Ships without sails.

“Light?”, she said. An impulse replied, “I don’t smoke. And neither do you”, before I snapped out of it and saw her face. A dark silhouette stared back at me. It wasn’t a good joke, but then it wasn’t meant to be. The thing about jokes, is utterly misunderstood. It is neither an attempt to display your wit nor to impress, as most women choose to disillusion themselves. It is merely an attempt to lighten things up. At most, it is because of one person’s undying hope in the concept of happiness morphed into a relentless effort to bring a smile on your face. That’s why I find it unfair when a person overtly judges jokes. In the exceptional case that the jokes have a recurring “zero-intelligence”, they shouldn’t be judged, and certainly not so often. Atleast somebody cares how happy you are.

We needed to move on. We couldn’t stay any longer or we’d be stagnating. Without a light to guide us, it was a foolish attempt to cross a bridge. But such was the age and such was the time. Everyone was doing it. Little boxes. What harm could there be? We took some edgy steps. Neverwhere, she thought. Light would be of no use here. The darkness is just too much. It’s meant to be. I liked the way she looked at things. It was an optimism that was very unlike mine. I cannot quite explain, but it just is. Sometimes fanciful, sometimes hardcore pragmatic. Sometimes believing it will happen, and sometimes going with the flow. Somehow, something works. And we’re all happy. The best part about all of that is, she’s more likely to deny it, no matter the veracity. That’s the kicker.

When we were halfway across, a bus vroomed past. We looked at each other. I saw nothing, and knew she did too. But we mouthed the same thing. “What happened to the plan?”. Had we forgotten about the bus while we were too busy trying to figure out how to cross the bridge? The big picture. The plan. It freaked us out every time it hit us. Cos this wasn’t the plan. There was no bridge in it. There was the uncertainty, yes, but of a better quality. “There’s still time”, I told her. “Life has bigger plans for you. I know it. You know it. The bridge is just a phase. You’ll catch the big bus. Wait for it”. I dint fake it. I believed in it. For I believed in her.

For now though, there was Neverwhere. There was a small ugly bridge. There was a sea of black engulfing us and scaring the shit out of us. There was God, behind his high walls, sitting far away, A believer will tell you he’s testing you. An atheist would tell you there’s nothing behind that wall, and the wall itself is a big scam.I ask them both if it really matters. There was hope. There was a silent prayer. There was faith. But there was company. Beneath all that jazz, right now, there was nothing. I reached out and found her hand. “Come”.

To be the bad man.

An empty mind on a lonely road
breathes loudly and ponders.
A garbage truck sleeps for now,
a cat screams mercy yonder.

A rabid stray, and an old friend,
take a horrid turn of fate.
And all the boxes on the street,
look very busy offlate.

The underbelly, in neon’s hue,
looks an ugly yellow.
The angels quickly leave the scene,
for the theme for now is mellow.

Hope is just a wishful act,
but keeps you through the night.
thought the stranger ‘cross the street,
before the final flight.

The reaper said he’d seen enough,
and stood up for the task.
The stranger held on to hope,
before he breathed his last.

An empty mind on a lonely road
breathes loudly and ponders,
And that kill makes it forty four,
I wonder what lies yonder.

Another day, another time.

Another momentous occasion “flitted and fleeted” (and I thank a dear feline for that phrase) passed by me. A lot of people would have me freak out. Including me. But it dint happen. Today went by like any other day. Unceremoniously un-momentous. I slept well, and did not have a nervous breakdown before or during the CAT, contrary to popular opinion. I was busy, yes. And anxious. And it filled most part of my head and what not. But that’s it.

Last night, I said to myself what a wise man had said years ago. What the hell are you doing here! I was nose deep in MBA waters. And I still don’t know what its about or why I’m doing it. I’m just choosing the best of the few options laid out before me, and fashioned, mostly by myself to seem all-inclusive. Déjà vu, four years ago with case in point: Engineering. They’ll call me an Engineer in a few months. But is that what I wanted?Last night, I found the answer. I wanted to be writer. Novels et al. I had finally discovered what I wanted to be. This was it!

Lasted about 46 seconds, including the yawn. I felt my guitar. I wanted to be Floyd. It made me reflect on a very colourful trip I had. Following which I wanted to be a painter. And there’s always the part of me that wants to fly. The things I want to become! I can write a book on it. Maybe I should paint it. Maybe just sing it.

Right now, all i want to do is run. Away. Far. Take my bike, steal some money. Head north. And see what I find. I want to be drunk on life. I want to travel like wanderlusts of yore. I want to meet all kinds of people. I want to have no plan. Except the plan. I want some sun, some sand, some water, some heart. I want to get lost like there’s no tomorrow. I want to try hard to remember what happened. I want to not give a shit. I want some life.

