The Headache

It had come back, with all its enchanting enthusiasm and blinding brilliance! It was in the here and now as they say. And as soon as it was, I felt that it had never gone away... that it was always there somewhere, lurking around, playing hide and seek, threatening a frickin' explosion inside the confines of my head.

For once I wished I were USA so that I could work up random embargo procedures to nip this Iran in the bud. But as my imaginary avatar did, I too underestimated Ahmadenejad's under- dogged determination and gumption to always punch above weight... way above in this case.

But why am I committing the blasphemy of indulging in stupid humor when the one thing that I mortally fear is here! Enough of the digressions... let us focus here, or rather, let us give in.

Today is the turn of the right side. Well, I must point out here that the right side has been the favored one over the years. Has it partly got something to do with the fact that I am right-handed myself? That's something for those men and women dressed in white and earning their lives through high-handed hokum to ponder.

So what is it like? Hmm... how do you put it down in words? Howsoever you do it will be one big injustice to what happens to those 1500 grams. As most thank you speeches go, "Words fail to capture...". But I do need to begin somewhere for this has been too long an introduction.

It is like an iron spear, you know... the kind that is a huge cylinder with barbed wire wound up around it which finishes off in a very pointed end that's tipped with fatal poison. And there's someone working it furiously in such a way that its pushed from both ends alternately - one end comes out of the head in one instant and the other comes out on the far side in the other. You've always wondered about the phrase "driving me crazy", haven't you? Well, for me, this is where it originates from and this is where it ends.

Aah, I see. You've made the cardinal error of believing that what I described above is all of it... and perhaps, by logical extension, you've already decided that something like this is manageable, even though just barely so. Well, there's another saying I'd like to employ here, "Well begun is half done!"

Over and above what my cranium has been subjected to, there's this thick acidic liquid pouring itself into the right side in torrents... so much so that I see scope for hydel power generation here. Just the small matter that this acidic liquid is all up in monstrous flames rising high and handsome on to the roof of the grey matter and turning it into charcoal black!

Wait, what did I hear you say? Yeah you're right... my head's a Goddamn blast furnace for all practical purposes. It does turn iron into steel... how else do you think I've survived everything? Fact of the matter is everything else after this has been a cakewalk. In fact, there have been times when I've missed this mad rush of activity and so I plead myself guilty of turning against myself. Well, having heard me out here, don't you agree that what I achieved by doing so is perfectly understandable?

Your answer is no, is it? I guess I'll call you someday when the 20 minute ride atop The Roller Coaster through Hell is on.

You mind the wait?

I know. I still haven't made that call to you. What has it been like now?! 3-4 years or something? Yeah, somewhere close to that.
And its not like I haven't tried calling, you know. There have been times when I've called and you've decided to not pick up. And on most such occasions, you said you'd call later... that same evening, next morning, in the dead of the next night, next week when you'd be free, next month when you're over some emotional shit, next year when things would change completely for good, next decade when both of us will be Goddamn robots, next millenium when... I'm sorry, my imagination and science fiction knowledge fail me.
So you can't fault me for not waiting, you know. I've waited enough, more than my fair share actually... and now I know there's no point in waiting.
But look at me! Look at the shameless loner who goes by my name, pretends to wear this cloak of invincibility which he knows is actually a veil of false bravado, tries very hard to look blessed when he knows he is doomed, throws vibes of strength while there is the stench of weakness inside. Look at me in my flowing glory, I say!
I return to you every time random games are being played around inside my head. In my naïveté, I used to think that these are practice games at best and I can win the ones that happen on the minefields. Now I am older, very much so, and my maturity tells me that these are the ones that matter the most.
You've heard of Calvinball? You know, that game where the only rule is that there are no rules and arbitly random (or randomly arbit) things are decided on the go? It surely is great fun to read in comic strips but it assumes monstrous proportions when the playground for this thing which is as uncontrollable as a nuclear explosion is your own head.
Bill Watterson couldn't explain Calvinball in its entirety to us dumb people. I don't stand a chance of either understanding it or explaining it to anyone. 
And so I shouldn't even give it a shot... I really shouldn't call you to explain.
...
Or probably, when I think of it, maybe I've stopped caring enough for you to call or maybe I've stopped caring enough for myself to explain. Or it may have so happened that I really don't want to call... today, tomorrow, forever.
Still, don't be surprised if I call you someday!

