Saturday, December 15, 2007

Andaz Apna Apna

... one more time
one good saturday night! woohoo!!

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

Wheee!

It's snowing :)

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

That Song

That song is everywhere
It's playing in the car.
It's playing in my head.
All the time. ALL the time. I'm not complaining.
When the dust settles and i'm no longer in this place, i'm gonna look back at this time and remember this song. How it's always the first track that's played when the cd is inserted despite the track being no.4 on the disc. How every time it plays, all the out-of-tune vocal chords in the car try to match the playback.
I was asked to think of someone everytime i heard this song. I hear the song; i recall the face, the smile, the good times.
That song is playing in my earphones right now.
That song will play in the car tomorrow morning.
That song will play in the car tomorrow evening.
That song will play in my head reminding me of the good times of now and what already seems like long, long ago.
That song is everywhere.

Monday, November 26, 2007

Yankee doodle went to town..

So here i am... the land of 'dreams'. the land of 'greens'
Visited the Big Apple over the weekend. It's a slightly glorified version of Mumbai really. Except for the biting cold. wondered at first how a city thats next to the ocean can get so chilly but then geography was never my area of excellence so i let that thought just pass me by. Totally different from Richmond though. NYC is more the busy, unkempt city with flocks of people scurrying together on the roads and cars honking. Richmond is the absolute opposite. Calm, serene, you get to see not more than 10 people out on the road and all-in-all a clean city (something that i'm not used to having lived in mumbai and pune).
Stayed in new jersey and made the trips to nyc. Suburb of nj where i was put up seemed to house more indians than americans. there was an india street with indian restaurants, bollywood posters (and rajnikant posters too, mind it!) and not to forget the very-indian paanwala outside a couple of the restaurants.
Washington dc was blessed (burdened?) with my presence on sunday. How such a beautiful city can house so many politicians is something that i'll probably never fathom.
Back in Richmond for my first Monday at work. Was introduced to the too-damn-awesome-for-words game of racquetball in the evening. Realized today i cannot run around a racquetball court for more than 10 minutes at a stretch. Note to self: expansion plans are best left to businesses.
Need to sleep. Jetlag was bad last week. Gone now. Now if only i could know why i still can't get hold of some sleep...

Sunday, November 25, 2007

WOW week!

In a big hurry... not much time to blog
the last week - in summary:
monday - busy running around with last-minute packing.
tuesday - 27 hrs in 3 different airplanes not inclusive of 6-hr wait at chicago's flarge airport.
wednesday - first day at new workplace in new country on new continent. awed by huge HUGE campus. late-night departure for weekend vacation. virtually killed by jetlag.
thursday - drive to new jersey. trains to new york. central park. times square. indian food. almost-lethal jetlag.
friday - long lines of vacationers with cameras. empire state building. wtc ground zero. temperature 3deg celsius. wall street. madame tussaud's. more indian food.
saturday - more long lines. statue of liberty. brooklyn bridge. temperature 2deg celsius. another indian dinner. LONG sleep.
sunday - early wake-up. blog. proposed: drive to dc and then home-sweet-home.

more details later. definitely.

Monday, November 19, 2007

Going...

.. going... GONE

Saturday, November 17, 2007

It's "that" time of the year again

Wanted: Miracles (even a singular XXL-sized miracle might do the job)

Friday, November 16, 2007

The Parting

This is where it all began and this is where it ends. I'm leaving Pune from the exact place
that i arrived at on 28 Aug 2005.
Two years and two months on a ride carefree and with few pitstops. It's all over now and it's no secret to me. I think i'm leaving behind the fastest two years of whatever life i have spent in consciousness. Pune's been kind to me - i've seen everything from the better and the best to the good, the bad and the downright fugly. Every experience a new lesson. Most lessons well learnt, some incessant finger-burners. But every other experience a memorable one.
And the people! If you're someone who i've known during my Pune years (which is how i shall refer to these last 2 years henceforth), know that you shall always be remembered (if your luck is right down in the pits, you might actually be one of those people that i will want to never break contacts with... beware).
Out of here... for now.

Saturday, November 10, 2007

Happy Diwali

...no more
The festival's gone from being the Festival of Lights to the Festival of Sound and this year it just seems to have become the Festival of eardrum-bursting-sanity-depriving-woebegone-vile-Noise. Yeah... i know i've become the Grinch who wants to steal Diwali... or at least the Grinch who wants to steal those god-forsaken louder-than-gay-clothes firecrackers.
--------
Two upcoming events. Focus needed. Help!

Saturday, November 03, 2007

Big Hits

Move over OSO and Sawariya. This month's biggest releases are not yours; rather, this month Bollywood will hit gold by intertwining two of the most recent money-churning formulae - sport-based movies and sequels. Eat dust. Grovel in their revelry. Rest in pieces.
Without much further ado, let me preview the 'actual' BIG releases this month -

Scary Yuvi
A sequel to the Wayans brothers' series of parodies, this spectacle, about a mace-wielding warrior who mocks and makes light of vicious pace attacks, stars a rich North Indian in the lead role as a brutal assassin with a good sense of timing. The movie is slated to be a typical Bollywood potboiler complete with romance (co-starring a wannabe-but-will-never-be actress who tries to mooch off our hero even after they break up), family drama (interwoven story of the lead character's father who is a washed-out warrior himself but slyly manages to gain publicity through soundbytes about his estranged son), action (beer-guzzling Britisher provokes lead character with unparliamentary language. Lead character unleashes hell on unsuspecting barely-adult blond kid) and special effects (unbelievable sights of simple flicks of the hand sending red bomb-like objects to far corners of the battlefield).Preview verdict: Hard-hitting script. Great expectations

The League of Extraordinary Businessmen - Part Thooo
This one's a sequel to a movie which Indians know of only because it starred Naseeruddin Shah (If you're Indian and you still don't know of any such movie, it's ok. You haven't really missed anything special at all). In fact the "Part Thooo" in the title refers not to this being the second part but to the spittle so generously contributed by the disgruntled public watching the first movie. The sequel is about two cash-rich groups in a war to become the greatest money-spinners in the game of cricket. The story begins with one of the groups raking in all the moolah in an undisputed monopoly. Seeing the business potential, another group headed by a tv honcho asks the politician-turned-cricket-administrator of the first group to share the proverbial pie with him. Once politician-turned-cricket-administrator shuns tv-honcho's money, the latter burns with fury and decides to set up his own rival business. He attracts to his league a southpaw and a gentle giant as his trump cards. In a move to hurt the rival league, he tries to ruffle them by setting off a defection spree of has-beens whose parts in the movies are best limited to those of character artists. As November comes upon us, the mystery will be thrown out into the open as to whether the new league will be able to stand on its own or not.Preview verdict: Big-budget, but casting looks dicey

