Why I love the night..

I came across something I had written down for my Dad a while back. It was in response to him asking me why I was always up late into the night..


Why do I love the night?

Because that's when light actually makes a difference

Because the silence makes me appreciate sound

Because the calm surrounds me and my mind

Because thoughts come closer to me

Because when everyone sleeps, I feel alive

Because friends of far, come close

Because I finally Be, to really See, whats in me..



Needless to say, he told me to stop trying to be poetic, and go to sleep..

Oooo.. Writers block

“I’m suffering from writers block” says a friend.. How the hell did that happen? She’s not even a writer. She writes a bloody blog, and proclaims herself a writer. I’m not a writer. I might be trying to be a blogger, but no way would I suffix the word “writer” to my name. I’m being realistic. I don’t want a Booker Prize (Although that would be fun.. I’d get to rub it in the “writers” face). I just put my thoughts to paper.. or keyboard. It’s simple. What the hoopla all about? I love it when self proclaimed “artists” go with an air of high handedness, trying to justify their lack of brain power. True writers, the ones whose words captivated the hearts of few or many, would probably be turning in their graves, or in their beds. It’s quite shameful. But how do you differentiate a writer from a “writer”. Again, it’s simple. The ones who talk with their written words distinguish themselves from the ones who talk with their mouth. So if you want to be a true writer, shut up and write..

My Girl

I get a call.. Its her. My heartbeat races. She wants to meet. My heartbeat pounds. Today? Sure I'm free. I drive down, and wait. A little nervous, my hands get clammy. When will I see my girl. This wait is killing me.. But then.... I see her. There she is. Standing beautiful. Sunlight gently moving with the wind around her. I make my way over to her. She's even more beautiful up close. I can hardly contain myself. My hands move to her. Slowly caress her.. Then my hands move down..towards the handle.. And I open the door and sit down in my girl. Ferrari Enzo.. And then I wake up. And then my dull existence makes me head to work, to earn a meager salary, to live in the hope that someday, I'll get my girl..

Picasa

I came across an amazing picture on facebook recently. It was a picture of my friend standing in front of a fire. And that friend has used Picasa to edit it. The colours of the fire felt as if about to consume him. And his frame gave the impression that he welcomed the fires from beneath us. That picture stuck in my head. It was just a simple picture of a man inquisitive about a fire that was burning near him.

I was curious. I wanted to try my hand at tweaking an image, so as to give another perception of the same. So I acquired the software. Simple enough. You take an image, and then just start randomly working different buttons. A wide array of options greet you as soon as you start. You feel like a little kid, wondering what this particular button would do, what that one would do. It's fun and quite straight forward. Made for easy use and gives great effects.

I had a photograph with me. It was of the sky with pinkish hues. I felt it would be the correct one to tinker with. And I was happy with the final product. Felt good. Maybe someday I'll be able to create a picture like the one my friend had done. Hopefully..

Football Fever

It’s football season. It happens every 4 years (unless you watch Euro too). The guys go mad, put on the jerseys of their favourite team, paint their faces, shout slogans, shout insults at other team supporters, get into fights, and come back home with stories to tell their friends again and again, however irritating they might get. The girls don't want to get left behind. So they'll find some poor guy to lend them his jersey, wear it and go to the bars to scream at the screens, they'll drink, get drunk and become apparent die hard supporters of teams they hadn't seen a match off. Yep that's world cup fever alright. A weird fever, but it grips you. You just get sucked into it. And it’s electric. You start feeling the pain of losing a match, the joy when the ball hits the back of the net.. It all builds up, and peaks at the last match. The battle lines are drawn, the whole world watches irrespective of who's playing. You chose sides and stick with them. And you shout for them as much as the other. And then it’s over. As quick as the fever swept over you, it let's go and moves on. And then you get back to your life as if it was just a dream, waiting another four years to go by..

Simply free

For 4 years, there was this continuous weight on my head. It kept increasing over that period, steadily and slowly. I got used to it.. It was a burden, extremely heavy for me. But I carried it around. I could have shrugged it off a year into it, but at the time it felt like it would get lighter. But it got heavier and heavier. It started to gnaw at you, it snapped through you at others around you. It just brought you lower..

And then suddenly its gone. You stand up straight, dust yourself off, and it feels as if nothing had really happened. 'Past 4 years? Oh they were there. But who cares eh?'. Because with that burden gone, you dont have anything pulling you down.. you can walk.. nothing blinds you, nothing stops you.. your a person to yourself. So you explore this freedom.. This sweet liberation of the senses. Cause 4 years might have gone by, but the rest of your life still awaits. It beckons to new horizons..