After exams of course. The one that’ll make me an almost Engineer.

For, Happiness Endures.

Utopia is a crumpled 100 buck when you’re dead out of fuel.
Utopia is 300km/h.
Utopia is passing in challenge reval.
Utopia is not having semester exams on new years.
Utopia is the xerox machine.

Utopia is Calvin and Hobbes when you have an exam.
Utopia is flipping your car over 7 times and escaping with bruises.
Utopia is a pair of guinea pigs.
Utopia is Pink Floyd.

Utopia is an old monk on a winter night.
Utopia is half a smoke on a frozen hilltop after a midnight trek.
Utopia is closing your eyes to find colors dancing.
Utopia is the rain when you’re high.

Utopia is eating a cloud.
Utopia is full meals at an Andhra mess on a remote Highway.
Utopia is canteen chai when it pours like hell out of the blue.
Utopia is free doughnuts and coffee on a random walk.

Utopia is “Macha”
Utopia is “Sounds like a plan”
Utopia is “Lets do this!”
Utopia is “What happened last night?”

Utopia is talking to an eye.
Utopia is seeing through your ears.
Utopia is hearing the colour.
Utopia is slow dancing in a burning room.

Utopia is a gramophone record.
Utopia is finding your guitar on the bed when u wake up at 3 am.
Utopia is a new drum kit.
Utopia is a time machine to Woodstock 69.

Utopia is a dream that lasts.
Utopia is a hug.
Utopia is half a smile.
Utopia is the daily abuse.

Utopia is the losing battle of the conscious and the conscience.
Utopia is the lie that tells the truth.
Utopia is the impossibility in your hand.
Utopia is the pain that reminds.

Utopia is a very cozy jam-pad.
Utopia is a one and a half gig you’ve waited half your life for.
Utopia is a friend who knows that the song isn’t finished.
Utopia is the green.
Utopia is psychedelia.

Utopia is Peace.
Utopia is Love.
Utopia is Rock and Roll.

27

The freckled ball, lit the sky,
and showed the phantom’s face.
I asked him why, all my gods,
had died in curious ways.

A boon so vile, a curse benign,
a deal you cannot refuse.
The divine sound, from his hidden mouth,
reeked of the devil’s hues.

Should you find what lurks beneath,
would you reach for it?
Or shun it as the devil’s work,
and run away from it?

Well if you’re in a paradigm,
You’ve waited far too long.
Just sell your soul to rock ‘n roll,
And move the hell along.

Bluesmans’ cross, a moonless night,
the devil walks alone,
If you chance by the mister then,
He’ll divine your guitar’s tone.

The diabolical deal, you must but sign,
and join the long lost line.
You’ll be a god, the darkest one,
The fame, the women, the wine.

But darker still, the ol’ mister,
will come but knocking again.
Years from now, when the time is up,
his property he will reign.

Well if you’re in a paradigm,
You’ve waited far too long.
Just sell your soul to rock ‘n roll,
And move the hell along.

An exercise in Integrity

Last week, I decided I wanted to be licensed to drive throughout the territory as India, a Light Non-Transport Motor Vehicle. (A Car DL, for my less verbose audience). I have been driving through narrow gullies and jammed highways at all times of the days these past few months without incident or accident, so I figured I’m not that bad a driver. So when I drove to that place at the edge of Bangalore, I wasn’t nervous like I should have been.

But i knew my chances. A friendly delicate flower had once bestowed a piece of wisdom upon me: If you go without a driving school tag, its likely you’re going down. I nearly didn’t get the application since I was late and the good lady there had decided to throw a tantrum because she was delayed by us late comers. A cheeky fellow found a way to soothe her down and I got my form. After the harassment of filling the form, I went up to submit it to a person who’d just heard of the good lady’s antics and was conspiring to get her fired! Bureaucracy, I thought. That and Engineering- “Who needs stand up comedy?”

When it was my chance to drive, or park it rather, an excited lad parked his bike right behind me just when i was about to reverse. Happened again, when I moved it a bit to park by him. It was quite a circus to get it parked. A hefty soul came and sat in the car and asked me to drive. It was going smoothly until I had to reverse. Then the girl driving behind me decided she had enough and left the wheel, got out and started crying. What am I to do? So I stood there till the scene was cleared. But the Inspecter had decided that I cant reverse the car. (Yeah!)

Institutionalized testing failed again. So I walked off knowing I could still drive, driving back my good friend home.

– THE END –

But you just KNOW that there’s no THE END, without someone getting totally screwed over. I was stopped by the same cop who had failed me. Lets call him, Mr.Integrity, for jest. There was a mistake in paperwork and I was to pass? Unlikely.  Man needed a lift. (Yeah!). So this man, who has just deemed me incapable of driving, is telling me that he trusts my driving with his life on a highway, just to get a ride. So my testing continued for another half hour, where Mr. Integrity graciously told me things I already knew about driving, and again and again and.. yes, again.