Sloshed Rant

Why this constant urge to tell yourself that things will be better? Things will not be; they are only meant to grow worse. 
One of the biggest misconceptions of our age is that when you grow up, you'll be able to do things according to your wish, your own free will. I bet my bottom dollar that you've realized it today: nothing could be further from the truth. Its all a big, frickin' trap meant to take down one person at a time. And guess what, the trap is designed like a vicious cycle: reminds of that legendary Eagles song, "Hotel California"... more specifically, the legendary lines -
"You can check out anytime you like,
But you can never leave."
Its a constant, never-ending fight against this trap out of which you won't come out alive. And time and again, you'll be so fed up of fighting that the (in)famous demon called the Existential Crisis will impose its will on you. And when that happens, there's no absolutely nothing in your past, present or future that you do not question. They'll tell you that such a crisis is good for you and leads you to clarity. Next time that happens, tell them that's the biggest piece of bullshit you've ever heard of. Nothing good ever came out of an existential crisis. That's a fact which is going to remain one for aeons to come. 
All that an existential crisis ever leads to is procrastination. Don't mistake it for the happy kind of procrastination that they show so artfully in all those pirated versions of sitcoms you download through torrents every week: where friends sit together and crack random jokes and have loads of beer and munch on mouth-watering fast food. You don't need me to tell you all of it is scripted; every Tom, D**k, Harry and their grandmothers know it is another version of the same trap.
This is the sad kind of procrastination where you sit alone with a limited amount of cheap hard liquor and an incomplete pack of cigarettes without filters. And so much goes on in your tiny, useless head that you feel zonked out. You stop trusting every relationship - friend, foe, love etc. - that you ever forged and want to break free of all of them. You tell yourself that all you'll ever be able to do is to limit the immensity of the f**k people do not give about you. And you wallow in self-pity about all the work you've ever done and realize none of it can be called work rightfully.
And then you raise the volume on the Radiohead song creating ripples through your already zonked head and before you know, you pass out... only to wake up to another gloomy morning of Existential Crisis.

Marine Drive - 4 am

Its 4 am and I'm sitting at Marine Drive. You know, I could've really started this in whatever way I wanted to. But I chose this because I believe you'd know how much this place means to me. Its almost like being dramatic without creating any drama. Marine Drive is like a drama of nature... where we are subjected to being mere audience. The waves wash away those giant tetrahedrons, there are random ships floating or motoring through the sea, and there are those high rise buildings which have become almost a landmark in The City That Never Sleeps... the city that I've come to love, the first real city I've ever lived in.

And you know that I'm so glad it has taken me in like it has, made me feel a part of it... however small that might be, but a part nonetheless. Everywhere I go - and you know I am not much of an explorer or a traveller even in the city - it feels almost like home. Actually, I just know it feels good... I have been away from home too long now to know what home feels like. I mean my folks are there and there is lots of other stuff that should make me feel at peace but it just isn't home to me. Unlike earlier, I have got no room where I know my stuff would be there, I have none of my school friends around, I have no favorite uncles or aunts etc. Heck! There aren't even any of the shopkeepers, barbers, washer-men, grocery store owners that I love to know and learn from.

And strangely enough, even though none of all that is here at Marine Drive, it still feels like home to me. I always thought I was a man of paradoxes and it has never felt truer earlier. Do you know why? Because it makes me realize that I'm subjected to being mere audience in this ordeal called my life. And contrary to what it appears to be, its a happy realization. Well, on second thoughts, 'happy' wouldn't be appropriate... 'peaceful' would be more like it. It takes away the overbearing sense of responsibility that I can sense weighing down my frail shoulders all the time (that's right, frail shoulders at 24... always been like that!). It makes me feel powerless and fairly vulnerable. And that's really fine by me because I'm tired. I want to let go and start afresh but the world wouldn't let me... actually, I wouldn't let myself.

As I said last time around, I have no clue what I want to say and what I end up saying. You didn't understand this long rant sort of stuff I just said, right? Guess what, even I didn't. So don't bother, I'll call you someday.

Someday...

I shall call you someday. I've so much to talk about, you know. If you were to ask me, I'd say the wheels are coming off the train that my life's been. And then, knowing me, you'd say, "You always say that! I've been hearing it for the past 20-odd Goddamn years now. Give it a break, will you?!" And then, I'll tell you, as I always have without fail, "No... this time, it's different." And then, you'll say, "Wow! I didn't see that coming at all!". I always knew you did not have the ability to thinly veil your sarcasm.

