40:00.000+05:30

There's a choice.

You can either have nothing or everything.

The thing is nothing and everything of both is not possible. It's ideal.

So dealing it with a pragmatic approach might seem impractical.

Like the grass being greener on the other side without a validation of your own reality.

But the choice still holds. The question remains.

Dichotomy!

'Paranoia is total awareness!'

In extremis

2010-08-02T21:39:00.000+05:30

When there’s a gun pointing to your head, you realize how meaning springs into your life. A sense of predefined purpose which was lost in all the cacophony of living the life “they” wanted you to live. Can you still comprehend what the true desire is? Would you know what you and only you wanted to do in this life. Do those things that come purely from your own desires, without any influence from an outside force. Can you feel the individuality of your purpose?

When there’s a gun pointing to your head, do you feel the insides crack? You feel your arachnophobia or the agoraphobia is now invalid. You are embroiled in the totality of fear, ready to defend your own self from any pinprick of unseen circumstances. Fears melt down to one single existence. The perceptions change from a person who took life for granted to a person who feels the extreme importance in those imperceptible things, the ones that do not come within your definition of life. The little things you tend to miss out while compressing your life in a few flashes before your eyes.

When there’s a gun pointing to your head, what difference does it make? Your hollowed existence sticks out to scream at the insufficiency that you led till now. You never tasted life. You kept it on the side so that you can build and keep building more structure to your life, so that at the end of it all when you feel you have earned it… that’s when you indulge. But why wait when the reward is right in front of you? Why toil to earn it? Do we need to be awarded tokens of acknowledgment from what others think of us? Are we that dependent on others in shaping ourselves? We fail at living. Coz we forgot what it means. It’s now a memory beyond recall. Maybe.

When there’s a gun pointing to your head, whom do you think about the most? Do you think about the love that filled your vacuous existence? Do you think about the ones who loved you? But then why would you think of anyone but yourself. Why think about those who are soon going to be memories? To cushion the oncoming blow by the memories that you thought were “unconditional” and “pure”? Is it that hard to not see yourself reflecting on each one of your actions? To verify how unconditional they were and measure the magnitude of purity that was so obvious. It withers away. It’s not the cynicism, but the harsh reality that you can only be the one person. The one and the individual! Only one.

When there’s a gun pointing to your head, how many questions tend to…
“Done thinking?” The gunman smiled.
“I don’t…I….Not quite.” I stutter.

He slowly moves his hand with gun in his firm grip. His hand slides to his left still in the air. His sleeves flay in the violent wind that lashes the empty landscape. His eye twitches and the right corner of his mouth goes up to take the form of a malicious yet benign smile.

“Do you think this was a joke?” He yells. His face calm.
“I didn’t get the time to think about that.” I regain my ability to speak.

He takes a few steps back. The left hand was still in the air, with the gun pointing west.

His index finger touches the trigger. Even though he was far I could sense the pressure that he applied on the trigger. I could feel it as if it was me doing it. The weight of the gun was in my hand. The bullet that was lodged inside the gun was waiting. The pressure builds up. The trigger was not light. He had to bend his hand to add slow pressure to the finger. My elbow twitched. The trigger was suppressed, but only half way through. It was on the threshold of release. A door was to be opened. Freedom.

He clamped his teeth together with a look of intensity. My jaw was taut. There was an instinctive propensity to release the gun, but my hand shivered. He pointed it at me now. My hand was hovering near my head. The threshold was here. He was not. I was.

The pull was not hard. The gun was a trigger now.

Click.

Silent and Black. No vision. No tunnel.

Just a distant hum escalating as it came nearer. The Doppler.

The upsurge. The crescendo. The climax!

I fell. But I felt it. I felt the ground. All was black, but I still felt the ground.

I fell… and my left leg was the only part that was on the bed.

In Extremis is a Latin phrase.

It means “at the point of death”, it also means “in grave” or in “in dire straits."

Native of a Nomad

2010-05-26T17:33:00.000+05:30

I lived in 4 cities in 22 years, regularly visited one another. I liked all the places I lived in for different reasons, and therefore don’t really think any one place to be a favorite over another.

During the last few years that we spent living in Gandhinagar, I was often asked a most baffling question – ‘Tum ho kahan key?’ to which I wish I had a simple one-word reply, but unfortunately I didn’t. So I would say...

“I don’t have a native place. My father grew up in many places, but you could say he is a native of Jamnagar.”

Before they jump to the next assumption, and say “But you don’t sound like..!”

And I would say, “I’m basically a native of Lalpur, a small town near Jamnagar. Hmm, even though I'm from Lalpur, I was brought up in Gandhinagar. And lived my early years in Radhanpur and a small village nearby…”

And they would say… “Forget it, man!”

For a long time, I wanted to visit my native place. So I went there this summer.
It has been sagely said that "everyone has a native place;" and with this unanswerable proposition we couple the remark, that they are prone to consider it the most Eden-like spot on earth's surface.

When you fall short of words you begin to spout poetry. Sounds illogical, but when you are the only soul sitting by the river under a canopy of stars with just waving trees and a lonely temple across for company, believe me, it’s easy.

But when I arrived there, it was something I never expected.

Those lofty trees have disappeared, whose trunks were covered with deeply carved names, and mill-wheels dash passionately in Nature's once secluded sanctuary. The money-changers have come into the temple.

