No Bitch, No Angel

Life I had imagined, a lot different. Then it is now.( BTW it is going to have a sex correction after this line.) But I guess she is just like that.

She is biased. Yes, She is, as a mother is to her favourite daughter/ son.

She is confused and will confuse you with contrasting experiences. You will be thinking, what the hell.

Oh , She is Moody too. One moment she 'll hand you the reins and then snatch it and make your horses go delirious.

She has given me a tiresome day. So i''ll just stop and go to sleep. Hope she ain't going to haunt me there.

Word Khoj

I don't know why this came across my mind. The word that I most identify with. I think it was Tom Petty's song 'Learning to fly'. mebbe. I popped up this question to Buddha. He said 'love'. I wondered if he put his agile mind into it or it was just an on-the-spur answer. I even asked my mom the same question. I don't know if I put it across properly in Kannada but she said 'Strength'. I was suprised. She said she wanted to be more strong. Simple statement. But I haven't met a stronger woman than her.

Dad said 'misunderstood'. That pleasantly suprised me.

My dad said something he thought he was, my mom said something she wanted to be and Buddha said something as abstract as 'love', probably the most important emotion in his life.

It takes me back to Singapore when I was reading Shantaram and there was this question about the most important thing in this world. Some answers were power, love. I had then questioned the three seated with me at the dinner table at the food court behind Jade theatre.

Doritos - ' Power/ Family' (Forgive me, I can't recollect properly)

Susa - 'Satisfaction'

Nish - 'Connection'

The author of Shantaram and me, of course shared the same thoughts. We both thought it was freedom. Shantaram was a convict and his love for freedom could be understood. But for me, I was free, wasn't I?

Free to explore, free to implore, free to feel , free to choose, free to love, free to learn, free to dance, free to cry, free to change...uff. this was then.

But today i thought the word for me was fly.

I want to fly.

I want to fly, so high, so light.

I don't want to fly alone,

but I want to fly.

I want to cut through the resistance of air,

I want to fly with some flair.

I want to stop and stare

But I want to fly again and bare.

Bare my soul and my thoughts,

Forget the have and have nots.

I want to fly.
I want to fly, so high, so light.

So 'Fly' it is, i think. Feel and Free follow.:)

But come on guys, please fill me in on what it is for you.

Moustachio Man and The Devotees' Ammo.

For how long I remember, I have been a dreamer. Not of dreaming of the nearly impossible or the likes of dreaming big ..and stuff like that. I am talking about the the dream 'which is the experience of a sequence of images, sounds, ideas, emotions, or other sensations during sleep, especially REM sleep.' (Thanks Wiki)
I have this uncanny(or so I feel) ability to dream weird stuff and rememeber it. My dreams are vivid. Wish my life was so colourful and pulsating. I remember narration of my dreams being an interesting listen to my friends on school and college mornings. Or so i thought:).

Some of them being:
1. Waqar Younis trying to seduce me. (WHY???)
2. Shahrukh Khan begging in front of my house and me helping him out with my brother's clothes; who apparently looks like him. This one I especially remember because my classmate Prachi (big SRK fan) almost stopped talking to me after that.
3. ME standing up for Clinton in a crowd of people who did not support him.
4. Me sitting in a bus which is about to blast and I call my 2 friends ( P and V) who were estranged with each other to plead them to patch up, before I die..(God, so much for friendship)
5. This one's crazy. Me and mom have killed someone and are running from the Police who totally want to hang us.:)
And million Crazier dreams which I do not want to narrate, fearing loss of focus!!!

Ok. I''l stop here. And Narrate to you my tonoon's dream. (if to'day', then to'noon'.Peace!)
The scene: Me and my mom and my bro are in a room and trying to hide from a moustachio man. He was like Ravana. Or maybe Ravana himself. I don't remember the crown though. The moustache, it is beating my memory drums. Ravana was in the other room and I stealthily go and see him walking towards our room....I run towards mom and bro to warn them.
Now here comes my creative dreaming persona.
A sudden realization seeks in, kind of forgotten ability that we each possess. We could each turn oursleves into the 3 offerings we shower on our Hindu Gods to revere them. i.e Haldi, Kumkum and Rice seeds.
But just when we were recollecting our supernatural powers, we turn behind to see Ravana waiting to behead us. Behead.. head.. Ok, he was not Ravana, cause he had only one head.Duh.
Obviously, we could not then convert into the devotees' ammo and sought to hitting Moustachio man ourselves....and don't remember the rest. So, it must have ended possibly.

Now I wonder where Dad was.:)

P.S: For the unknown, Ravana is a 10 headed demon in Hindu Mythology;with a moustache, Of course. Can you imagine a Hindu demon without a moustache?:)

What? Bhai Kya?

What is it that runs in my blood?
What is it that thrusts my soul?
What keeps me going?
What's my self, my being?

Is it the wind on my face,
or the droplets on my skin?

The friends still belonging
or the road to be travelled?

The love of my folks
or the sheer insanity of jokes?

The playfulness of a sport
or the rawness of an emotion?

The incline of a mountain
or the vulnerability of a river?

The revelrous elation of wine
or the self indulging memories that blind?

The ghost of the fervent past
or the dreams of future?