When we questioned him why I failed when I could clearly drive, he said I couldnt reverse. When we explained what happened, he spent the next 5 minutes giving me reasons well short of funny. The answer to why he’d never admit anything was clear at the end: the man made me take down his number and to give him a call after a week. *cough* bribe *cough*

Prophecy

The face of agony is seldom concealed,

The scars on a pretty face seldom healed,

Save for the young damsel i portray to thee,

None hold their pain as elegantly as she.

She cries in the corner all alone

She weeps in the dark on her own

And when she aint by herself, no,

She smiles like an angel and more.

The roof above us is dark as is cold,

Reminds me of the night her fate was foretold,

A monk prophesied the misfortunes galore,

Of broken hearts and devastation, no lore could hold.

She’d eyes that could kill and a smile better still,

An aura of charm that none but her knew,

Its such a shame that the prophecy had to come true,

For those lovely blue eyes are no longer blue.

She cries in the corner all alone

She weeps in the dark on her own

And when she aint by herself, no,

She smiles like an angel and more.

She was the fairest of maidens that I ever met,

And I speak in the past lest you forget,

She died this morning before the sun shined,

and when she did, she looked up, she smiled.

Bad day

Last Sunday I rode through my college road. It seemed like such a long time since I’d seen it. So the next day I got all geared up and decided I would go to college. And I did. Only to find a company had come to hire us engineers. What the heck, a couple of friends and me wrote their screening test. Since we had no eligibility, no preparation, no interest, or knowledge of software engineering, we walked out citing excuses. But curious as to who’ll make it, we came back to hear the results. And as the names were read out, I was naturally shocked beyond words when I heard mine: I hadn’t a pen with me, let alone a resume!!

So I made up a resume from a borrowed sheet and sat for the interview. Nothing to lose, I talked my way out of it with empty confidence. And then the wait began. Minutes turned into hours before they shortlisted six. And as I got up to congratulate my friend, God laughed up yet another one as my name was called again! I was confused as to how and why this was happening. Maybe that confidence helped pull me through. But this meant further interviews and lengthy waits in that empty corridor. I endured two more rounds of technical interviews telling them I knew naught. At this point I was a hungry zombie. But things brightened up when I heard them calling for an HR interview – at last I’d have something to say. But I wasn’t given a chance and I knew it wasn’t a case of overlooking. Then the results were announced. I hadn’t made it. In that dead of the night, to an enervated man swinging madly between hope and reality, nobody could really explain why 7 software engineers with a world of experience had taken 13 hours and 3 rounds of technical interviews to tell whether an electronics engineer with no knowledge of the subject was fit for a software job.  I prepared myself for the condolences and walked out.

When you’ve had a bad day, the ride back home offers the only solace. It reflects the loneliness of misery and hands you a power you’re dying to have. And in the dead of the night, your only friend is your guitar. But sometimes even that F note on the guitar just doesnt sound that awesome anymore.

Of the Antichrist, sights and waterfall treks

Another roadtrip to quell the thirst of a roadie. In what would later be called a chilled out couple of days, me and a bunch of 5 other idiots would experience some things oddly unbecoming a normal sightseeing experience. As it happened, the six of us met at Mysore Road bus terminal in the dead of a cold July night with the assumption that buses plied to Salem quite frequently. When we went there we found that the frequency wasn’t what we needed to worry about. None of the weirdly shaped, “jhathang!” colored flashy long boxes of metal had seats that humans willingly sit on. We passed when the first bus left, but when the second bus offered nothing better than its predecessor, we boarded it without much choice. We did our best to sit toward the center to negate the vibrations of the shaky bus, but when the driver smiled and switched the lights off, we sensed malice in our further drive.

God’s divine plan seems to have included us surviving it, for so we did, as we woke up at 3 am at Salem Bus Stand. What you tend to expect in this scenario is an empty bus stand. But Tamils, let me tell you, don’t sleep. There were at least 500 people awake and seemingly waiting for something amazing at that ungodly hour. It was then that the stench hit us. We were walking about and the toilets at the end of the area had picked on us. We held our noses and made a run for it and boarded a random bus that headed to Yercaud. As we made conversation with fellow Bangalore travelers, a big neon sign flashed “PMS” in three flashy colors atop a hotel.

When I woke up again, it was cold as hell and the bus was winding up a hill at great speed. When it stopped and we made our way to look at the view from Yercaud a dog came running toward me. I thought it was just friendly. When we went hunting for hotels in the direction where the dog came from, we found Hotel Select, an unassuming ill-maintained lodge. I entered to find a man staring at me like he didn’t expect company. I asked him for a room to his surprise and he shook out of it and said “Oh yes, rooms. Come see” and walked off to the stairs. I had put my hand on his desk on a book. An unexpected glance showed me an outline of a man with arrows to his parts. The caption read in bold: ANTICHRIST and the ANATOMY OF A MAN.