Maybe, in revisiting my birth-spot, it would have been pleasanter to have found it the way it was. But it matters little, since its picture hangs in the halls of memory, to fade not till she herself is dead.

Shopping and the art of standing like a coat rack

2010-02-01T00:04:00.000+05:30

So there I was, in the women’s section of ethnic wear. Staring at all shapes and colors of cloth cutouts designed to look whatever their definition of "ethnic" was. My sister was in the trial room for what seemed like hours to me, or probably somewhere down the line my idleness was so causal that it tore through the fabric of space-time creating a localized worm hole thus trapping me in a time loop of painstaking idleness.

All my idleness didn't go in complete vain though. I was proud to learn a thing about myself - I have PATIENCE! Although I don't know the collective magnitude of what and how much of patience justifies the word to be written in caps... but hey, I do have it.

The thing is I had to play the role of the faithful driver for my sis who has a deadline for her shopping dates and items. I prefer chauffeur... no wait... I prefer being called the transporter. Gives me that Jason Statham-esque Mercedes driving image kicking some ass on the way.

Which is the exact opposite of what I'm doing right now.

Now one thing I noticed is how women shop. When when you see a woman shop... you realize that men don't actually shop. They pick up stuff. Shopping is this whole art consisting of various sub branches and psychological nuances and all sorts of meticulous data you can put in. And my sister is not a woman when it's shop time. She has the masculine ability of getting bored while shopping... and that too within the initial few minutes. Although this would go in the 'pros' list when it comes to me being the ‘transporter’... her methodical perseverance and dedication is a total let down that scrawled all over the 'cons' list.

The following observations are on the various women I have observed shopping while standing like a dork in the ladies section.

-Women come.

-Go through all the sections once.

-Think about all the sections.

-Think about what others would think about the clothes in those sections.

-Short list a few clothes in order to give some hope to the guy who works at the store.

-Shatter his hopes by rejecting all the clothes that the woman had just short listed in order to experiment on a fresh batch.

-Through this process the locations do change from one shop to another.

-There is no accurate finalization... only and approximation of what they think is close to perfection. This condition is highly dependent on whether they find the 'Ohthatdress!’

(The 'Ohthatdress!' usually occurs when women spot some dress which is something that they were predetermined about since it would have been worn by someone else such as a friend or a celebrity... or some influential woman)

-After the process described above, that spans a few hours, the casualty report might consist of only a handful of or no particular clothing. (If the budget is not an issue the woman might come out with bags weighing more than the woman herself).

[Note: 1. This is a vast field of study, my points are a crude generalization of my own observations.

Note: 2. These points are strictly limited to shopping of clothing, things like cosmetics and perfumes require yet another flow chart though the process remains somewhat the same.]

The pick it up men method:

-Go to shop.

-Go through all/most/very little of the stuff once.

-Decide on the basis of budget first, then liking.

-Pick it up.

Finish.

It may seem I'm being violently sexist here, but I condemn none of the methods. Both are equally bad in a way. One is too meticulous and the other has the complete lack of it.

There has to be some fine balance.

Hence my conclusion is if you go to shop... go with a gay dude. That's a balance.

The Death of A Blogger

2010-01-09T15:26:00.000+05:30

A blogger died and reached the Pearly Gates to be interviewed by St. Peter...

St. Peter: Welcome to the Pearly Gates. The name is Peter, Saint Peter. (to himself) Great...another blogger...I am gonna need more coffee...

Blogger: Hey, this place is cool...nice gates...and I see you have a fog machine for the mythological touch...I could write a great post about this place...you wouldn't happen to have a camera, would you?...I like to include pictures along with my blog posts. (smiles annoyingly)

St. Peter(rolling his eyes): Why do I get all the screwballs on Monday?

Blogger: And hey, you've got a cool pc and everything...did you upgrade recently?...if not, you should really consider it...you know, Microsoft just released this great new operating system called...

St. Peter (frustrated, already): Would you just sit down and be quiet already? Now, the reason you are here is that we have to decide whether to send you to Heaven or to Hell... Tell me about yourself…

Blogger: About myself? The Gods in their wisdom did not grant me the gift of seeing myself as others see me. They must have thought knowing what others thought of me might endanger suicidal tendencies in me and decided to let me stew in my own self esteem. Now I am up against the formidable task of having to say about myself…

St. Peter: Whoa, whoa…! Tsnt this whole answer from Khhushvant Singh’s article “Seeing Oneself?” I have read his “Not a Nice Man to Know” too. Dont try to fool me. I am sending you to Hell.

Blogger: WHAT? No...there must be some mistake...I have led a good honest life...I did not commit any sins...

St. Peter: Well...it looks like you plagiarized one post too many without giving credit to the rightful bloggers...

Blogger (sheepishly): Uhhh...heh heh heh...ok, maybe I was "inspired" while writing a couple of posts...but I wrote a lot of genuine ones too...you know, thoughts for the day, movie reviews, poems, jokes...

St. Peter: Jokes, eh? Well, guess who's laughing now? (Breaks into guffaws of laughter)

Blogger: Uh, you are.

(Awkward silence)

St. Peter : You weren't supposed to answer that. It was a rhetorical question. I was just saying - That the "joke" is on you, buster. (Laughing hard while beating the desk with fists)

Blogger: Uh, what joke?