The Devil Scares Dada
Set in the post-Dravidian era, this presentation stars a retired Colonel as the Devil whose short-term goal is to oversee and ensure the elimination of the Three Kings, three old, wise soldiers who have long been the source of all that is good. The movie begins after the Colonel has slayed one of the Kings (codename: Wall) and is now baying for the blood of the second (codename: Dada). It is only Dada who stands between the Colonel and the third King (codename:God). The Colonel plans to use the upcoming battle with the warring neighbours as the platform from which he can backstab Dada. In a particular skirmish, one of the Colonel's favoured soldiers (codename: Viru) calls Dada for a run which is probably inexistent. Will Dada fall prey to his weakness? Will the Colonel succeed in his scheming ways? Wait and watch.Preview verdict: Potboiler script. I'm sweating with nervousness out of anticipation already.

A month of BIG blockbusters. Who will take the cake? The much-overdone six-pack or the also-equally-overdone Indo-Pak?

Sunday, October 28, 2007

From 'The Fountainhead'

The following line from the book had the wind knocked out of me for a few moments:
A quest for self-respect is proof of its lack

Friday, October 19, 2007

the stuff Dreams are made of

There are dreams and there are nightmares. I'm talking dreams we get during REM sleep and not the dreams that run during boring lectures or when someone's giving you a lecture on your career. For me, a dream's a dream as long as i know it's a dream while i'm dreaming it (now, try repeating that last sentence quickly just for kicks). The stuff that freaks me out is the dream that ends before i realize that it was only a dream. Those kind of dreams are creepy. And i'm not talking nightmarish stuff - i hate those sweet dreams too if they happen without me realizing they're just dreams. Especially when the dream's about something/one i've been thinking about because then the dream tends to linger on through the day once i'm awake. And i'm just left lamenting - only if i wish i knew that this was just a dream while it was playing in my head. Sounds weird? Think of it this way... Something/one you think about a lot during your waking hours suddenly starts responding in the way you've been imagining all along... and then suddenly you wake up realizing that it was all a dream. Oww that hurts, doesn't it? But if you're aware of the unreality of the fact while you're dreaming it, you're psychologically calmer and you just treat it as a more visual rendition of what you've been imagining all through your waking day. Then, even after waking up, you're a lot more at peace because you're not left wanting it worse because the dream was just an extension of your open-eye imagination. If you were unaware of it being a dream, the waking hours post the dream become that much tougher because you just tend to stick to how real that dream felt and you begin to yearn for the something/one all that much more.
If the above crap classifies as complicated or senseless or plain stupid or this-guy-needs-a-GOOD-shrink, move on to these questions i have (yes, i offer you no respite) about dreams -
Q1. I see all dreams in the first-person. All my dreams are like FPS games. Do you ever dream in non-first-person? If yes, can i have some pointers to doing that?
Q2. Have you ever seen yourself in your dream? I've never seen myself in my dream thanks to the FPS-like setup (refer question above). Once, i actually tried to force a dream in which i tried to stand in front of a mirror so i could see myself. Came close to it but that never happened succcessfully. Pointers to seeing oneself in one's dreams will also be appreciated.
Overall, i still prefer dreams to an empty sleep. It's so damn boring otherwise to be lying for all those hours with nothing to watch.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

home on a weekday

back after AGES! a month and six days to be precise.
been a long day today. another long day in store tomorrow.
am in mumbai. not used to being home on a weekday. ride to mumbai was funky. the employers were kind enough to pamper me with a cab all the way home. inadvertently they took care of my entertainment by way of a quirky cab driver. interesting conversations.
time to turn in.
like i said, long day ahead

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

How i bought my guitar

After a long (long, long) wait, i finally succeeded in buying a new guitar. Those two “long”s in parentheses emphasize the infinitely long, tense wait i had to undergo at the store on d-day. After two months of passing blames with my brother about who was responsible for the two-month delay in the original plan of buying the guitar, the last Saturday found me at Furtado’s with a single, clear objective – to walk out of the store with the guitar we had chosen on the earlier weekend. If it hadn’t been for the store running out of stock of the model-color combination i wanted, i would’ve been writing a blogpost shorter in size and dated seven days earlier than this one.

With a focused goal, i calmly asked for the black Kramer Focus i had been assured of the week before. But to my horror, the guy i had spoken to seven days earlier was out and the guy i was speaking to then was busy showing another customer the black Kramer Focus i had set my heart upon! As my darned luck would have it, it was the last black Kramer Focus in stock. To add to my anguish, i was told that the next one would be available after no less than a month. Thus began an hour-and-a-half- long ordeal which i was certainly not prepared for. When i asked (with a lot of hope in my heart) the other guy who was after ‘my’ black guitar whether he had any plans of buying the cherry-red model (the only other available piece in the Kramer Focus stock), he wince at me so pitifully that i knew i was in for a TOUGH time here.

So for the next hour, i saw ‘the other guy’ fiddle around with ‘my’ guitar. Quite ashamedly, i must admit i felt the kind of envy and hatred one must feel watching the love of one’s life in another’s arms. It didn’t help that he was a greenhorn which was evident in the way he handled the guitar and even more so when an hour later he mentioned to me, “I like this black one. It’s black, it’s sleek and it’s in my budget”. And then there was light! I needed the black Kramer Focus. He wanted a black guitar (any black guitar) in his budget. Along with my epiphany came another line from him, “I think I’m gonna go ahead with this black Kramer”. Time for me to swing into action after a depressing hour in wait. “Wait, my friend. If a black guitar is all you want, have you tried out this one ? You can save up on money and spend it on a better amp. Or even a processor.” What was shocking was that it took just this question from me to replace the triumphant look on his face with a ponderous one. And what was even more shocking was that i somehow managed to stifle the irresistible urge to shout “Halleluia!” as he let go of ‘my’ guitar and looked at some other black ones. A nail-biting half-hour of the most approving facial expressions i could summon to my face passed before i heard the magic words from him, “I think I’ll go with this one . You can go ahead with that Kramer”. I would have hugged him had i not already started packing away ‘my’ guitar to give him no chance of changing his mind. I made the cashier at Furtado’s participate in the fastest transaction ever made in the history of the purchase of musical instruments and stormed out with ‘my’ guitar. Nay, let me correct myself - …stormed out with MY guitar.

