Friday, March 23, 2012

Lofty heart that pines for big things.
It has been just two days of rolling daybreaks since the last Christmas eve, and the third one comes to this. The same company and the same tools. If I have enough juice, this will give me enough juice to linger in my suspended state of unanxiety; then I will have chartered both G. and K. and make some real claims (that will eventually distort - thanks to my unappreciative nexus - into accounts of either me smoking pot or raping one animal species or the other).
Anyways, farewell, urban spaces, for another weekend.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

near death and toothpaste

The three of us tread along. The fact that I don't know the other two - a guy and a middle-aged lady - might sound weird, but is true. I intermittently convey my excitement to the lady, but its a one-way affair, and I don't remember her responding to anything. Soon we reach a section where the trek apparently begins from - we can see the mountain path curving inwards to the left and going out of sight. The guy takes lead. I wait to scan the panorama for a keep, then join in, promising to reach the summit and return in record time. We seem to be doing an alpine run of sorts.

The route starts with a rocky, thorny patch. I notice that I have forgot my gloves behind. The thorns bruise me, but I decide to endure this suffering for once, and pace ahead to catch up with the guy, who walks in a world of his own; his intent, pace, and decision time tells that he's likely an experienced trekker. We are walking at the base of the hill to our left, which is a saturated green with grass, and sparsely decorated with few trees. It rises steeply, which makes any elevation gain an impossibility, which means that rather than a zigzag climb, we go deeper into the valley and either find a mountain pass, or skirt around it. Because I have a habit of hygiene during treks, I keep a kit at easy access. Now feels the right time to 'catch a brush'; I whip out my toothbrush and toothpaste and froth up a multitasking demo.
To our right, the chain of hills is further away, but because I'm in a haste, I don't give much attention to the details on my right anyways.

Soon, our feet start kicking up some water. We enter a submerged stretch. I can still make out green grass at the floor, so one can tell that its not been submerged for long; and that this kinda stuff keeps happening all the time. As we keep walking, we go deeper into water, and now I find my shoes submerged. There is something strange about the nature of this moment.

Then, the guy ahead stops dead for an ethereal moment, turns back, and walks past me in the same direction that we'd come from. Though startled, I still don't get it, but his body language does convey some alarm, and I also turn about to follow him again. Strangely, we are splashing through even more water than before now; it's a struggle. I briefly glimpse to my left, towards the farther chain of hills, and see the whole depression of the valley submerged in water, which still continues rising. It hits me.

The words "flash flood" rise in my head, followed with "swept away", followed with "drowning". I know this is the most serious situation I've ever been in. I follow close behind the guy. It is becoming more of a struggle. Holding a toothbrush in my mouth I splash ahead. Soon it becomes difficult to wade towards dry land; it seems a losing battle. I know that I cannot swim, and a single misstep would have me carried away and drowned. I try calling the guy for help, but can only mumble and froth even more.

But, as all good things go, the both of us are on dry land soon - whether I rigged my dream coz I own it, or that our feet won over the flooding, IDK.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

If the both of us wake up at 6AM and find ourselves yawning and staring from the balcony, or out riding on the roads, then it will be a coincidence. But when everyone starts doing it, it becomes a norm, or the convention? How's that?

So what if millions go out to work everyday. Can it not be mere coincidence? All these people don't work (coincidentally) towards the same result, do they, then why agree that the activity itself is the same? (Do these people have a want, or do they want a want?) By pure mathematics, every event is a probability i.e. everybody in your neighborhood waking up lying on their back would be an event with finite probability, and two people on the same side of the probabilistic scale would be coincidental, nothing else.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Closing celebrations for 2011 now online

Moar pictures! I bid farewell to 2011 in my own style. It seems its the festivals when I find myself the time to decorate my site, and update others on my life - "life", as long as I could call myself among the living.

Here's the gallery to Chakrata bike trip (bike != motorbike), which me, and my partners-in-crime C and V (the other V) did on Christmas eve.