And then, like you always have without fail, will ask me to enter that endless monologue. And then, through some random twist, I don't have words to put forth. I feel my throat getting parched and my lips getting drier with every passing second. It all comes back to me: hasn't it always been like this? I have always felt I've so much to say and I've never found the words or the intonation. 

The few occasions on which I have ended up churning out words from thin air, it has ended up being completely different from whatever it is that I wanted to say in that mind... creepily different. I've then had my words ringing through my own ears and inside my own cranium and I've felt gutted - for saying the wrong thing in the wrong manner at the wrong time. I've then proceeded to apologize profusely for the mess I've created and you just don't get what makes me go down like a pack of cards all of a sudden. You shut down and stomp on my apology... I don't blame you, its almost always the right thing to do because it gets me to stop speaking about myself.

I must tell you the fact that you don't react at all just baffles me in that moment. I ask myself, "Why would she do that to me?! I just narrated the horror that my life's been for the past century and she has absolutely nothing to say. I've known her to be much more sensitive and understanding and caring towards me. Or, did I know what I wanted to know?" These are strange, almost demonic thoughts. Self doubt has never been my strong suit. I say self-doubt because doubting you almost feels to be the same. 

But then, very soon, my brain comes back from the long vacation it went on to Bahamas or some other mind-numbingly exotic place. And it begins to dawn on me that if I didn't get a single word of what I said, its just plainly stupid and pathetic of me to expect you to get it. And by some strange twist, even if you get it in bits-and-pieces, how in sweet Hell are you supposed to react?

And this cycle repeats itself, every now and then, with almost boring regularity. I don't know why I find a strange kind of solace in not saying or saying it like it isn't... its almost like I experience inner peace for one fleeting micro-second. And you know what is the worst thing about inner peace? When you have internalized it even once for that quintessential fleeting second, you want it all the time. You pine for it and you run behind it... knowing fully well that there's not a more false way to reach it.

Anyways, this shall go on. I promise you I'll call you someday.

Blank Noise

A half-lit joint
A glass of whiskey spilling away
The fractured shoulder
Pink Floyd playing through the earphones

Strong on the outside
Fragile like glass on the inside
And confused somewhere in the middle

The questions don't seem to end
The answers seem very hard to come by
Status Quo reinforced

A monologue with oneself?
Or, a dialogue with the other half?
Silence and cacophony intermingle
Blank Noise

Nightmares and Scars

They beat him up to pulp in the alley,
A broken jaw and a blackened eye.
He got up somehow...
and ran for his life.

As he entered the dark hallway,
He saw his image in the wall at the end.
It was as bad (good?) as a ghastly devil...
The wind got knocked out of his sails!

He ran again; fate it was or a twist in the tale?!
Even tougher it got to rein in the horses of thought.
A dank, unkempt, claustrophobic room awaited.
And he escaped into it, wasn't he lucky?!

Saw 'em there for the first time ever,
seemed too good to be true, all of them.
"Oh well...", said he to no one in particular.

He was flying up and above...
when they brought him down with a thud.
"You worthless piece of shit!"
He gave up...
before, much before he gave in.
And ran again!

Escaping from the escape route...
Hell yeah, what a sight!

Hearing myself out

Hear that eerie sound in the middle of the deathly silence?

That's me gnashing my teeth!

At what is... and what could have been.

What should I be regretful for...

For it all fell apart or, for it was a castle in the sand.

Or for the fact that I've got better at putting up a face!

They say resilience is the stuff the strong and brave are made of...

I say to them, they have never been resilient enough!

Resilience is what the meek prefer, without a voice or a backbone.

The ones, who have been strong for too long, just break down. 

 Someday I'll say it all too loud...

So what if it will be too late!

And so what if there will be no one around! 

I know I'll still hear myself out...

…Gnashing my teeth in the middle of the deathly silence.

Pretty average stuff, this. But at least I'm back. Can only go up from here.

And though the post belies this, I wish you all a very Happy Diwali!

Of stars and mice, journeys and beliefs

Into the distance, I look at that star

Its luminous, beautiful and yes it's too far

I look at it and wonder

Am I on par?