(Silence again)

St. Peter: You know what, Mr. Smartypants? I am too old and too rich to put up with this. Off you go... (presses a button... hidden trapdoor under Blogger's chair opens and Blogger falls with a rapidly fading yell)

(Blogger lands in front of Satan)

Satan: Ah, another one of you...it's surprising how many of you bloggers turn up here. Welcome to Hell. Let me be frank...I don't know what Peter Parker up there told you but the reason you were sent here is that you are a smartass. Oh and in case you haven't guessed already, I am Satan...

Blogger: I thought you said your name was Frank...

Satan: I am gonna pretend I didn't hear that. Now, if you follow me I'll show you the Blogger's Room.

Blogger follows, trying to stomp on Satan's tail. Satan leads him into a huge air-conditioned room with row after row of shiny new workstations.

Satan: In here, we have the latest computer technology ever conceived, entirely for use by you bloggers. You can sit in here for as much time as you want and create blog posts unrivalled to anything you might have composed before.

Blogger: Wow...this is unbelievable...just look at all the cool stuff in here...the templates, the formatting tools, the photo albums...oh I must be dreaming...or I must have died and gone to heav...Hey, wait a minute...I thought you said this place was Hell...so how come you give us bloggers the best possible tools and facilities for blogging?

Satan: Ah, you see, that's the best part... none of our systems have a "Submit Post" button...

The Cliché

2009-12-27T22:43:00.000+05:30

He opened his eyes. He was waiting for her at the train station. It was late. Almost midnight. The train would be leaving soon. And they'd go away. Far away from the family feuds and the intimidation and the pain and the...But why hadn't she come yet? She had to. She had promised. The light turned green. A whistle sounded. The train set off in motion with a gentle shove. One last searching look. He rubbed away the tears. And stepped on to the train...

He opened his eyes. His head felt heavy. And a couple of sizes too big. Something cold was pressed against his hand. A .45 automatic. Used quite recently. He could smell it in the air. He tried to get his eyes to focus. And regretted it immediately. She lay on the carpet in a pool of blood. He stumbled over and hugged her. Then carried her lifeless body and placed it on the bed. He knew he would be the prime suspect. His fingerprints were all over the place. Well, so be it. He rubbed away the tears and reloaded the gun. They would pay for this...

He opened his eyes. Someone was calling his name. He walked over and got his espresso. 3 more hours of studying. And then 2 more in the examination hall. He wondered how many more espressos he'll need. He tried to concentrate on the squiggles which according to the author were a data plot. Someone who smelled nice squeezed past him, stumbled and scalded his neck with her latte. He screamed. She panicked. Everyone stared. She got some napkins. She said she was sorry. He said it was alright. He made a quick trip to the restroom. He sat down. He saw she had the same textbook...

He opened his eyes. The hospital tiles stared back at him. Cold, unfriendly and spotlessly clean. She'd been in surgery for almost three hours now. His brain was numb from worrying. And praying. All he wanted was for someone to come out and tell him that she was going to be okay. It had been a drunk driver. One who hadn't noticed or hadn't cared for the red light. Why? Why her? Why today? Why hadn't he picked her up from work like everyday? He rubbed away the tears and looked up. The nurse was walking towards him. Please let her be okay, just please let her be okay...

"What are you doing? And why are these crumpled papers on the floor?"

"Well, what does it look like I'm doing? I am trying to write a short story. But everything I've tried so far just sounds so clichéd."

The blogger returns... again.

2009-12-13T10:40:00.000+05:30

I’ve been having a massive case of writer’s block lately which has catapulted me into this unwanted sense of laziness to pen down not even a single thought running through my head. After half an hour of the mental anguish of making decisions no matter how trivial they may be, writing this post has been a result of some tremendously redundant over-thinking.

First things first, this is not the first time. As observed from the frequency of my posts, which have a tendency to appear as spasmodic bursts scattered unevenly on the blog time line I have no such pang of regret on being irregular.

Deux. I have been feeling pretty disconnected with a few people including the mental personification of this blog lately for unknown reasons. Well the more I delay my ‘confession time’ acts the less is the probability of it showing up in any conversation (even the ones I have with myself). So even sharing a thought has been rendered a sinful deed somehow with the whole screwed up moral and conscience issues in my head. I’m already the Ebenezer Scrooge for this winter it seems. “Good artist copy, great artists steal” said once Pablo Picasso.

Tres. I have been through a lot lately, and with each passing chronicle, which I always plan to pen down on the blog… it ultimately results in failure to launch. And sadly I think I forgot more than half of what I was to write.

Then there were times when I got piss drunk and FUBAR, which as I look back now were some pretty hilarious scenarios. Went through some really shitty times right after that, which I guess might just be a notch above the thin red line that says ‘barely mentionable things’*.

The travel, which somehow seemed a lot more than it should have. The boredom and the stagnancy of a commute!

Well that’s all the verbosity I can afford for now!

Tchuss!

*Coming Soon.

Fun-Da-Mental

2009-12-08T11:37:00.000+05:30

Just a small thought.

So, how do we understand or Learn a new idea. Basically, we have a set of fundamental ideas installed in our mind since the beginning of our learning process. The most basic I can think right now is numbers and alphabets and visual aids used for understanding, there is a deeper level of logic and reasoning that I shall not think about right now in order to not clutter up my neural connections!