Here's the gallery to the Haida Khan to Babiyar to Guniyalekh trek, on New Year's eve, which was a solo effort.
Walking in Jim Corbett's footsteps, truly, as this would be the same route he'd do to reach Kala-Agar (presently known as Kalagarh), where he shot 'The Chowgarh Tigers' - one (the cub) in 1929, and the other (the mother) a year later in 1930.

Monday, March 19, 2012

"It was only 200 last time around."
"200 dollars?"
"Yeah, but this time it's 8400."
"8400 dollars?!"
"Yeah, dollars. I don't know what disease I have. But it has to be something serious, or they won't send a bill like that. I think I'm gonna die, Vibhu."
"Why don't you try one thing."
"If you could amputate one of your arms, it would reduce your anxiety."
"I get it. If they send me a smaller bill the next time, it would means I'd have solved my problem."


My bed feels like it could do with a slow tilt shot, like one from Tarkovsky's Stalker (with the debris and things underwater). There is a lot out here - on the bed - to give a lead into my subconscious and life in general. All unfinished stuff, fads, half-loves, refuse. It seems to be growing into a trash heap. And you know what comes from the trash heap - the bug, ungeziefer. That might be why I'm curious on the mornings - I just might find myself undergoing a transformation one of these days. Kafka would come visit. You could come, too.

My troubled association with texts continue. I remember carrying the Krakauer book through the Leh trip, and yet it was DD finishing it over a single night, that too under the excess influence of nicotine and cannabis. That book is still here. There's another that I could get 5 pgs into. And one where I've only managed to make it till the introduction. If I frisk my imaginary self under the pile of clothing, there are some more that I forget.

heres my bong

06:20, I have been a wakeful part of this world right since twilight. A dawn of a slightly varied nature from yesterday breaks outside. My start is a varied one from yesterday, as well. Yesterday, at this minute, I was (approx.) 2.82km from my present coordinates, and receding, self-powered and on two wheels. Today, it was supposed to be a similar start. I was up by 05:35 - late, but still inside the 06:00. Banana shake done by 05:50 - still inside 06:00. All set by 05:58 - still inside 6:00. Then for the next 10 minutes I tried waking up C, which failed. Human dynamics. Defeated and deflated, I now take to choco-nut cookies for therapy. Will probably catch sleep (or be dragged into it against my volition is more like it) for another hour before I head to my employer's that pushes me away even further from the concept of employment.

There's a probable glass bong awaiting me further into the day; V can finally take it away from under the suspicious eyes of his parents, who have been led to believe that its mine, and their son is an image of responsible conduct. I would have to fake a new hobby now. Am also eager to manufacture words and other coherent stuff, hanging out with P, if that happens today. Need to sneak into the office either much before or much after the other residents have left, to toy with my new rig. I christen it Margarita, don't ask why if you don't already know.

Friday, March 09, 2012

Fingertips. Shapes. Sprouts. Heart. Sun. Enter words...

Some days forever stay young
And some kisses linger on
Some words come so easy
When someone is long gone
The rush of our blood
Under the canopy of trees
And the sunrises and sunsets
That still flow through me
Bring the rush back again
Like it were just yesterday
That we lived the days
When days felt a gain

Holi Kites

I step out from the gates to draw something from the air outside. A calm predates the madness - a viral outbreak - that is to come. I notice that calm reflected in the faces of a trio of cows stationed strategically so as to block access to one of the bungalows in the neighborhood. The cows direct their blank gaze to their right, up the alley; a couple of colored shapes enter the horizon, and come running down the slope, towards me. They fail to notice me, or either find me un-noteworthy, and rush past me - I notice the maroon all over them. Their haste even catches the curiosity of pups - one white, one brown - that stagger to the middle of the road to understand this strange creature that today didn't even push or kick or stone them or pull their tails for a dirty laugh. Then another pair of boys come running from the direction of the labor colony to the N-E, distracted towards the skies.