(ok.. yeah.. my brother's gonna play it more often and WAY better than i am. but the victory was mine)

p.s. Douglas was right when he said it to me two years ago. The feeling of buying the first guitar with the money you’ve earned is just magical.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Acerbic

World against man
Man against world
Hate and hostility being hurled
at his face
to show him his place
He wonders
He wanders
He seeks
He reeks
of sweetness and smiles,
of failed humour and a damp style
He wonders on, he wanders on
The smile's still there, the humour long gone

Friday, August 10, 2007

Give it a Thought

Think of a river
Its clear waters seeking the depth of the sea
Think of a single drop of its water
Once one of many in the rain

Think of a quiver
Of arrows as sharp as arrows can be
Think of the wounds the arrows inflict
The hurt, the sorrow and excruciating pain

Think of a shiver
Of fright that makes u flee
Thinking of none but the self
Abandoning all else for selfish gain

Think of a giver
Selfless, benevolent, in all his purity
Think of his aid to your foe
And how promptly you label him profane

Think of a believer
Content in self-belief; trusting friends with glee
Think of how you falsely question his trust
Make him relive hell again and again

Saturday, August 04, 2007

The Simpsons Movie - I'm almost there

Note: This is not a movie review. There was no way I was going to walk out of the movie disliking the movie. So given the unabashed impartiality, I will not label this blogpost a movie review and call it an ardent fan’s veneration instead. Another reason why I cannot review the movie is because I need to watch every second of its duration. Thanks to Mumbai’s notorious traffic and infamous rains (the latter uncannily seem to arrive only over the weekends… me no like), I missed the first fifteen minutes of the movie. Tragic, shocking, appalling… yes; I was in half a mind not to get into the movie that late as I was already distraught over having missed the start and a lot more. But better sense prevailed and I ended up making the most of what I was left with, which was some 60 minutes that I hoped would never end.

To be honest, I had always been a little hesitant, wondering whether the movie would do enough justice to the epic TV series. The hesitation did not stem from the anticipation of how I, as a fan, would receive the movie (there were no two ways about that); it was rooted more in how the movie would appeal to me as a generic movie-goer. Which brings me to the only statement that I will make in this post as an impartial viewer (believe me or not) – The Simpsons Movie will not disappoint. If at all, one walks out of the movie disliking it, s/he will do so as one who has never been a fan and hence never had any expectations in the first place. You may enjoy the movie, you may (you just may) dislike it, but there is no way you can be disappointed.

The good news is that if you have been watching the model dysfunctional American family put out their antics on tv all these years, the odds that you will walk out of their first foray on the silver screen satisfied are extremely high. Of course, three of my favourite non-Simpsons-family characters have appearances of near-zero significance or worse. Hans Moleman and the Comic Book Guy have blink-and-you-miss-‘em appearances whereas Kelsey Grammer’s magic as Sideshow Bob is altogether edited out of the final cut (From what I gather, Grammer did record a scene for the movie. I’m praying it’ll land in the dvd cut at least). But, little things like these aside, the movie is a devotee’s delight. And the best part is, it does not try ‘something refreshing’. The movie sticks to the formulae that the tv series has been applying all these years – the witticisms, dry humour, political critique disguised as laughs, Homer’s D-oh-ness… the list goes long.

Bottomline: Simply put, I love the movie. And yeah, I need to watch the first 15 minutes… grrrrr…

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Standstill

Some joys overshadow the sorrows
Some highs reach higher than alcohol-induced ones
Some smiles hide the pain behind the eyes
Some handshakes fit firmer than most other ones
Some angry stares show concern pouring from them
Some embraces last longer than regular hugs
And then life moves on

Saturday, July 21, 2007

Vile

Feel like doing something completely hateful and ghastly to someone i hate.
Will do it too.
Now all i need to do is find someone to hate and then come up with something completely hateful and ghastly to do

p.s. i'm beginning to like the usage of lowercase for the first-person i. unoriginal though. the sunday times of india has already btdt

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Anathema - Empty lyrics

Empty vessel
Under the sun
Wipe the dust from my face
Another morning, Black Sunday
Coming down again
Empty vessel
Empty veins
Empty bottle Wish for rain That pain again
Wash the blood off my face
The pulse from my brain
And I feel that pain again

I'm looking over my shoulder
'cos millions will whisper
I'm killing myself again
Maybe I'm dying faster
But nothing ever lasts
I remember a night from my past
When I was stabbed in the back
And its all coming back
And I feel that pain again

I abhor you, I condemn you
'cos this pain will never end
You got away without a scratch
And now you're walking on a lucky path
I have to laugh
But you'd better watch your back

There's pathetic opposition
They're the cause of my condition
I'll be coming back for them
I've a solution for this sad situation
Nothing left but to kill myself again
(because I'm so empty)

Sunday, July 08, 2007

All Hail King Federer

It must all have seemed part of a large conspiracy to Roger Federer soon after the match began. He seemed to have more opponents than he was prepared for – Nadal, the chair umpire, the linesmen, even Hawkeye (but then he didn’t really love it too much anyway). And unfortunately for him, Nadal chose this very inopportune day to prove to his own detractors that he could actually graze on British grass almost as well as skidding on clay anywhere in the world. So much so, the otherwise stone-cold Swiss even tried to question the Hawkeye software to vent his ire. I won’t be surprised if the perfectionist Federer decides to pursue a career in software programming to face his digital nemesis Hawkeye; he’s already accomplished almost everything in tennis anyway. Perhaps, his to-do list will now have an entry for “Rework code for Hawkeye or eliminate its existence” right below “Win French Open” and right above “Defeat Rafa on clay” which was crossed out after this year’s Hamburg Open.