So everything dissolves down to or is built from our basic predefined notions that are introduced to us through our learning. As we are exposed to a new concept or an idea, we would join two or more of our fundamentals in maybe a 'complex' (not necessarily) manner to form a new pattern of understanding. So as we are taught derived units are taken from a set of fundamental units!

So, what happens for example, when one of the fundamental concepts is unknown to us? Taking things in an algorithmic sense there would be a decision:
Option 1. Go back and build the fundamental.
Option 2. Derive the fundamental from its derived learning (if known)...which is kinda a paradox since we're going the other way around.

Now, Option 1 is the most reliable choice, but Option 2 is usually a choice in order to save time. Now Option 2 is risky, because it is the equivalent of 'assuming' a fundamental concept. But somehow it might be a new view point to look at something. And so after established our derived fundamental we would question its validity. Now this is the part which puts the 'fun' in fundamental... it mostly will lead to the actual fundamental or be somewhat close to it... or be an interesting but awkward theory which would probably sound like something out of a comic book.

But it would be a process that might lead to new concepts or a discovery. Now as we see in history, that’s how fundamentals are based. By observing a complex derived thing, breaking it down to fundamentals... and giving a cool name or probably your own name to a theory that you can explain!!

Reverse engineering?? hmmmm??

But still that doesn't make Option 1 obsolete in any way, it’s a classic right? And that's what my friend Tonmoy would be thinking... since he uses an awkward amalgamation of Options 1 and 2 which a lot of people may be at a loss for comprehension!
Now reading this a time after reading it, it looks like a bunch or rand words... much like William Burroughs Cut up technique [link].

This post is dedicated to the "Concept-Man" and today’s Birthday Boy and a best friend, Tonmoy!!

Fascismile or Fake Smile

2009-11-04T22:30:00.000+05:30

You know that feeling… when inside you are wrenchin’ in agony and tormented and then you meet someone at that time, and you give that ‘friendly’ smile.

The smile… that you conjure up by stretching each and every muscle of your face. The body and mind resist its automation, still you give it, so that the person in front of you returns the same as a sign of cordiality… and when the moment is gone… you’re back to reality.

Hell, maybe I should replace all the ‘you’s with ‘I’s. What the hell anyways!!

But this is something we are trained for. Here is the ranking, in ascending order:

1. The painful ‘you-are-getting-worse’ smile.

2. ‘Something-seems-to-be-troubling-you’ smile.

3. ‘Hell!-things-are-normal!’ smile.

4. ‘Jolly-good-day’ smile.

5. ‘You’re-creepin’-people-out’ smile.

I rank 3 or 5. But no. 2 comes too…

Masking happiness is painful and tiring job.

The Blank Page

2009-11-03T09:27:00.000+05:30

.

.

Not-so-Random Thoughts

2009-11-02T23:30:00.000+05:30

It amazes me how mind thinks when you suddenly hate someone, or stop loving her, in this case.

The same person whom you thought is “The One” suddenly becomes “just-another-one”.

I brokeup with her. Apparently, I turned out to be bad boyfriend. Ignorant, uncaring, insensitive bastard, that is. Shortest relationship of my life*.

The ‘halo’ I saw over her, turned out to be ‘horns’! Or it was mine…?

As it turns out, that huge, soft ball of happiness was hollow.

You ask if I’m sad? Hell, I am. But it feels good to know somebody from this close.

Hail Saint Valentine…

*so far!

Stranger in the Crowd

2009-10-15T12:03:00.000+05:30

Udaipur. 240 KMs from Gandhinagar, Gujarat.

Scene 1:
Those 25 strange faces. Phsst! Wanna-be directors! I cant believe they managed to call me as a faculty!
Some are white, some are black. Some are frightened and are frightening.

Scene 2:
Its been three days now. And I must admit, they have done some pretty good work. Blaise, Rajesh, Sugandha, Pushpa and Anitha are amazing.
New talents.

Scene 3:
Im committed, but my feelings are going numb. I don’t think of her for 5-7 days straight! Boy, im gonna be punished.

Scene 4:
For last five days, I have been working till 4 AM. Tomorrow its gonna be over. My mind is confused how it changed itself in these 13 days. I like those ‘wanna-bes’ now.

Scene 5:
Screening of final film projects is going on. People are celebrating, but my heart is crying.

Scene 6 – Final Act:
Last time (in 2006), I fell in love, here, same event. But with one person.
This time I fell in love with all of them.
Gyan and Gungun have been real nice to be with. I will cherish them.

Leaving for Home tomorrow.

Kasab

2009-09-20T11:51:00.000+05:30

When Americans lose their jobs, it is called recession. In India recession is caused by extremism. Extremism leads to terrorism. Terrorism leads to illegal immigration. Illegal immigration caused Kasab to come to India. Now India is in recession. Because of recession, people lose jobs. So because of Kasab, Home Minister Shiv Raj Patil lost his job, Vilasrao Deshmukh also lost his job. Many people hate Kasab, but P Chidambaram loves Kasab. Because of Kasab, he got promoted. At first, he was Finance, now he is doing Home. Pranab Mukherjee also got promoted, from External Affairs to Finance. Prime Minister got heartache, got bypass surgery. Now Kasab is in jail, and wants bail. Because of Kasab, the judge has to read 11,000 pages as his charge-sheet is that thick.

I am wondering by the time these 11,000 pages are read. Will Kasab be ober? Or judge himself? Or India herself?

