The time of my life...

I am restless. Restless like a river flowing in its mountainous run. But only back and forth, without going anywhere.

The thing is that I've got this long craved holidays that I so desired. And as it is passing by I am feeling like I am not doing it a justice. Soon enough it will be over and then a whole year of mental slavery would have to be endured before I meet this freedom again.

But now, I've already passed a whole week in utter laziness of doing nothing. Nothing means mainly doing stuffs that people do to pass the time when they are bored with it. But I am not bored. I don't want to PASS this time. This is THE time that I always crave for. This is not to be just passed. I want to cling on to it. This is to be savoured. This is a time to create, to flavour the insipid life that we usually endure.

Life isn't about anything really. It doesn't really have a purpose, contrary to the popular belief. It just is. Right there, out and about. But we, as each individual, have something somewhat unique that we want to carve our lives into; A feeling that makes us individuals. Each one different, some similar to the other but still different. For me, I don't know, I has been an incessant urge to create.

When I am given my own time, free as it is now, I'd (as I've been doing) at times 'waste' it by doing mundane self-entertaining activities; like watching movies, playing games, reading books. But does it really fulfil me? I guess not. To get the fulfilment, I need to make the movie, I need to write the book, I need to create photographs, I need to learn a language. That's what is me. That's what my existence is for; a purpose that I've created for myself.

Only then, this time of freedom, this fabled time of relentless existence, this glorious period of liberty, will be served for.

Now, who or what will rekindle my creative zeal, that's another story altogether.

There's one song and that is mine

There's a song and that is mine
In every number with digit nine
Random, absurd, plentiful
Himalayan lofty ridicule.
A glass of flower, a vase of wine
There's this song and that is mine.

Who knows when I string a pain
Drop some rain in local drain
Gallop through whiny windy clouds
Put some grapes on cotton shrouds.
They won't know but that is fine
There's one song and that is mine.

Some smaller bits of uber fun
Nine assignments, not yet done
Tagore's ardor with Ghalib's sigh
Neruda's query to make me high
Some teen spirit and one feline
That's the song and that is mine.

Snore

This blog ain't dead; pretty much alive. It just sleeps a lot :)

Drumroll

Stencils and a few of aerosol cans
Rainbow colours and misdemeanor
All for an artist with rigour.

Some are artists, some are inspiration
Some are blind, some are hard to find
Some are dark metallic recreation.

50 years back or more
A poet wrote as we read
We listened, I waited.

A big or rather small headphone
In my head when I don't see
World is all blur yet
the poetry is sharp
Colours are bright,
Vivid is the insanity

A broken glass of wine
Went missing with a closed eye
Some chilli flakes on the eyeball
Garam masala tears
And killer is the sanity.

I You We He She They that are fingerprints

I've known myself, lets say, for whole of my life. I am one of those few individuals that fit that category. Sigh! Such mundane banality that encircles us... However, yes, I too am a fingerprint: distinct, original, singular. There is not a single other creature, thing or existence that is me. I do what I do, the way I do. None other than me thinks like me, feels like me, functions like me. Nobody can ever be me. I am me, and solely I am myself. I am unique.

We all are fingerprints. We all are capable of putting our unique impressions on this collective existence that we sum up as life; synergy of lives that is this perceived collective existence. There's nothing beyond this perception. This perception is what is existence. This is the way we all are artists; each one distinctive. I am an artist, you are an artist, she is an artist, he is an artist, they all are artists. Question is, do I know that you are an artist? Do you know that you are an artist? Do you know that I am an artist?

Do I know that I am an artist?

A few creatures and a planet full of fingerprints

Oh the monster called Morning! As much as I crave the sunshine, lately the mornings on weekdays have been nightmares in broad daylight. Every morning my body feels like that colossal monkey who refuses to give up his weight and move. Not that the monkey really exists but you get the picture. Just in case you don’t, it is more like King Kong having a bad day and refusing to budge. This monkey does exist, but only fictionally. So let’s say like a blue whale in a fatigued repose on the seabed. Again, not that the whales actually do that, but they do exist in reality… In any case, those creatures are just the parable for my body in the morning which goes with the willpower and strength of a sloth. In a nutshell, it is a horrendous feeling and I haven’t been hyperbolic here. There you go, I have ranted; and rightfully so!!!