But Federer, the champion that he is, must have relished this battle (it was pretty much an all-out war, actually) that ensued on the hallowed Centre Court greens. After five long years, he finally seemed to have an able competitor across the net at Wimbledon. But, the question that has persisted for a few years at Wimbledon now rang again – will this able competitor be the elusive dethroner this year? It took FedEx three hours and three quarters of the fourth to reply: no, not just yet. The match was an epic with both the top-ranked players proving why they are the best in the business. Cross-courts, down-the-lines, diving volleys, even winners from so far outside the camera's view, you wouldn't be blamed for assuming that someone in the crowd had taken a shot. Just when you thought you had seen the best rally of the match, the next point would produce a better one.

What this match has done, besides adding another star on that cream blazer for next year, is refute the popular myth that Federer cannot be stretched to a five-setter, let alone be defeated, at the All England Club. Ironic that Federer’s last five-setter in this Grand Slam came in 2001 against the legend (my fave) Pete Sampras.
The result was the same as in this match and many regard that as the passing on of the torch from a seven-time Wimbledon conqueror to an erstwhile upcoming player who now boasts of five consecutive Wimbledon championships.

Coming back to that cream blazer, you can call that chic or cheeky, but Mr.Federer couldn’t care less. If 2006 saw the introduction of the blazer, 2007 saw Rog taking a step ahead by
adding a vest and white pants (the latter bringing to my memory apna Bollywood ka Jeetendra) to his Wimbledon wardrobe. Perhaps, the drab white shirt and shorts were too commonplace for his well-earned royalty. Just makes me wonder, what’s up for 2008? A crown with five stars emblazoned across it?

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

Jump

Look below
Close your eyes
Open them again
Feel your breathing
... And jump
Worry not
You're not falling
You jumped
Don't restrict yourself
Go headlong
Or feet first if you prefer
As long as you know what you want
And how you want it
And perhaps how badly you want it
Landing won't hurt
Because you're not falling
You've jumped

Friday, June 29, 2007

Which of the following...

... is easier to bear/tolerate/accept?
  • unadulterated hatred in your heart for another person(s), or
  • absolute failure to hate that person(s) inspite of the crippling urge to hate him/her/them

Saturday, June 23, 2007

Just Another Day

(An old writeup. Just thought of having it on this blog today)

It’s just another morning, just another day. Not much has changed from yesterday, you guess. Your mind is blank but suddenly you think of her and you’re sure nothing has changed form yesterday. You dread the thought of college first thing in the morning but light up at the prospect of attending lab first up. You reach college a little late as usual, hoping hers will be among the first faces you see. But she turns up at the lab door some ten minutes later than you. You watch her wave out to someone at the door (you know who she’s waving out to) and then turn around only to catch you staring right back at her. She smiles at you and for a moment everything is bliss. She grabs the chair next to you and embarks on her everyday casual talk. You listen to every word because you don’t want to miss anything she says or does. Somewhere at the back of your mind you are thankful that nothing has changed from yesterday. The two hours at lab pass away speedily with the usual banter, her infectious laughter and the odd attempt at actual work. Then you are both out of there. Together. As usual. On the way back to classroom two floors up, she runs into some friends you don’t know. You walk away as she stays back to chat with them. But only till the next corner, where you stand waiting for her. You see her walking towards you a few minutes later. She notices you lurking around the corner and she stops in her tracks. You can see the surprise in her eyes. Just above that disarming smile on her mouth. She’s surprised that you actually waited for her. You reply that it was no big deal. You mean it. As you go up the stairs, she goes on about how you mustn’t pamper her. You smile silently knowing that that can never happen. You start talking about something else as you approach the classroom door. In the doorway, you realize she is not really listening to you any more. Her eyes scour the entire class till they settle on him. You stop talking midway through a sentence and realize that she didn’t even notice your incomplete sentence. You look at her in askance and see her eyes light up. And you know it’s him she has just found.

You’re a forgotten moment of the past as she hurries to catch the seat he has saved for her. You walk to your seat among your friends. The usual dose of remarks on how you entered with her again follow, but by now you are used to their ribbing. You know it’s no use explaining to them that there is nothing going between you and her. There can never be. You aren’t even among her best friends. She’s not your muse. It would be appalling to even think of her that way. You want to tell your friends that. But you don’t. You look at her a few benches away. She is laughing away and you notice her hands interlocked in his. It doesn’t pain anymore to see that. It did when she had just started going around with him. But not anymore. Now you are just happy to see her happy. As the day goes on, you get to speak to her off and on. In between classes, and sometimes during some boring ones, she turns around casually and your eyes meet. A smile greets another. But it’s not that novel anymore. Your heart doesn’t race or skip a beat at every look or smile from her. At least not at every look or smile. You think of the times when it did. You comprehend that you still like her as much as you did back then. Actually even more.

College ends and she leaves with her hands firmly grasping his. No ‘bye’ or ‘see you tomorrow’. You like it better that way. At least it doesn’t hurt if she misses a ‘goodbye’ when you are not expecting one. She calls late that evening just as you are about to fall asleep. Her last call was nearly a month ago. It’s about a report at college. You move on to other topics. In between all the mirth and gossip, you realize that you have been on the phone with her for over an hour now. Just like old times, you reminisce. She tells you about an irrational quarrel she had with him earlier and how miffed she is. You smile serenely over the phone because you sense a déjà vu. You talk to her about how close they both actually are and how much they like each other. You try to talk some sense into her and get her to forget her scrap with him. When all’s sorted out, she thanks you and remarks about how you always get her out of the mess she manages to get into every other time. You know you’ve had the same conversation with her before. You want to tell her how much she means to you, how fond you are of her. But you don’t. You just fake a laugh and tell her to hang up and go to sleep. Yet again. She makes a comment about how sweet you are to her. And she hangs up. As you get ready to fall asleep, you begin to rue taking her phone call. You know now, thoughts of her will lurk endlessly in your head. You begin the same old conversation with yourself. Again. Are you in love with her? You disagree. It’s been 5 years since the only time you thought you were in love. And you think of your ‘love’ all that time ago. That ‘love’ who hadn’t bothered calling up even once in all those years. That ‘love’ in whose pain you wallowed for a long time even after you had realized that she just didn’t care. That ‘love’ who had called you her friend but had turned fiend. You float back into the present. No, this couldn’t be love. You don’t want this to be love. You don’t want her to be your love. Not after your first brush with ‘love’. You consider ‘infatuation’, but immediately discard that. She isn’t just an infatuation. She never was. You remind yourself that you don’t want her to be with you. You know she is happy with him. Without you. You want to see her happy. Always. But isn’t that true love? True love. Another one of your hated romantic clichés. An incredible myth. A terrible truth? Your mind is in utter turmoil now, but when is it not? Suddenly you want to hate her for making your life and thoughts so complex. But the very next moment, you work out that you can never hate her. You love her. But you don’t want to love her. Damn, how you hate that word …