Deep, huh?

God is online

2009-09-19T10:46:00.004+05:30

(Previously titled: Bro of the almighty)

I was just checking emails when I saw this on my Google Talk. “God is online”. And I thought ‘shit! Here he comes’.

I was pissed at Him. As always. The Guy has attitude problem.

“Bling!” -Oh, I hate that sound.

God: “hey bro! Wazzup!?”

Me: “I am not your brother.”

God: “its jus n xpression, dude!”

God: “chill, yo!”

God: “so, wats up, mayn!”

Me: “hmm, that’s better.”

Me: “im mad at you, asshole!”

God: Wat hapned, yaar!?”

Me: “remember I confessed something last week?”

God: “LOLz, yah!”

Me: “don’t you ‘lolz’ me!”

Me: “somebody got to know about that. I thought it was our secret!!!”

(Saturday evening He is free. Sunday is church time, no ‘jalsa’ in heaven tomorrow!)

God: “wat cud I do? It mst hv slipped. I mst hv been bored or drunk.”

Me: “What the…?”

God: “ws takin 2 dis angel, dude. Ran short of topics n things 2 say. Caught hold of dis thing. Hope u dnt
mind…”

Me: “bloody Satan! You really suck!”

God: “’Satan’? I thought you were talking to me, hehe.”

God: “LOLz”

Me: “fuck you!”

God: “hehe, when?”

Me: “aaaaaarrrrgh! Bugger off!”

God: “you seem pissed”

Me: “you think?”

God: “anyhoo, ma ‘real’ brother Satan is makin sure u stay depressed al d time.”

God: “things are workin wel 4 him, arnt they?”

Me: “im happy, damnit!”

God: “aah! Can u hear d sounds of Lie Detectors screaming? U shud b on ‘Sach Ka Saamna’”

Me: “shut the fuck up!”

God: “face d truth!”

Me: “ya, tagline. very funny, and how do YOU know the truth?”

God: “im God!”

Me: “yah! Right!”

God: “somthin is wrong wit u”

God: “I wl hlp u wit it”

God: “im comin ovr”

Me: “No, no, noooo!

*God is offline*

Uncommon Sense

2009-09-12T21:45:00.000+05:30

A long time back, Aristotle said “Man is a social animal”. Its quite evident Aristotle and I haven’t met.

I have this bad habit of thinking. It must be surprising of why I call it a bad habit. For me, it is. The more I think, the more I assume life. The more I assume life and what it has to give, the more I get to know how much little it has to give. So the more I keep on thinking, the more I get depressed. Negativity in abundance. I watch as my thoughts crumble upon this insane symmetry of life.

But it doesn’t suck me easily. I build four imaginary walls around me, keeping my mind assured of protection from the outside world.

Sadly, this has become my occupation.

Thinking, that’s all I do.

FIN!

Click! …and there was light!

2009-09-12T08:00:00.000+05:30

I was lying in bed. Fantasizing.
What if I was a billionaire?
Where the hell would I start shoppin’. And all the things came like a rush!

I want ESP Flying V Guitar with ear deafening amps.
I want Digitech GNX4 guitar processor.
I want Lamborghini Gallardo and Porche Caynne in my garage.
I want 10 Mbps internet connection with unlimited download capacity.
I want Angelina Jolie to leave Brad Pitt and come running to me.
I want James Hetfield come at my home and give me guitar classes.
I want Linkin Park to perform every Saturday night in my backyard.
I want [CENSORED]
I want Canon EOS 5D (Mark II)
I want Canon EF-S 10mm-1600mm Image Stabilizing, Ultra Sonic Motors, Super Compact lens.
I want to shoot some unwanted crappy politicians with Magnum sniper rifle.
I want to ban Navjot Singh Sidhu from existence.
I want to buy Buckingham Palace.
I want to sell Buckingham Palace to some other sensible people.
I want to steal things.
I want to write a controversial book. A bestseller.
I want a replica of Millennium Falcon.
I want to make FRIENDS season 11 and so on…
I want Simpsons to be aired till the end of universe, (which is around 22 million years, I think)
I want Ahmedabad to become a good city, and have Rock shows every Sunday.
I want a band, badly.
I want my computer to be upgraded every Friday evenings and Monday mornings to the latest top-notch settings.
I want better house than White House, much better.

I want…

After thinking all this, the mind goes further away from its physical presence to calculate possibility of actually having all this.

A few minutes and it comes back with slap on the butt. As an answer.

So here I am… with everything I want.

Every single goddamn thing.

A question, then what?
And so, I open my eyes. *sigh*

“Right now I want 50 bucks so I can got to city and hangout with my friends”

…then?

“I want nothing!”

Cryogenic Hibernation

2009-09-11T11:34:00.000+05:30

“It was the middle-east war goin’ on and we had called for chopper backup. We stood there still in the tyrant dictator’s office when we heard some voices from the next room. We crept towards the room and made little sound as possible. I kicked open the door and shouted ‘freeze!’, but no one was there. They had already gone. But they had left a small girt. A time bomb, beeping continuously with its irritating sound. We stood there, helpless. The sound was getting faster and louder. I picked it up and banged it several times. It was getting even faster. Sweat poured off my forehead. And then… long… endless beep.”

I opened my eyes, and stared at the alarm clock menacingly, hoping that it would switch off on its own.
“Damn you!” I cursed and banged my hand on it.