The boys all converge outside Az's tall gate. Soon, an ownerless kite glides into the picture, cut from its line in likely an epic battle. Kites are a recent addition to Holi; makes me worry over the wrong reasons rooftops are being used. As they watched the kite arrive, so do they stare in longing as the kite keeps afloat long enough to glide out of the picture as well, into the park, where it decides to rest in defat. A kid holding a plastic cricket bat run and picks it up from the grass. He's happy despite that he hasn't desired what he had today.

What surprised me is why the other boys hadn't fought for that kite. It turns out that another defeat had sent another one spiralling down, this one carrying some statistical certainty of landing right where those boys are. The littlest kid tries a smart move as he slings his Langar 20ft up, but narrowly misses catching the line. An outgrown kid finally gets this one.

Tuesday, March 06, 2012

Life Drowns in the Waves

डूबती है पानी में ज़िन्दगी
पर मदद को बेलों की रुत भी लाती है


In Waves of time

This morning started in a blur, as I weaved my way through dense twilight traffic - of trucks, mini-vans, tractors, 'call center' cabs, and an assortment of motorbikes. Catching the first light of the day at 80kmph, shielding meself from the sand blowing across the highway. Whoever said about being really optimistic on the mornings was right, but whoever associated mornings with some primitive purity were wrong - here I was eagerly decorating myself with layers of highway, for reasons to which 83% of friends would give a vegetable expression to.

By the second wave of the morning i.e. following the ride and the chai, I was under displacement once again; this time a usual run, at an unusual location. Noteworthy were the flesh-red flowers lining a part of the track. It was a decent run. The more I run, the more I'm assured I could give any girl a chase with great success - Mr. Chopra, Mr. Kapoor, and Mr. Grover would appreciate that fact. While on the discipline of fitness, its surprising to find a lotta 'lifestyle' morning-walkers zombie-walking on the tracks, breaking my run a lotta times without guilt. These people are ridiculous. Reminds me of my parents.

Third wave of the morning with Aloo Paranthas and Dahi, among a wordcloud of 'doomsday', 'americans', 'culture', 'indianness', and of discussing Delhi's best spots.

Fourth wave, on wheels, terminating with my arrival on the JNU tennis courts, to find bad clay and no game. Had things ended otherwise, I'd have combined two mornings into one, like a boss. Soon followed - despite the no-game at the courts - an extravagant dose of fruits with Yogi to boost up the body.
Then a retreat, but not before a consuming affair at the NP. I reach my 'hood, finally, ~1400.

Thursday, March 01, 2012

See you...

“You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming.”
Well, I just wanted to use this quote at an appropriate time all these years, and this being spring, its ripe for usage. Not that it has some direct reference to this post.

Whats not ripe for usage is me, my head, my circles [no lofty recitations here]. We just refuse to serve any functional purpose in a world of worldly expectations. We even refuse to accept any labels of being renegade or criminals - not serving like a cog in this human machine is likely a crime, no? Where were are hanging is in that free space between heaven and earth - adhar, they call it in my language, empty space, space between earth and sky. Riding in our hot air balloon whose ultimate end would be in descent, we only see and imagine higher up. These are, however, festive times - only time will tell why.

In the meantime, in a hunter-gatherer-comic world me, energies are high, all thanks to: the rajmah-chawal, last of which is left on my tastebuds; a jog in the park, the sweat wringed still sitting around me in my tee; a creative medical exercise this morning to save me from something ugly that ends with 'mosis'. Nothing extraordinary, but something above the ordinary in each of the experiences to slowly send waves of elation lapping on my shores. I was glad for the third day to not be molested by the genderless in my office environment (again) - it would be a personal victory if the count extends to seven, and then I can celebrate my social isolation at holi with a greater fervour. Oh, and three to my blogposts over a single day, which is ace; am mentally constipated with too much to say but something blocking the process - good health is good prose, and good prose is good, eh, health.

Noida Cyclists Have All The Fun

Furry Fuzzy Leh Residents

Note: human children are way overrated

Wannabe Maru, yes she really was - furry, secure, and laid-back

Chronic petter, petting every street dog to the point of extreme happiness. Must start mining the static energy produced in the process.

Photo credits: Moi, Ankur, Ramesh, Harsha