You feel you are putting yourself to sleep thinking of her yet again. You sense that it’s just another night. You drift into the surreal unconsciousness that is sleep. Tomorrow you will see her at lab again. You will see her holding his hand sometime during the day. You will see her smiling at you again. But what matters most is that you will see her. It will be just another day...

Friday, June 22, 2007

Who's the smart one now?

I came across, nay, researched my way to an article on Rediff which says that first-born kids are smarter than their siblings. Now, being a responsible first son, a role-model elder brother (now that scientists have endorsed this fact, I can safely shed whatever little modesty I had left within me, can't I?) and of course, a well-educated student of science (try not to laugh too hard else you'll miss the point I'm trying to make), I am of the opinion that we, and by 'we' I mean all of us including the lesser fortunate ones who weren't the first out of their mother's wombs, must heed these scholarly scientists who have spent much of their valued time on researching such vital topics despite the pressures of releasing information to the press so that such stunning results can change the way people live. I, for one, have now become a big fan of these scientists who came up with this ground-breaking theory relating intelligence to first-borns. I am also willing to worship the ground walked on by scientists who can research their asses off to publish articles with headlines "Heavy Alcohol Consumption Raises Human Intelligence Levels" or "Chicks who Date Fat Guys Live Longer and Look Prettier".

It is my newfound respect for such scholars that led me to taking my wallet out to pay to read this profound article in its entirety on the website where it is originally published. I duly paid with my credit card by inserting it into the cd-rom tray of my pc and waited for the transaction to be carried out, wondering with awe how much science and technology have matured. My eagerness was slightly nipped in the bud when even after waiting the next 15 minutes patiently, my transaction had not been carried out. After rechecking and re-positioning my credit card, I decided to make my wait a little more enjoyable by calling up my brother (note: "younger" brother) and checking up on him lest his lower levels of intelligence be taken undue advantage of by some shrewd first-born cheat. Now, let us not call this activity "rubbing it in" since such unsophisticated words are not befitting of a smart first-born like me. Coming back to the topic, my not-so-gifted brother made some bizzarre comment about how online payments are not made via credit cards inserted into computer hardware. I silently shook my head, brushing aside the temptation of belittling the ignorance of my arrogant little brother. Blame it on the order of birth, I sighed, it's not entirely his fault. The only explanation I can offer for his frequent class-topping academic record can be all his classmates being younger siblings in their homes. Alas!

With much pain in my heart, I withdrew the credit card and sent it back to its safe haven in that torn compartment (I prefer to call it the 'airy area' or the 'donation nation', the latter mostly in memory of those currency notes that've found their way out of there) of my wallet. In fact, I am quite sure the problem was with my credit card rather than with my payment technique as my smart-neck brother had opined. I must have hit the credit limit when that nice, pretty saleslady at the mall helped me in making that wise decision of purchasing that slightly expensive 8-foot pot made of what she said was fine bone china. She was so helpful, she even promised to help me buy an exquisite thin glass cabinet for the pot's protection when I had mentioned my fear of the pot toppling over from the stool that I planned to perch it on. I guess I will have to wait till next month to buy that cabinet now.

I am digressing now. Let me get back to the main topic which I faintly remember had something to do with my brother. Or was it about intelligence? Or both? Well, if it concerned both my brother and intelligence, then let me assure you he is just another student who's definitely not cut out for spying and other covert military operations. In fact, I've had scores of people refer to me as the smart one in the family. And they've even made compliments like these seem so much warmer by passing glances at one another, perhaps to confirm the fact, with wide grins on their faces. All those people can't be wrong, can they?

Monday, June 04, 2007

She called

For months together she hasn't even
Heard the sound of my name
She calls me today out of the blue
My absence begets her abuse and blame
The care in her voice unnerves me
Excuses I offer for avoiding seem lame
But how do I explain to her that
It's all become one scary game

I'm scared of the lies that accost her
I'm scared of the hatred she might foster
I'm scared losing me won't cost her
I'm scared I've already lost her

I'm scared once the alcohol's worn off
Will she still feel the same?

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Tell Me

Do you want to fly really low
Do you want to ride better
Do you want me to wish you hello
Do you want my suicide letter

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Bliss in a Sin

She beckons
I walk
Her lips in mine
And we rock...
... And we sway with every kiss
Each one hits; sweet eternal bliss
Angel in beatific white
Devil of momentary delight
I know I'll end up in crippling pain
But can't stop myself from seeing her again
I know she will hurt
But with terror I flirt
Each time I light her afire
Fill myself with guilty desire
All my resistance gone up in smoke
Another sin with which I soak
A trip to hell for which I'm booked
Another sin to which I am hooked

Disclaimer: I do not encourage or advocate the above activity. Discretion is advised.

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Sibling Revelry

As of this moment in time, I am the happiest brother in the world to the happiest sister in the world. I haven't had this wide a grin between my ears for ages. **grin grin**

Friday, May 18, 2007

You know you're helpless...