The star looked to be in my reach

God saw this and He decided to preach

As he began, I lost my speech

My journey had come under siege

As always, I accepted my fate

Was I early? Wasn't I too late?

I feel like a mouse who took a bite at the bait

I should have known, no one around is my mate

But He also taught me belief

And yes, it alone can carry you through times of grief

I know my life is uneventful and brief

Doesn't it make sense to follow the Chief?

May the star's charm increase manifold

May its silver-ish streak turn to gold

May He blesses it and give it warmth in cold

May it know that I did exist once!!

This doesn't have any literary quality but still, I somehow like it. Composed it in my head inside the helmet while on my way to a class. The last line has been intentionally left out of the rhyming scheme to show the disconnect.

Please comment and let me know what you think of it.

Outlandish Soliloquy

Under the monstrous tree brought down by the avalanche
Lies a battered soul,
He's fucked up entirely, the Devil owns it now
Still he thinks there's a way out

He asks himself, "Who are you?"
"Don't know and I bloody don't give a damn" is the reply he gets
"Outlandish Soliloquy, this!!", says the soul
The Devil delivers one final blow!

The soul is resurrected now
He crawls into the fire and bathes in it
He is his coffin, he pushes nails deep inside
He has the bucket near, but doesn't kick it aside
He becomes the Devil or the Devil becomes he?

I...

I go to a temple.
I bow before Thee.
I look at the stray dogs.
I feed the stray kids.

I go to a hang-out.
I smoke a fag.
I sip at stale tea.
I kill an ant.

I don't get intoxicated after 3 of 'em.
I wonder how my friend does.
I sip at some more tea.
I break into a violent cough.

I try to cry.
I feel dry eyes and a dry soul.
I see that the ends of my friend's eyes are watered.
I feel good for him, better for his soul.

I get bitten by the same ant I killed ... or ... I tried to.
I deliver a one-liner, "Tears mark the beginning of pain!"
I see my friend nods.
I see him break into a wail.

I have my head held in my hands.
I move my fingers through my hair.
I can sense the inherent gloom in the lovely evening sky.
I feel as if my heart is being razed, layer by layer.

I get up, walk up to my bike.
I caress it, feel all the scars again.
I give it a peck where its cheek would have been.
I know it has been on my side, without a figment of complain.

I am still strong.
I can bear some more.
I'll be the last man standing.
I am sure of this, even more.

A pretty simple poem by my standards. Scribbled it while being the pillion-rider, on my friend's back.

Scarred

Poison eats me from the inside
No more is slow death a farce
The suffering increases by the second
The acid of insecurity gives me scars

The wounds refuse to heal
The pain just does not subside
The crooked hand of fate
puts barbed wire in my backside

What awaits me in the offing is as clear
as the sky on a turbulent stormy night
The past was voodoo-ed by satanic powers
Dementors take me over and I give up the fight

The most twisted demons wreck havoc right in my eyes
my alter-ego thinks they are angels
The robes and the halo seem Heavenly
I know Hell has a knack of deadly disguise

I can no more talk to myself
There's an iron curtain in the system
I make slow, deep cuts with the knife
Masochism resides in my cranium

Gloom to Melancholy

The devil seeks the angel,
Wants to gorge on him, Period!
It’s the Day of Reckoning!
Three cheers to Armageddon!!!
What matters is immaterial,
What does not,
Has been fucked apart too.

In spaces between blankness,
In crowds amidst mobs,
A raging fear sends chills down the spines.
There is sweat on the brow,
And it threatens to melt the brain.
The twist of fate has caught you unawares
Utopia has been hacked down

You laugh the twisted laugh till dark humor dons a shade you cannot fathom out
You cry out till your throat gets sore
You think till you get deluded, hallucinated
You run until you encounter the Dead End
You feel the pain till your soul is kidnapped
You see the illusion of damage till it turns to annihilation.

And then, you tread the path from gloom to melancholy!!!

Exorbitatingly Arbit!

First things first, apologies for the long hiatus between this blog post and the last one.

During this hiatus, I've read numerous books, watched many movies, gorged over loads of Calvin and Hobbes and the ilk.