I'm on a plane in the middle of nowhere with no worries about food or fuel.. Just the sunset calling me away, to lands unexplored..

Welcome Home

I was having a conversation with a friend of mine, about her ideal home. She spoke about having a house on the slope of a mountain in Switzerland. She even knew which mountain. I could just imagine it. Waking up in the warmth of your home, with the frost sparkling on your window frame. Sipping a hot cup of coffee, while you watch the sun rise between the peaks of snow capped mountains..

It was picturesque. It made me wonder where I'd want my own ideal home. Its easy to take the ideas from others around you. But then it won't be yours. There would always be something amiss. For making a home, you need to think about what would make you happy, cause that's what a home is about. I imagine myself on a beach in goa, sitting on the sand, just watching the waves crash. I imagine myself wading through the blue lagoon of the islands that dot south-east Asia. I imagine sifting through the sands of Rajasthan, even sifting through the snow on the slopes of Manali.

But I keep coming back to this one image.. Its a rustic villa, I'm sitting in the shade of an olive tree, the frangrance of the soft earth fills me, the slightly moist air brushes past, a glass of wine lies next to me, and I stare out over the cliff into the blue waters of the Adriatic. I think of this, I feel good. I think of this, I feel content. I think of this, I feel at peace. I think of this, I feel at home..

Search

The beckoning of day, glinting off the sandy beach, joined by the sway of the trees. I sit on a chair, fixed is my gaze, searching for something, searching for the light, searching for the end of the night.. I sit still,..., in search of a sunrise..

Rage

Ahh.. What is this rage that comes over me.. It tries to consume me. I fight it. I keep fighting it. But my spirit seems to weaken. There is no strength left to battle this rage.. It slowly takes over me. It unleashes its worst, through me. I feel my mind not working, I feel my heart telling me to stop. I feel that call of a dear one. But its all a mere disturbance in my path of self destruction. Hope fades me. I lose sense of time.. All that remains is that white fire burning within me..

Music

Lose me, lose me in this music, let me lose myself in this music, let me forget my torment, let me forget my pain, let me forget everything. Let me ride the wave, let me plunge into the sea of notes, let me flow. Let me feel the beats, let me feel the pulse, let me feel me..that is music, that is me..

Crazy makes talent.. some of the most talented people, have often been crazy. They have been crazy buggers, just going mad, just losing themselves to a different world. Their world is different because they make it different. They lose sights of the boundaries in our heads. We apply ourselves by forcing our brain, thus being stuck..

We as children are the craziest. We go around, doing all kinds of shit, not giving a crap about whats happening. We turn out great "works of art" when we're kids. We let ourselves go, cause well basically at that age we dont really understand whats happening. We just are ourselves. We hear the folks always talking about how we did this when we were small, we did that when we were small. we did it all. But as we grow older, that sense of understanding comes into picture. The understanding of constraints. constraints set for us. The understanding comes from the world around us. It teaches us while it limits us. we start work, we run around in circles. We follow the grind, and we become the grind. stuck in that, you slow down.

A small part of your brain handles a lot of pressure. It shuts down. That flow of juices to that part shut down. You change, you make changes. Search for that creative streak, you find a shut door. Its got windows, you look inside and make plans on what you'll do when that door opens. But the door remains shut. Cause there are other doors opening and closing. And then, your lost. You search for that door into the realm of a childs dream, but its lost. As older people of the world, we lose that craziness. The stark difference between the world of a child and that of a "grown up" person comes to the basis of our set limitations. Finding that closed door, and prying it open is a must. Cause we are just children, lost in adults.

Driving to Heaven

Im driving to heaven. There are many roadblocks. There are many detours. All of them lead to a place in your mind. Your stuck there. But those detours can be shut. They can be blocked. You can shut your mind out. You can keep moving straight. Down the road. Down the higway. Past the people. Past the dirt. Past the hate. Past your fate.

The winds blowing in my face, the music is streaming through the stereo, I can see it now, I can see the light, the light at the end of the tunnel, the tunnel of life, the tunnel of night, Im driving, Im driving to heaven..

1st time

"Oh i love blogging, your just gonna love it.. its so much fun.." Thats the first line I heard when I told a girl I was considering blogging. Needless to say, I was pretty psyched to get online and start blogging. I had weird thoughts of millions of people reading my blogs, and I becoming an instant celebrity in the blogosphere. Ah I can just imagine me rolling with my blogging entourage, people dying for a digital autograph. Oh yea, that would be a wicked life.
So I begin my journey of finding those million fools, who would want my digital signatures. Please be the first.. :)