Shaken but not stirred, I let him lead me up to the rooms. He opened the door and I saw bloodstains on a cot. He suddenly took us to another room. We said the room was ok. He asked us what price we wanted it at. This was odd. It felt like he was only too happy to give us the room and it was almost like he’d give us at whatever price we wanted. I played it safe and told him I would come back for it after breakfast and ran out of there. The next lodge we tried had two types of rooms: single and double. A single room was a 10×15ft box with a bed in which a normal sized man could sleep. A double room was the same with an extra table. The owner wanted the six of us guys to sleep in a single and a double room! Not knowing what exactly his intentions were we made our way out of there not interested in rooms anymore.

Balaji knew of a place called ‘House of Peace’ that offered accommodation. After 6kms of walking, misleading directions, wicked stares, and a lot of debate we found a Veerappan lookalike on an Activa heralding the DMK flag, who offered to help us. And he did, for we were in the christian missionary rest house in 15 minutes. The guard of that place was a happy-go-lucky character like you wouldn’t believe. He would listen intently to whatever you say and nod his head very happily, no matter what you said! Always! A nun smiled and offered us 3 comfortable rooms and we snatched that offer.

After that though, things mellowed down for Christ’s sake. We had a trek, which was a walk along a long winding tarmac road and a real trek for about 0.3km to see Kiliyur falls. It wasn’t that great but was not bad either. We chilled out a bit and spent the afternoon. The evening we checked out Pagoda point, and Lady’s Seat and Gent’s Seat, all viewpoints. It was as if Yercaud was built just to look at Salem from a distance. The DMK’s symbols were on every inch of the land. A night refreshed us enough to take a taxi ride to check out Shevaroy’s temple, a cave temple and a very beautiful Botanical garden which to me, was paradise. The place and the weather can only be described as “chilled out”.

When we headed back to the bus stand to go to Salem, we saw the ‘Antichrist’ man from Select creeping up upon us. We hurried and took the first bus out of there to Salem. And with that the crazy Yercaud trip came to an end. We bought tickets for the evening train that allowed us to have a quiet meal, still thinking of all the characters that Yercaud hid under its belly.

__________________________________________________________________________
Travelogue:
Yercaud is a nice hill-station that offers a 1-2 day vacation with cool weather and nice greenery any time of the year. You can reach it via Salem. Buses to Salem are very frequent 24 hours a day from Mysore road Bus stand, but make reservations for good buses. Local buses cost Rs 90.
Buses to Yercaud are similar frequent through the day and will take you there for Rs. 11 in
about 3hrs. Salem is also connected to Bangalore by trains which need at least 2 days prior planning for reservations, to be on the safer side. Rs.150 approx for Sleeper.

Accommodation: “House of Peace” (Locals refer to it as Kanadi Bangal) is a christian missionary that also maintains a travel guest house with clean rooms and bathrooms for Rs.225 a day (includes food). A youth Hostel is situated more centrally, next to Hotel TamilNadu, near the Lake. A more posh option would be the Hotel Shevaroy’s nearby, or the Sterling Resorts near Lady’s Seat.

Food: Local hotels are plenty with most offering decent local food. Shevaroys offers a multi-cuisine restaurant with rates similar to Bangalore’s. You’ll eat well with 100-150 in your pocket.
You’ll eat, for around 20 outside.

Going Around: All places are near enough to walk for the average tourist. Taxis are available and they take you to and fro in 3 directions. (6 people can sit comfortably in one taxi)
1. The trek to Kiliyur falls, a waterfall (Rs.200)
2. Pagoda Point, a viewpoint, Cave temple, Beers cave (private), Botanical Garden, etc. (Rs.250)
3. Lady’s seat Gents seat, rose garden, children’s park (latter two close by 5pm) (Rs.100)

The Lake is centrally situated and has row- and pedal- boating facilities.

A hand at drabbling

Here’s my first drabble. Hope its exactly 100 words. Thanks to Jan for educating me on what a drabble is.
____________________________________________________________

Gary Smith woke up and sucked in a gallon of fresh air. It was a lovely morning he thought. He felt a general goodness about him. The phone rang. It was from Veca Electric. His next job was to install security lighting at a home near Lake Washington. He made his way to the “Greenhouse”. A few steps, a couple whistles, he opened the door.

The bullet from the shotgun had gone right through his head. The lefty held the barrel on his chest as he looked through the roof. Blood flowed from his ear. REM played at the back. Nirvana!