... when you want to forgive
but you think forgiveness is an elite trait
... when you're sorely despised
but you still can't pay them back with hate
... when you step back and watch them leave
and you sit by yourself resigned to your fate
... when you see your time running out
and hope against hope that it's not too late

But what you know may not be enough
There's no smooth sailing when the seas are rough
You're never helpless even when you can't sink any lower
Because it ain't ever over, till it's over

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Another revolution

Who do you complain to if there's no one who'll listen
Who do you yearn for if theres no one you're missin'
Another revolution, another rolling of days
And you still find yourself alone, groping in the haze

Monday, May 14, 2007

When Men were Boys

Seven 23-year-old men came together to spend a day together. Each among the seven has known every other for periods ranging from seven to seventeen years. They have seen each other as boys growing into the men they are today. But for those 24 hours, the men shed their ageing and became boys again. They shouted as they would have in their teen years, caring nought for authority. They laughed like boys as if every joke were to be the last one they would laugh at before age mellowed their funny bone. They chattered endlessly, not because their speech was stifled otherwise, but because this was where they would be heard for every word they would utter, sensible or not. They hogged down platefuls of food like the hungry young boys they had once been and complained of ever-expanding waistlines like the ageing men they are. They lived the 24 hrs in royal luxury, with no care for the hours to follow or the hours gone by.
The men came together from their own worlds of turmoil and chaos. 24 hrs later, they dispersed; each back to his own world. But for those 24 hours, the men lived in a common world. As boys.

Friday, May 11, 2007

I'm so fat...

Beginning today, this series (shamelessly inspired by 'Your mom's so fat...' jokes) will last as long as my tryst with obesity and flirty affair with attempted humor.

I'm so fat...
... few morsels of food from 1996 still furtively try to find their way out of my torso.

Disclaimer: Quality of humor may not improve with time. Reader discretion and mercy are advised

Monday, April 23, 2007

Audioslave - Exploder lyrics

Chorus:
If you’re free you’ll never see the walls
If you’re head is clear you’ll never freefall
If you’re right you never fear the wrong
If you’re head is high you never fear at all

Easier said than done

Sunday, April 22, 2007

Bhayankar Erratas

Mahatma Gandhi once said something to the tune of "Freedom counts for nothing if you don't have the freedom to make mistakes" (I wish I could quote such quotes verbatim but I always end up using terms like 'something to the tune of' ). It's good that he said something of that sort because it allows me to use it as an excuse for playing down all or at least most of my fauxs pas (or whatever the correct term is). So yesterday, a dull football match got me thinking about a lot of instances that I would like to go back in time and change the approach or action that I opted for then. Thanks to my dwindling attention span and ebbing long-term memory, I could come up with really few instances which I'm going to talk about here. Names will be withheld here for diplomacy issues in some places and in others, only because it will be a little too easy to know who I'm talking about.

- The game was lost and we had barely seven more minutes till the final whistle could relieve us of our misery. He hobbled up to me and bleakly asked me if he could sit out the last few minutes because his ankle was swelling up badly. He was not one to ask out with little bruises and wounds. I knew that yet I failed to realise the intensity of this injury. And I asked him to carry on and see out those last seven minutes. For a lost cause. Astonishingly, he silently turned and went back to what he was out on the field for. He could have argued. He could have made the decision for himself because he was the skipper and not I. But he just went back and saw out those seven horribly painful minutes. Maybe because it was in his nature to fight with no regard for pain. Maybe because he had been let down by the one person he deemed capable enough of making the right call. I'll probably never know. But thanks to my decision, he missed the next match which of course, we lost so that this incident could be left as an indelible mark in my memory. He did watch us play the last match from the sidelines. If I can claim to know him at all, watching our defeat that day from the sidelines would have hurt him as much as, if not more than, his bandaged ankle.
- The same game. Trailing 0-2 with very few intrusions from us into their box, a loose ball fell close to my feet. With two opposition defenders on either side of me, my mind raced for a decision. I could take the shot with not the best chance of seeing it cross the goal-line because I was well outside their box. Or I could take a touch which could let me get away from the sandwiching defenders so that I could follow it up with a shot with some 5 yards lesser to cover. I opted for the former and saw the ball loop safely into the keeper's hands. It didn't take me more than an instant to know I had opted for the wrong option. That one goal could have changed the face of the game. I had blown my team's best chance to regain hope and to make it worse, it all went only downwards from there.
- Friday night. A lounge. 80's pop sounds getting people to sway in their seats, a little conscious of being the first ones on the floor. She passed a slightly intoxicated (note, different from intoxicating) look at me and put it into innocent words, "Will you dance with me?". Slightly stunned, paranoid of implications and remote complications, and defintely aware of my lack of dancing skills, I mouthed a stupid excuse to back out. The disappointment on her face was momentary but it hit me hard. I could have let faith override paranoia and intoxication override missing skills. I could have made a different decision instead of the seemingly indifferent one. I lost out on a warm smile.
- Over the phone, which was how we had spent much of our time together, I kept things straight and let her know how things would be henceforth. I wasn't surprised when she broke into tears then. But then the weeping went on for a few minutes. No questions asked of me, no words spoken. Just her soft cry in my ears. I should have said something comforting. I could have just held on to the phone in the hope that she could at least find some support in my silence which was pretty much the only thing I could now spare for her. Instead, I chose to hang up thinking she needed time alone like I did. And in that action, I forced upon her my therapy for grieving with no thought for hers. I didn't think much then at the age of 16.

Damn, this has gone long. And as I scroll downward, I realise my weblog has slowly become more of a criblog. I gotta get Dave Barry to ghost-write stuff for me here.

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

RIP

Hello darling
Do you hear me calling
Rising and falling

An untimely death
Abrupt last breath
The demise of faith

It's what seems best
Selfish vested interest
In all earnest
The nice guy is now laid to rest

Saturday, April 14, 2007

Forthcoming Attraction

Another Saturday night, another party.
Who's complaining? :)

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Letting Go

Where, I ask, is the trust
It is all, he opines, just ashes and dust
Where, I ask, is the faith
Look over your shoulder, he sayeth
Where, I ask, is the hope
In darkness, he warns, you must fruitlessly grope
When, I ask, will you learn
Not, he replies, ere you crash and burn
How, I ask, do you justify your lies so lame
We're all, he snaps back, playing the same game

Nought more have I to ask
For I still stand by my truth
In his ill-gotten pity he can bask
With his dreams of fighting nail and tooth
As before, I wish him godspeed
As he walks down his own line
Hoping, one day he'll be freed
To find his peace and with it, mine

Thursday, April 05, 2007

Looking Ahead

Long weekend, here I come...
Wheeeeeeee.......

