The evening.

He was glad, happy maybe. The gods had made sure the weather atleast was pleasant. Rain and the slightest of cool breeze. What could be more romantic?

"I can't say a YES, And don't want to say NO", she said.

She looked sideways, hoping to see the reaction.
He just sat there, all passive, showing no evidence that the words had registered.

I might have to repeat that , she thought.
As she curled her lips, his eyes moved frantically, he jumped up.

"You what? Does that even make sense? I might have trouble understanding that when I am normal, let alone making sense of it now!"

She smiled, he waited.Silence.

"I cannot tell you how much you mean to me." He started, knowing the strength he had found was only momentary,and silence was one thing he dreaded more than this moment itself. But also realizing that in his eagerness, he had made the most cliched opening possible.

"Quick, repair the damage", hissed his brain.
"But isn't that the truth", whispered the heart, knowing it had no logic or reason unlike the brain to sooth itself if the dream it had so vividly built, remained just that, a dream.

But what should he say, the boy thought. He might be in love with this girl, surely he could tell her how much she meant to her. After all, it always worked in the movies.

"And I know that I am just the nice guy in your life, but I can be more.You say I make you smile, I wanna make that smile permanent. I wanna be the one constant thing in your life forever. And you say things have not worked before, I say it had a reason. It was I who was destined to be with you.Being with you is all I want."

He waited, looked away an then straight into her eyes. Should I take her hand, he thought. And smiled a little, surprised by his boldness. No, her hand is her's to give, not this to take."Still wanting to take a morally upper-hand, after blindfolding a girl into his proposal trap. But he couldn't have lived in silence either.This was better. Like Martyrdom", he had thought .

He continued, "I dont know why I feel the way I do. I have never fallen for somebody so hard. For months my day has started and ended with yours. All I thought was about what you said, what you had meant. Why were you quiet? All those times you asked how was I able to see through the fake smileys, I wanted to tell you because you were all I thought about. "

He paused, wanting to go on but not knowing how much to say. "That guy" he had gone to advice for had said, "Maukke pe Chaukka". He had laughed on his advice then. He should have asked for a clarification.

The two beggar kids meanwhile had sensed an opportunity of making a quick buck. "Swoop in on a couple during an intense dicussion", they had realized was an easiest way of making a ten-er. If only they knew what was going on, they had sympathise with him. There was absolutely no "couple" thingy right now. But he must have liked the similarity, for he handed a ten.

"You dont have to", she said sternly.
"Aage chalo", she said.
She continued, "Everything will change...."

But he drifted off. Begging was so easy, if  only love was too.Looking up at the kids, his gaze fell on the other "couples". Somehow all of them seemed so superficial to him. We will be better, he dreamt. He had felt her pull, the void that occupied her place when she left. And yet he was confounded by love.Not even sure if it existed. How could he, when he was yet to find it. Atleast the types shown in movies.


".......butterflies in my stomach...."

His thread of thoughts snapped, butterflies in her stomach, that ought to be good.
And he smiled,  grinned , maybe all his dreams were not in vain. All that time he had cursed his looks, attitude, demeanor;maybe all was not lost. Maybe she liked him too.


She caught that smile, cos she quickly corrected "I really do not want to be in this position, I do not want to have to do this. Things are good, why do yo want them to go bad."

"They won't go bad, I promise"

"All guys say that...."

And then he knew. He will never be what she wanted, it was not his fault but there was nothing he could do either. He had got his answer, it did not matter now what she said. He had realized. Pain, shock,numbness. He could not put into words what he felt. The brain had shut down, the heart wished to jump out and prove once and for all, how much he cared. But the brain registered nothing. Months later when he pictured it again as it was just happening , he felt the same feeling. Suffocation, helplessness, the wish to cry at what he had lost, but also laugh at his bold attempt.

"yes or no", he asked.
"why", she said. "anyhow I will lose a friend."

"I am not sorry for feeling the way I do. I cannot go about being friend with all these emotions bottled out. That would be cheating your friendship.I had to tell you. So YES or NO??"

"Can I have some time"
"You already know what you gonna say, listening it on a phone will not make it any sweeter for me."

And the day wore on, with nothing new said. At last,he saw the lips curl and a NO whispered.

His brain, all too intelligent, blocked it out.

The good thing about bikes is that you are so busy accelerating and saving your life, that all else is left for opportune moments. It was that night I relized bike riding can be addictive too.


                                                                   ***


"Gods were pleased with you, the weather was pleasant. So, what did she say"
"We already knew ", he replied.
"And you still went ahead?"
He smiled.
"You gave her the poem? I liked the font.Can you send it to me."
"Bro, you are more excited about the poem than she was."


                                                                    ***

Blogging - The art of saying nothing

What do you write when you have nothing new to say or no new perspective to present. Do you just write about anything (as I am right now). Or you wait for an opportunity when something brilliant strikes you, but in that case too, a brilliant idea and a brilliant blog entry are two very different things.But waiting for the idea  will defeat the purpose of blogging (that for me is to vent). This paradox I might say has left me confounded. And also left me in admiration ( jealousy maybe??) of the blokes who turn in new matter every day, each similar to the last one, each justifying the idiom new wine in old bottle (sort of like Ashton in two and half men, which I am afraid to say nowadays is like half men and don't bother). Makes me believe the per-requisite to writing is no longer the desire to express, but merely state.

And this in spite of the fact that half of the folks I know sooner or later label me the creative kinds. Inspite of it I feel it very hard to blog every day (so I sort of understand the anguish you are in write now dear reader). To blog, I need to have a topic to express upon, but most importantly a viewpoint(however unbaked!!) to state and express. The sort of blogging  (must I add "mostly" or the few people I respect might get offended) that takes place today is a statement of views, not even lucid expression.