It’s surprising how human biological clock cant make difference between 5 minutes and 5 hours while sleeping.

Why do people sleep? To regain their cosmic energy? To kill time? To feel like dying for 8 hours and leave everything behind? Or just a celebration of how hard mankind has worked since we evolved? Maybe we are not supposed to see that part of life? (As I was told by Tank).

Whatever it may be, for all I care is to let it be the way it is. And I remember three years ago, saying “Man! Sleeping is a waste, dude! I mean think of all the time I could save without sleep”
Boy, I was dumb back then.

When I slept, I didn’t only sleep, I hibernated. What I mean is that even if there was Brazilian Samba Dance troupe performing around me, I wouldn’t even notice. I slept like I missed out sleep for the last ten years. Back then an alarm clock didn’t change my life even tiny bit, and it had never served its purpose for me.

In my three academic years, sleep more than 7 hours was a hideous crime, and these rules will also be again implemented later on in my life.

Now it’s different, I wake from tiny bit of sound, and get ready robotically and go to class and work.
For now, during weekends I transform myself into a Garfield, except different species. I sleep, I eat, I sleep, I crap, I eat and I sleep.

Well, off I go into the sleep…

…ZZZZZZZZZZZ…

Return of the God

2009-09-10T10:25:00.000+05:30

Somebody knocked at my room in the morning. I hate when somebody does that, waking me up.

“Huh?” who is it?” I shouted.

“It’s me, God” he said. That guy drives me mad. He comes anytime unwarned. Its like He is everywhere!

I opened the door.

“Can you see me?” he said.

“Maybe if you stop that bright light you are emitting from your back!” I muttered. He was in Jesus outfit today.

“Oh, sorry. I'm having trouble adjusting brightness since I switched to environmental friendly CFLs”

“Huh? “ I was still sleepy “you use CFLs?”

He rushed in, without asking. I hate it. “Of course, bulbs are soo ‘last year’!”

He was frighteningly enthusiastic today.

“No, I mean, to ‘create’ light. I thought you CREATED Light.” I said as I came to my senses.

“Dude, don’t you know the law of energy? I can’t CREATE light out of nothing.” He said “they don’t teach you, like anything? Be realistic, man!”

“Hmm” I said, it’s funny how God told me to be REALISTIC! “So what about the whole ‘Let There Be Light!’ thing?

“Oh, that?” he said while he started ‘NFS: Most Wanted’ in my PC. “That is just a tagline my marketing and PR guys came up with. Helps keep the cool image.”

“Oh, ok. So what brings you here? At this time?” I said in most unconcerned voice I could.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Can’t a guy stop by to say hello?

“They only come to me when they need something. Now tell me what you want.”

“Oh that’s soo stereotypical. I expected you of all people to be a little open-minded.” God said pausing NFS: Most Wanted.

“Well, technically, I’m not ‘one-of-the-people, he he” I said proudly.

“Hmm, funny. You are very funny. I like your sense of humor.” He said. Now I was sure he needed something.

“Yeah, I know they say I have funny sense of humor. It seems redundant if you ask me. I mean, if its sense of “humor”, then it’s gotta be “funny”, right?” I said while brushing my teeth. I did those air quotes too…

“Hey that was cool. The way you flickered the Quote-Unquote thingy”

“Aw, you noticed?” I had to say, “Thanks! So how things are in Heaven?”

“In having some trouble in the FORCE”

“As in? FORCE, like in Star Wars?”

“No, no. Federation of Roman Catholic Engineers”

“Oh, what happened?” frankly, I didn’t want to know.

“I guess you could say that the FORCE is ‘Imbalanced’, ha ha ha ha ha!”

“Hmm, funny.” Trust me, it wasn’t funny. “You are thinking something, anything serious?” I said.

God looked at me and then straight out of the window, he looked and said “well, it’s just that… I don’t know if I will see you again… So I was wondering if you could tell me the meaning of life… why we are here… where things are going… what is the purpose of life…” he was sounding like old-lady-about-to-die.

“Get the hell outa here, man!” I shouted from the wash basin. “Why do you always have to ask me these questions in the morning? I can’t enjoy my day because of these questions!”

“Don’t be mad, please?” he said.

“Screw you, man! Sometimes I hope you don’t exist.” Boy, I was mad.

“Ow, don’t say that. You don’t mean that”

“Hmm, I don’t. Sorry. Please leave me alone for now. I need to use toilet and u don’t trust you alone with my PC & free Internet.”

Sick Fun

2009-09-09T11:21:00.000+05:30

It’s a swine-flu age. Another victim dead of it.

But if you and your spouse both fall sick, take the day off. Just because you smell like a dog , your body is aching, you have plenty of cough, you have pounding headache and you have high fever, that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun. Here are some I could think.

1. Imitate Om Puri, Amrish Puri, Amitabh Bachchan, Robert De Niro and for fun, Sachin Tendulkar. You have a soar-throat and your voice is husky. Use it.
2. Play thermometer race. Stick digital thermometer in your mouth and see whose beeps first.
3. Practice for Olympic Synchronized Coughing.
4. Have a cup of Neem Joice and talk about Bengali Sweets.
5. Forget Staring Contest. Try “who-can-get-longest-without-wiping-nose” contest.
6. Try drinking game. Watch MTV Roadies and take a cough syrup every time a word is beeped out.
7. If your noses are blocked, see how long you can kiss before you gasp for air. Can you reach the 1 minute magic mark?
8. Hide a capsule in your layers of clothing and let him/her find.
9. One word. 69! (Give each other foot massages.)
10. To declare your undying love for each other, exchange nasal sprays.
11. Watch “Kasautii, Zindagi Key”. Its for sick people anyway. And sob.