Wednesday, April 04, 2007

Poor Start

I was out for some fresh morning air
Lady on a cycle dropped her bag on the middle of the road
The kindness and compassion inside of me (never knew they existed) arose
A clanging sound as I picked up the bag to hand it over to the lady
Turned back to see a tiffin box with its contents strewn all over the road
Out of breath and out of words, a silent apology escaped me
The remains of an erstwhile lunch were handed back to the lady
The smile did not get wiped off her face
"How can I thank you?", she asked.
Sarcasm, I wondered. But the smile stayed and seemed genuine
"At least your intentions were noble", the smile dimmed but was still put up bravely
Lunch box rendered empty, she set off bearing only my apologies
I set off in the other direction with a thought or two
For the lady who would have to forego the comforts of a packed lunch from home
Wallowing in the remorse, I continued to walk homeward as another possibility fell on my ears
"Perhaps her kid will go hungry at school today"
I walked away faster

Monday, April 02, 2007

The Wonder Weekend

This weekend sped by. Friday night started with a visit to The Den - a lounge which has its interiors designed to look like a hunting lodge. Good place, decent booze, good food and good music. Anyways, had good company so no question of having a bad time.

Saturday was spent lazily until I got home and decided to clean up my act and the house too in the process. So my only non-Mumbai roomie and I got into action and a few hours later, we were resting our bones in much, much cleaner surroundings with no dust bunnies left to inhale. Note the 'few hours later'. Cleaning up is the only time I despise living in such a big house. Anyways, evening was spent with TJ and Shachi over to watch Liverpool whack Arsenal and as they lazed around later (they'd spent their day at work... afsos), ManU satisfied me with a resurgent victory over Blackburn (Woohoo!!). TJ wanted to watch 300 and I think, he must be the only guy left in Pune yet to watch it. My thoughts were only reaffirmed by the House Full board which left us with our backup option. Movies on the laptop at TJ's pad. Sat nite was spent watching Apocalypto (quite impressive) and the Illusionist (didn't do much to keep us awake).

But the cherry-on-top here was finding some 15-odd episodes of The Wonder Years on the laptop. The Wonder Years!! One of the first TV shows I was addicted to. And since they don't even beam the reruns of the reruns of that show anymore, it's been eons since I last saw the musings and muses of Kevin Arnold. Those were some good days when I used to watch the show after school everyday on the then new channel called 'Star Plus'. Over the years, the episodes were almost rote, yet the reruns watched as eagerly. It was a show all kids could relate to. Almost everyone had a geeky Paul Pfeiffer-like friend or a Wayne-like irritating sibling. But each and every one of us boys had (or at least dreamt of due to lack thereof) a Winnie Cooper. The innocence of it all was too good to be true. Wondering how to hold each others' hands away from the glare of the others in the building, cribbing about each others' days at school in the evenings, sharing wada pavs and icecreams. Life was a lot simpler then but of course, there was no way we could have known how tough being grownup is. Life was a TV show back then...

Sunday passed by lazily with the help of six back-to-back episodes of the Wonder Years first thing upon waking up. Things picked up in the evening and a combination of a bike ride, cold coffee @ Durga, dvd of Babel and some vodka for the movie's intensity to set in turned out to be heaven.

To sum it all up, a Wonder Weekend.

Monday, March 26, 2007

Discotheque

Abode of darkness. Arms its visitors with the license to unleash their desires in the name of fun. I'm making it sound like a dark vicious pit. But discos needn't be all that bad.
Now, I'm not a major party-goer who is found at the hottest nightspots on most evenings. I'm not even, I admit, a BIG fan of the disco. I do, though, enjoy spending time there with friends who are more interested in such places. And being quite the nocturnal being, I really don't mind wherever I am taken to as long as there's company, no bright lights and preferably some alcohol to go around.
So Sunday night marked my return to the disco scene thanks to this friend getting back from his phoren trip. There were some 10 of us together making this unplanned trip to this popular disc in Pune called Lush, which was as packed as on most weekends. We've been there before so I don't know if it was actually true that there seemed to be a lot more chicks around that evening or whether it was just that I was getting back onto the scene after a long, LONG time. Whatever it was, the constant contact kept unsettling me for some reason; a reason I'm yet to find out. But then, there were guys who seemed to want a few more sq.ft. of the dance floor for their flailing arms and drunk asses. So for the rest of the evening, I chose to tolerate contact with strange chicks instead (as perverse as that sounds).
There are these typical people you come across at discos. There'll be these young couples who'll be dancing away by themselves with hands around each other at all moments in time, at some instances exploring their partner's clothed (scantily, in the lady's case) anatomy in ways that would definitely draw wide-eyed glances if done in lighting brighter than which the discos provide. There'll be these drunk groups of stags, mostly just out of their teen years, who come there after watching movies like American Pie thinking that this will be their night when they fulfill the 'pledge' that they made to each other right after the movie. Can't miss out on the large groups of people with giggly girls and hair-gelled hunks who dance in concentric circles with the chicks marking the inner ring and the guys building the outer, protecting their lady-friends from the wrath of the aforementioned Drunk Stag types. These three types form the crux of most dance floors. Off and on, you'll also come across the Girl Gangs who'll split their time at the disc between dancing away in little tightly closed groups, trying to make their way to the bar counter for their next drink and trying to fend off vile glances (and at times, seedy pick-up lines) from the Drunk Stag types (Man, are they at large or what!).
That's pretty much all I can think of on a Tuesday morning. Other details later maybe as and when my memory and observational skills decide to collaborate again.


p.s. Sunday night was FUN. And pleasant for reasons other than the easily visible ones.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

In my face

It's in my face
Not on it
A jigsaw piece out of place
Whoever's(whatever's) worn it

Behind the mask that stares back
A dark face, an unknown name
Reality poised, ready to attack
It's a risk I've taken now... It's MY own game

March 21 still sucks

Not a big fan of this day and nothing particularly likeable has happened yet today either
[in loving memory]

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

Extended D-Day

The end to my D-Day finally arrived today. All's well that ends well.

Saturday, March 03, 2007

Saturday Morn Live

0730 hrs on a Saturday morning is by no means the right time to be on the road. Hell, I find it ghastly to even picture myself in conscious state at that time. But, when my humane side took over (rarely does that happen) and I set off to help out a friend at that ungodly hour, the only solace I found was in the fact that I had the steering wheel in my hands and the driver's seat under my ass. Call it Children's Day or whatever, but two scenes involving kids embedded themselves in my head.