Now here’s what I say today… we all are like fingerprints.

Eh, what? Nothing...

As usual it's been a while... I came to this page again after a long time. It is almost like an unfamiliar feeling; more like being in a room with unknown smells; not strong, not pungent, not repulsive, not even noticeable; but just unfamiliar. Yet it doesn't bear the novelty of a beginning. Why would it? It isn't a beginning...

Few days back, I had decided that I won't be vague in my blog. It would rather be a straightforward 'fun' blog. Fun and funny isn't the same thing. I can have fun, but me being funny is a funny concept; even though some people do find me funny. But don't fret, you are not one of them...

Anyhow, I gotta start from somewhere. Hence, my vagueness ruled the first half and will keep on dominating for a while and may never rest. So hope, if that matters. Hopefully you would be hopeful enough to have your hope ending up being hopeless and still would be able to hopelessly hope. Ya, I rule in my brain... eh, what? Nothing...

Hapless

Change of song
Guitar riff
Blank stare
The letters
Jumbled up together
In words
Loud... verbose
Belief.

A God's arrogance
Passed on to man
And me
Thoughts
Tired within myself
Blank Stare
Cogito
Ergo dumb
Nirvana
I think I'm dumb.

Arrogance
On the screen
Blank stare
On my part
I think I'm numb.

Make me a weather

Make me a weather
With all you can gather

Heat
Scorch
Burn,
Chills at every turn

Moisture of dew
Shuttering winds anew
With its stormy harsh tether.

Be it feeble touch of rain
Or hails of frigid pain,
Maybe unexpected jolt
With spark of a bolt;
Let me feel rather.

Please, please and please
Please make me a weather!

Hard question

16 minutes of battery left on my laptop. Is that enough?

A lady from Scotland...

It is Susan Boyle who brings me here tonight. She has filled so many eyes with tears; she has put smiles on so many faces. Her's is a human story on stage. It is a tribute to life: uplifting, awe-inspiring, enlightening. The crescendo in her performance takes me to the pinnacle of my being.

Susan Boyle on the stage of Britain's Got Talent is like living a life in its entirety; and what a life that is!!!

A privilege.

Random, but I'm here!

Once on a lazy Sunday morning a friend of mine ranted to me asking why everyone is expected to aspire to become rich, successful etc. why can't someone just decide to stay poor and be left with it; Quite a valid sociological inquiry, if you ask me. One might argue, this is easier for him to say as he never really was poor or anyway near it. His father owns a few factories to say the least. In his defense, he hasn't really lived an extravagant life; but that is more due to his persona, not for the lack of means. Anyhow, I digress into his reasons or lack of it but that is not my point here. I actually wanted to talk about his original comment.

So why aren't we allowed to embrace the sufferings in order to relieve ourselves from all the efforts that we need to put into living. You know what, I am not really interested into discussing that either right now.

I guess all I want to say is that sometimes one just needs to make a random comment like that. Those are more out of our random frustrations with life than with the aim to invoke a philosophical inquest. Just as sometimes one needs to shout in the train on (or off) a mobile phone. Or sometimes one feels compelled to yell at an ex partner at a random bus stop over some child care dispute.

And perhaps sometimes on a lazy Sunday morning, one just needs to cry.

US

Goodness in human makes me feel like... err... human. It is still there, it has always been and it'll always be...

Apology

I would like to apologize to the Cancer Council Daffodil Day crew at Flinders Street Station for inadvertently ignoring them while passing by. I was just preoccupied with my bemused thoughts, as always. I did want to buy a daffodil but it just didn't register in my mind that it was them before it was too late... like, I was home.

Go to sleep you fool

With the clock ticking with a bias towards midnight, looking towards an early wake up routine task of weekday mornings, I feel a sudden urge to put something in here. It's been a while; so be it...

Come on. come on... sleep now; just to wake up again.