…will keep you posted.

Nightmare vs Dream

2009-09-08T12:20:00.000+05:30

I don’t know what is wrong with me. I was sleeping when this nightmare just flashed. (boy, this is gonna be long.) Its seriously stuck onto my brain. I'm not sure if I will be able to sleep today!
Dream sequence initiated, read on!

“I was sitting on the terrace in the evening. Semi-dark, sun has set. The usual sitting area. Just then, somebody came up on the terrace, walked in front of me towards the edge and gave a sideways glance and smiled at me. Then he jumped and was no more on the edge.

He was me”

But it helps having a careless brain. I mean, dreams doesn’t mean anything. Or does it?

I should be disturbed and shaken. Instead, I am looking for the reasons behind this dream.

I asked some of my friends about it.

Sunny said that it was horrible. Said that you have a deep sadness stuck in your heart somewhere. It got expressed.

Rutu said it was an unfinished story. Something more also happened after that jump…

Tank said it was a happy dream (WTF?). It was “positive”, he said. He said “you have been accepting the new change in your life, so the smile is a positive thing. Jumping from somewhere shows that you are taking a leap while you are smiling.”

That was weirdly satisfying, I told him.

I think it’s all about how you see the situation and make sense out of it.

Shit happens.

A Blind Kamikaze

2009-09-06T21:48:00.000+05:30

Every time I wake up, I feel I have entered into a new world. You know the first 30 seconds after opening your eyes in the morning wishing the pillow to be touching your face for the next few hours. Unfortunately, we don’t control our lives fully.

I have to say to myself “Today its gonna be different, I will be new person”. Only sub-consciously I realize that I’m in the same depth of water as I was yesterday, and the day before, and the day before. The answer lies inside all of us. Yet, im too arrogant to accept it.

It seems there are many ways to cut life short. But I’m not here to give tips on “99 Ways to Die”. I just need a pinch of sanity to keep my inside life runnin’ on its feet.

I’m bracin’ myself for whatever comes next. I live for now, not for the past or the future. Anyway, it’s too easy to write these stuff - so damn hard to implement it.

Well, that’s life, right?

Holy Crap!

2009-09-05T21:47:00.000+05:30

Somebody had said:
“Standing on the edge of sanity, some things makes sense pretty much, but unless you have fluctuating mind that runs parallel with your own action, there is no edge of reason.”

Maybe Homer said it, or Charlie Chaplin. Whatever.

I hope my crap writing skills improve. Here is the test for the readers to read the following. If you understand, please explain me. Because I don’t.

I have always spoken crap. My own “Verbal Throw Up”, if u wanna call it.

Tonmoy dragged me into writing. He is a natural writer. Human is a jealous animal. So I want to write too. Unlike him, I don’t mind writing utter crap.

We went to buy this red diary together. So this is like a stab-in-the-back for Tonmoy. I hope this is for the best.

I am Awake

2009-09-05T10:20:00.000+05:30

I started writing blog after quite a long time.

In past few years, I have managed to write quite nicely. But maybe from last two years, I’ve grown lazy. And frankly, I was enjoying it.

I remember the time when I published my own magazine; Fulzar. I did that for 5 years, every month, 16 pages. Hell! I could write. But my brain language was Gujarati at that time. Then what, it changed to this one.

This transition was hard. I was busy watching English movies and listening to Linkin Park and other the whole time.

So guys, here I am. Again.

Read on the diary I call,
“Diary of a Schizophrenic!”

God is Pissed!

2009-09-04T11:33:00.000+05:30

So, I don’t believe God. He is unbelievable. But it’s also true that I don’t believe IN God. But, he comes to visit me sometimes.

So one day, God it watching TV. My TV. Today he was dressed like Krishna.

…and he is flipping through all the channels without settling on anything. Just like my dad.

“Hey!” I told him, “could you just pick one and stick with it? It’s making me crazy!”

He says, “Just one?”

“Yeah”, I said “just one”

“That’s all this thing will do?”

“Yeah, that’s right!” I confirmed.

“Shit.” he mutters “Do you ever stick with ‘just one’? Forget channel, pick anything, what the hell are you supposed to do with ‘Just One’, huh?”

“You spend time with it.” I explained. “See how plot unfolds, or how the game goes, who wins or whatever. Each show has a ‘beginning’ and an ‘end’. Is that so bad?”

God stares at TV, after a few moments, he turns at me.

“Ever listened to people’s fucking prayers?” he asked me.

“I heard a few” I replied.

“No, you haven’t. No, you haven’t. You haven’t heard anything. Not like what I have heard. It’s not like watching just one channel. And your ‘beginning and endings’ just don’t seem to exist. Wanna hear some?” oh boy, God was angry.

“Naah”, I admitted.

But the rattles anyway:
“’Dear God, please make me pass’,
‘Dear God, please buy me a Ferrari,
‘Dear God, please help me dive safely even when I’m drunk’,
‘Dear God, please get me this job’,
Dear God, please don’t let my girlfriend get pregnant’,
Dear God, please kill my enemies’…!
What would you do with all these people?”
God asked me.