Scene One: Somewhere close to the Andheri railway station, a little girl, who looked not more than 8 years old, dragged a reluctant younger boy (presumably her brother) through the traffic jam (For the unfamiliar ones, YES, Mumbai has traffic jams on its roads at 0730 hrs... on a Saturday morning!) The boy looked half-drowsy and made me rethink why I was up at this hour of the day on a Saturday morning. He left himself be dragged across the road by his sister whose efforts at that moment seemed to be concentrated on reaching the other side of the road safely with her brother. They (rather, she) seemed to be taking some hard chances as the cars sped by in the rightmost lane and I slowed down to let them cross ahead of the car I was driving, the last obstacle between them and their goal - the Other side. Suddenly her eyes met mine and perhaps she didn't realize I was going to stop to let her by anyway. An authoritative raise of the hand and a stern glare was her immediate response. At that very instant in time, she ceased to be 8. She could have been a 18-year-old girl dragging her boyfriend to the clearance sale at the showroom across the road. She could have been a 38-year-old mother dragging her unwilling son to school. She could have been a 68-year-old grandmother with no regard to her own life, yet determined to ensure the safety of her grandson whose hands she clasped. The moment passed me by as did the 8-year-old girl.

Scene Two: I got off the Aarey flyover at Goregaon and rejoined the rest of the traffic on the highway. To my left, auto rickshaws lined up at the kerb for their daily mornign wash so that passengers could seat their derrieres in 'clean' vehicles (I'd have used the word 'clean' minus the quotes if the water that washed the rickshaws was actually not black and muddy). It's not an unusual sight on a regular Mumbai morning. Urchins of all ages run around with little buckets of water and a rags that are as black as the colour on the rickshaws. As I glided past them, two kids on the pavement were hailing a rickshaw that seemed to be slowing down towards them. With a competitive edge, one kid raised his rag to show a slightly less dirtier rag to gain one up on his rival. The rickshaw driver broke both their hearts and went ahead towards the eventual winner. The victor in this case being a pintsized firebrand who had gotten off the kerb and on to the road with a rag in hand and a whistle in mouth. Blowing on the whistle furiously, he flagged the rickshaw in line behind another. He went up to the rickshaw ahead and smartly tapped on its roof to notify its driver that his time at the rickshaw-wash was up. As the rickshaw broke the line and injected itself into the traffic just ahead of me, my last sight of the young, wise marketing genius running to fill his bucket yet again, but not before guiding his hard-earned, most recent customer to the tea stall just around the kerb. Customer Care.

An early morning lesson in life for me. Hah, kids!

Thursday, February 15, 2007

D-Day

Just over two hrs to the first moment of truth. The way the day's gone, the signs are ominous. But then it doesn't cost me a fortune to hope. Hell, it's for free. So here I wait in hope...

Monday, February 12, 2007

Cheap Thrills

After two botched attempts, I finally managed to board the 7.15am bus today. In your face, Monday morning Blues
(Homeresque) Woohoo!!

Friday, February 09, 2007

Proof of life

Every moment and the moment after that, I am required to prove myself to someone or the other. Is it just me or does this apply to others too?
Proof of intent
Proof of friendship
Proof of commitment
Proof of devotion... (the list goes on)
It's an ever-continuing challenge that is enjoyable to a limit. Then it begins to get overbearing. After much observation and some experience, I've arrived at the conclusion that what proves one's mettle is how far upwards one can push that limit. The more I enjoy being under pressure, the higher the odds of ending on top seem to to get. From an evil perspective, sometimes, the more I enjoy, greater is the angst on the vile challenger's face.
Hence proved.

Monday, January 22, 2007

Unoriginal... hence Better

Once again, I turn to other sources to fill up space here. Rudyard Kipling yields to my hunting and delivers. And how.

If
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

- Rudyard Kipling

(a stony silence of reflection sets in)

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Boo-hoo time

XAT was a disaster. And I hate using that term, so when I do use it, it's as a measure of intensity. It's like readying yourself for an airstrike and then stepping on a landmine in the process. You don't know what's struck you, it all ends in a moment and after it's done, there's just a WHOLE lot of pieces to collect.

She stands at the head of the bed in the room that I haven't visited in eons. She watches another man sleep every night next to her. She wants to be touched but no one bothers to so much as undo the garb that covers her... not even I. I need to change that soon. Soon, we will be one as before. In my arms, she will create and recreate sweet music. Yes, my rusty hands may not be as effective as before but we will recreate the old magic again. For, as sleazy I've made that sound, she's still among my first loves - my first guitar.

Guys put their bodies through hell only to build a V-shaped body. To my credit, I've eaten my way up to an O. Just 7 more alphabets to go, I surmise?

Monday, January 08, 2007

Time and Tide wait for none

2007 has pounced upon us all. Early in the morning of the 9th day of the year, I awake with the ubiquitous thought of how change is the only constant (And no, this isn't last night's whiskies from Abhijeet's birthday talking). Relationships change, feelings change, as does attitude, and so do circumstances among all other things. And with all of those, YOU change. The pleasant changes keep the smiles on YOUr face, the not-so-pleasant ones harden YOU. YOU change... YOU mature... YOU grow. But at the crux of things, YOU still assume YOUrself as the constant. The constant in a continuously metamorphosising world. It's a paradox but it's not something YOU can deny. YOU ask YOUr best friends to never change, because YOU believe the good parts of life should stay with YOU as they are. YOU wish for the good times to never end for the same reason. YOU desist tough changes like say, moving alone to a new place or parting with old friends because adaption involves displacement from YOUr comfort zone, the basic, most irritating part of change. At all times, and like most things in nature, YOU continually seek YOUr equilibrium. That one sweet spot from where ideally YOU would never want to move. But perhaps the equilibrium YOU seek is perhaps not static at all. Perhaps the equilibrium YOU seek is in motion. How well YOU tune YOUrself to that motion is perhaps the key to this lock. Maybe it's about how effectively YOU accelerate and decelerate to keep pace with this motion. Maybe it's about setting the pace YOUrself.
 

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