I do not have anything against freedom of expression, but what I believe is that in the constant chit chatter that this sort of blogging generates sometimes overshadows the voices that need to be heard. The ease of blogging has corrupted writers, no longer are the long hours spent on redrafting and editing, no endless deliberation on tone and style of wrting, writers no longer are exasperated when they cannot realise which of the two synonyms to put in an sentence. and well this sort of trend (so to say) helps writers who are just testing the waters (I had like to say, me for instance) but at the same time it brings doom for writers who might have otherwise turned out to be exemplary, but couldn't as they fall in the rut of daily postings.

Maybe, there's a point in all of it that I am missing. Well good for me then, blogging away, one day I might just find out.

Ram-Sita-Ravan triology

Dazzling lights, painfully loud-makes your ass cringe sounds.

That's how the Ravan effigy burns, well, sort of blasts in India during this part of the year . A very weird tradition must say and a very clear example of the victor defining history.

For the uninitiated, Ravan was a scholarly king who had won all the realms in the universe (whatever name you would want to call them, I leave it to you). Ram on the other hand was exiled by his family (under equally queer circumstances) to "van-vaas" or 14 years of forest living (so to say). Now after an attempt at flirting by Ravan's sister aimed at Ram, Lakshman (Ram's brother who god(will that be Ram?)-knows-why accompanies him to forest).........

Umm, got bored. Long story short, you already know the story.

What I had to say (before I got a migraine in the previous para while trying to make sense of Ramayana) is how can we celebrate the death of a learned scholar i.e. Ravan in such a fashion, when he did not outrage the modesty of the women he was said to have abducted. And two, would have been called a coward, had he not avenged his sister's insult.

I don't know whether or not it's right? I am a god fearing person and inspite of the fact that I believe Ramayan to be  just a great eg. of lucid storytelling, I do bow down before idols of Ram - Sita - Lakshman (there's some sort of combo offer at work here) everytime before an exam. But everytime before the Ravan effigy falls to ground to the thunderous applause of thousands, I also wish that  Ravan shouldn't be made out the villain he was not......

And as the 4 lone people who read this blog , figure calculated  from the insights "blogger" throws in my face every day, might have realised this blog is about musings of a mind which is happy being jovial but happiest being in solitude (not to be confused with loneliness, solitude is chosen, loneliness thrust.)

For more confused and unbaked thoughts stay tuned.

"The Theory of the Happiness Bubble"

*phut*

That's what you hear when a bubble wrap explodes, each tiny bubble making the almost identical noise as it explodes under pressure it finds too tiresome to withstand further. Human happiness is no different either, it's just a bubble wrap that helps you withstand the rigors of daily life, The annoying  tring-tring of the morning alarm, the sweet but shrill instructions of your well wishers, the cacophony discussing nothing and yet everything in public transport ; you withstand all this because the bubble wrap of your happiness allows you to ignore them.Allows you to escape in your own little happy world.

And then one day, the bubble wrap explodes, not creating a noise but a silence. A silence so deep and dark that you find yourself being enveloped by it. People have said it's a void you fall into these times, I disagree.  I feel you become all the more aware. In that mode of deep analysis, you realise things that  might have been better left ignored, but are quiet a realisation nonetheless.

"Being sad" is not an emotion, its just the absence of the bubble wrap that made you ignorant and protected you. What a humbug then to read that Being happy is a state of mind. Why be happy and ignorant rather than being sad and not ignorant. It allows you to live in the present, learn better from the mistakes of the past and not repeat them in the future.

Come to think of it, "Being sad" is a even better bubble wrap.It's like  one of those giant bubble wraps that surround really expensive products, It removes you from the world.Protects you like nothing else does. And in a way so much lowers your expectations from the world that you no longer have to face a variety of complex emotions like disappointment, jealousy etc.

Makes sense? Well it does to me now, but I know me and sooner than later I had be all excited and happy only to listen a giant *phut* and come crashing back to the netherworld. But knowing about the sadness bubble wrap (copyright) , I feel like having a sort of parachute strapped onto me.

Maybe, being sad ain't all that bad.

*pistol shot*

A little too jovial…

 Here, I said it. 

Took a liitle time and a lot of thinking, but yeah, it’s all set in stone now in the warehouse that’s called my brain. What? Ohh!! So you are new to me as a person. More of a phenomenon really, but one should not boast in these days of intellectual slowdown. I have realized that all my problems are, well, stop wanking, cos "I am a little too jovial."

Why? Umm, in no particular order because my grades suck, the girl I wanted to date turned hotter right after she said “I don’t  don’t like you it’s just that the possibility of liking you like never was liked by me. ”, I really suck at cricket (the real one played in grounds, am actually a champ at EA sports cricket ) and guys blog about things these days that people used to discuss aross their latrine walls in pre-separate toilet for each home India. So I thought I may as well. But please If you know me personally as well, don’t bother reading, most of the jokes are stale (as in already tried on you) and sooner than later am gonna make fun of you.

So since you read the shitty (some would say literally) first para, I realize you are one to persist. I had as well tell you about the sorry tale of the serious guy who got funny , but couldn’t “ptao” the girl and lost the girl as well (focus on the girl she’s really important for the story), in the meantime lost enough  weight to not be fat but never got called smart either. He did win few hearts in his own very subtle way, mostly pink hearts though.

As you may have , or you might (really depends on your IQ, turns out I don’t know you all that well) I am right now a man with a lot to say but no particular order, so this blog would be  a venting place (sniggering allowed)

But why bother telling? 

Well all of you blog, I may as well.