The abyss of knowledge
or the gulf of lives around ?

The world that beckons me
or the haunting rhythm of life?

What is it that runs in my blood?
What is it that thrusts my soul?
What keeps me going?
What's my self, my being?

To Bartoli, Tennis, the players and the fans!

Tennis.
Memories of crying for Becker and Steffi.
Sometimes for Sabatini, Michael Stitch maybe.
Screaming my lungs out for my favorites. Those were the days....
When was the last time I cried for a tennis player?
Laid my hopes on a stranger and swore by him/her?
Oh yeah, It was in Wimbledon 2001. Goran Ivanesevic and Patrick Rafter.
I cried for Rafter. Hell, I did. He lost.

Then the monopoly(read Sampras) began and tennis was just another game. There was no credible competetion. I used to watch the matches but not with that ardour. There was the ever failing Henman (my sympathies). Women's tennis was never the same without Steffi. So years just passed by with praying the dictators never won. Sampras left, Federer entered. Williams gnawed. Who cared.Not me.
Not me. I longed for a passionate player I could cheer for. There were the Hewitts and the Roddicks. I liked them ...but they often let me down. Sharapovas and Henins didn't strike a chord.

But this Wimbledon was a treat. Cheering a certain Bartoli did me elated and proud..This French woman beat the World No 1 Justin Henin with killer shots and volleying i have yearned for! Double handed and accurate returns.An unconventional but unmistakable brilliant panache.

And the ingenuity and humility that comes often with a champion, she innocently remarked something like that she may have won the match because her favourite Pierce Brosman was watching her.Aww...
Tommorow's the final. Hope she beats the hell out of Venus too...:)

Cheers to Marion Bartoli.
Of course, as tennis fans would agree it's like you're playing there, with a different body.

Another lifetime, maybe I'll be a tennis player.
To play a game so passionate; and of undisputable display of strength of character and emotions!

Main ek DISCO (I am a disco)

The 6.30 company bus and my team-mate for company. We were regular passengers and had decided to engage ourselves in comfortable 'sleeping and radio' than small talk. Of course we did the regular short discussion on everything from China, Veto nations, bikes, movies and sports.blah blah.... I almost had my ear phone plugged when he interrupted to help him find a "whacky" answer to "Why do you want to do an MBA?", an inevitable question for an MBA aspirant. And as if i hadn't heard that, I asked him back 'So Why do you want to do an MBA?'

He had a convincing answer. To summarize
1. He often found weird ways of looking at things.
2. He often liked to give wholistic solutions to problems.
3. He wanted to dapple in a variety of things and kill boredom from his life.

He wanted to become something like the manager for a team like Manchester United.Whoa...
He passionately spoke about how he wanted to give up this comfort and software drudgery and free himself from just writing code. I listened to him to and was carried away in the flow of his burning desire to do something in life....
I remarked 'Ki aag hain mujhme kaheen.' And we talked about how 99% people did'nt love their jobs.
And how we all ought to be doing something we would love doing for the rest of our lives.
I said, I frankly didn't know what was that for me.

We ended it there...I plugged my earphones....the music seemed noise....a hundred thoughts were playing soccer on my mind. These are some of them :

1. I'd had taken a risk too..I was brave. But I didn't know what was IT for me.
2. Why did I take a convenient sit-back in software?
3. Work is everything. For some,(maybe me) it was a way to be able to do everything else we wanted.
4. Isn't it all about priority? What's mine?
I remember once buddy had asked me "What is that you want from life?"
It still echos ' I want to be happy, That's it.' I had said. Was it that simple?
5. Thought about my CEO friend. She loved her work. My dad. He did too.
6. The purpose of my life struck me...My singaporean "alchemist" friend came to my mind...
She had said " We are all here with a purpose." What was mine?
7. Did I want to be writing all my life? all my life?

Sigh. So many thoughts. No answers.

Was I getting influenced by Haruki Murakami? I just completed his "Dance Dance Dance.'
"Dance. As long as the music plays", the book said.

Dancing to life's tunes, am I?

Just for you

Dear blog,

I just wanted to write into you. You seem to be becoming my diary.Every night I visit you and think i want write into you. I wouldn't call you a best friend or anything (I have enough of those). Cause I really don't tell you everything, you know. How can I? You are like this open book of sorts, kept on the table, waiting to be read. Ain't you? And then, I ain't that bold and tied by some obligations.

But the best thing about you is that you give me the freedom to write what i want to.
It does'nt have to make any sense at all. I can shout into you, drown you with my sorrows or inject you with my comic /non comic sense or crass creativity or even park my fantasies.

BTW, I have a friend who's got all spirits up because of you, you know. I mean you got her talking. She is unearthing an emotions valley and a philosophy treasure. Another friend might just find his way out of the drudgery of his work life.

I don't know how many just read you, but most who do, love you. They love to read the million perspectives that you reflect. They wish they could contribute to your bounty.

But darn, some companies are even making cheap publicity through you. Does that hurt?

Dude, I just wanted to thank you.
Hope our association has a long way to go.
Or atleast you'd hear me say 'I used to blog, you know'.

Talk to ya later.

Cheers( do you drink?:))
Blogger no 89127323211 ( I hope I mean more than that to you)