“I’d tell them all to grow up” I suggest, “or to go fuck themselves”

“Good luck” says god “I just take a message and leave it somewhere. I guess you are right. It’s good to watch just one channel on TV. Let’s watch ‘Khichdi’!”

He gets up and goes to my fridge, where he pushes the cans and bottles around.

“What’s this shit you are drinking?” he yells “’Thums Up’? What the hell is that?”

“Dear God,” I reply “please make this shit taste good!”

Random thoughts, after a proposal...

2009-08-20T16:15:00.000+05:30

When was the last time you felt like things were in your grasp and you let it go?

Feeling ignored.
Frustrated.
Deserted.

I knew what things are and where they belong. Yet, there are some things beyond our control. Things which cannot be changed.

But at the same time it’s fascinating when you see the halo... but then it fades to black when you spot the horns.

It's tempting to fall in love. To get that feeling of being cared and caring for. That big, soft, huge ball of happiness (or happyness) is tempting as it seems.

But reality is a bitch. She knows where to hit.

That ball only had the outer coating of happiness, maybe its hollow or bitter inside.
Who knows?

I'm scared sometimes of how dense my thoughts become. It scares me.

But I'm happy for that fact that I can see something without clouding my sense of judgment (for the moment).

I’m saying ‘yes’ to her (for now).

Things can never be partitioned absolutely between good/bad, happy/sad and white/black way. But the spectrum of it intrigues me, and exploring it is fun.

Its 3:30 AM, Let me text her…

[Please note that the post has been written in a soporific state. Incoherence might be very common and complete absolute accuracy would be totally accidental.]

-Ruchir
20th August 2009

Rude Awakening...

2008-05-06T23:12:00.001+05:30

Criticism. I can't take criticiscm.

The moment it hits me my face frowns or any other mode of expression is put to animation. I'm not the total sport who would see every brickbat/mockery thrown at me and mould it into constructive criticism and be merry and live hapilly ever after. It sticks to me like glue for a while and refuses to budge. And then I have that 'I dont give a fuck!' phase in order to cover up for the frowning face.

So basically I'm still a 6 year old when it comes to taking criticism. Now the part after that comes the sulking. And people who know me well, know what kind of a sulking champ I am. The worst is when you have no one to actually call and let out ur mundane whines to. Technically speaking I do have lotsa people to call, but just didn't feel like. Coz this is part which I wanted. To be independent, and not rely on being consoled or pampered.

Funny thing is I end up talking n texting to the same person at the end of the day now on. And so she calls me up. And I am dependent again.

Dammit Miss Happy!

Also, I talk bullshit when Im sleepy. But even when I'm not.

So,

Universal Set = Bullshit talk!

Junagadh Mountaineering Camp

2007-05-31T09:11:00.000+05:30

Junagadh Mountaineering Camp

Gang of Girls...!
photo: Dhara, Zarna, Kruti and Dhumsi (standing) taking care of kids...

"Autograph please?"
photo: Dhumsi (in the middle) after taking autograph of former Indian cricketer Rajesh Chauhan (sitting)

Camp site cleaning
photo: Dhara volunteering in camp site cleaning work...

"Have you ever been to Himalaya?"
photo: Beautiful(!) Mountains of Junagadh!

Can you find hidden Tree Trunk in this picture??! I Can't!
photo: Dhumsi got some style to show there!

India's Most Wanted...
photo: Our instructors, Sunil, Dash and Blank! (Someone help me out here!)

Viva!
photo: Dhumsi, Kruti, Zarna and Dhara...

...and the Band of Boys!
photo: Bhargav, Saumil, Malhar, Ruchir, Manan and ______!

...and what is that called?
photo: Dhara and Dhumsi...

First among the equals...
photo: Manan, Malhar, Bhargav, Saumil and Ruchir (all sitting)

Sweetest Memory...
photo: kids and Rajesh Chauhan

Thank you very much to Dhara and Dhumsi for yet another bunch of amazing photos! Thank you!

Dharampur... 2001 AD!!!

2007-03-31T21:25:00.000+05:30

AranyaParv - 2001

Date: 22/04/2001.

A Beautiful village Pindval near Dharmpur:
(photo: a view from the way up to Pindval- camp destination)

Camp activities are on...
(photo:Dhumsi and group members...)

Another group activity: Simulate a dream city...
(photo: Dhara -in the middle- and Ruchir -leaning over- can be recognized...)

Human Body- recognizing the organs...(photo: Dhumsi at far left...)

After trekking to a beautiful place called... er... um... well... i... forgot! But it WAS beautiful...
(photo: a group photo. You can find Saumil, Ruchir, Bhargav, Keyur, Manan etc... Dhara and Dhumsi also - standing. )

A typical 'Good Bye' (or 'welcome'?) group photo...
(photo: a confusion: Is it from the end or from the beginning? anyway... You can find Dhruvbhai Bhatt and all the caretakers, Ruchir, Bhargav, Saumil, Manan, Keyur, Dhara and Dhumsi and many more i cant even remember!)
This was the last time* we ALL were together!

*and the first!!!

Thanks to Dhara and Dhumsi for wonderful photos!

Insanity Rediscovered!!!

2007-02-08T17:49:00.000+05:30

I got my CBZ Xtreme just now... (2 hours before!)