This post is going to have a very high arbit quotient. I am going to talk about anything and everything that comes to my mind, with something thrown in to make the mix more eclectic. So let's begin -

1. The dates for the general elections in the country - (a big hoax, actually) have been announced. Mine being a sarkaari college is going to be the projector room for this whole movie and therefore, classes will be suspended. I plan to make good use of this time period. Let's see what the future holds in store for me.

2. The wound called Ujjain's water supply problems is deepening by the minute due to the highly lackadaisical approach of the concerned authorities. There has been bakar around the globe that the next World War will be fought for water. I would not go into the details of the problem here but I guess it would suffice to say that the battles have already begun in all earnest.

3. Did Slumdog Millionaire deserve the Oscar? I haven't watched the other movies but I fail to understand the need for putting the cliched happy ending - Boy meets girl and they lived happily ever after. I must say though, the part of the movie when the main protagonists are all children is superb, irrespective of the fact that India's "underbelly" (as some high-handed critics have chosen to call it - I disagree with the usage of the term) was depicted on the screen. I have been to extremely backward parts of India's east and believe me, the movie does not even come within striking distance of portraying India's underbelly. The kid actors were awesome especially the youngest Jamal.

4. I have been a big fan of Parle-G biscuits and the other day, I wrote a little mail to the consumer cell appreciating the product. I know that in all probability, my mail would be deleted as soon as it is discovered in the inbox but nevertheless, not everything in life is meant to big and glitzy. I got great pleasure in sending the mail and that's what matters most. Maybe this is an after-effect of reading Malgudi Days.

5. I listened to Black Eyed Peas' new album "Boom Boom Pow" and sadly this comes as close to shit as possible. I don't know what must have gone thorugh the band members' mind when they were composing such songs and guess what, I don't even want to go there. I assume that this is the advantage that one enjoys by not being a die-hard fan of any one band - you don't have to take the bad with the good!

6. Tyrannosaurus Rex is back after a rebirth, albeit under a new identity. T-Rex, thou shalt be called Recession hereafter. A close confidant of mine revealed to me that my employer-to-be has brought the curtains down, temporarily atleast, on the careers of around 1500 employees without the media knowing about it. The situation clearly looks very grim and I appeal to everyone who has a stake (me included), to face the music with the chin up and at least a semblance of hope in the heart.

There is nothing more coming to my mind right now. So here ends the post.

The spirit of Entrepreneurship!

Lose yourself...
to find the true "you"...
Never get so old...
that you can't run after your dreams...

what matters is not the greenbacks...
what matters is that you are a greenhorn...
ready to take the world on...
your mind is not corrupt...
that does help...

Fun lies in the uncertainities...
Fun lies in the journey, not in the destination...
Fun lies in asking the right questions of yourself...
Have fun, they rightly say...

Have a huge appetite...
for risk, that is...
but do know your limits...
Get your calculations exact...

Interact, Ideate, Innovate, Invigorate...
then Initiate, Implement, Intensify, Improve...
and then Improvise and Inspire

Failure is heartbreaking...
Hell yeah, it is...
But it isn't permanent...
so even if you lose, don't lose the lesson...
for it may help in your next flight into your own space...
Never give up on yourself...
You are the ONE!

Hope I can inculcate this spirit in me.

God willing, India will win this Test Match!

Score update

• SR Tendulkar 27* and VVS Laxman 2*
  
• Last Batsman out - G Gambhir on 29
• India 77/3 in 26.4 overs
• India need 299 from 83 overs to win

"Cricket is my religion and Sachin is my God!"
A photograph bearing this banner by SRT's fans has become a part of cricket memorabilia. As far as I know, it was first flashed in Toronto, I may be wrong, but that hardly matters. My intention behind mentioning this is to relate it to the title of the post. India's victory is now in two pairs of hands, both of whom belong to God - one is up there in the heavens and the other is plugging away ones and twos and the occasional four at the Chinnaswami Stadium in Bangalore against a second-rate Australian bowlng attack when seen in light of the yesteryears.

I personally don't correspond to this concept of labelling human beings as God but I do think that SRT is one of the finest batsmen the world has witnessed. Also, he does have in him the ability and the experience to soldier on for the rest of the 5th day and lead India into victory's waiting arms. What remains to be seen is whether he has the gumption to do so.

If there has ever been the slightest blot on SRT's illuminating career, it has been that he hasn't won enough Test matches or ODI's for India when batting last. I still remember the heart-wrenching loss to Pakistan in Chennai in 1997 (SRT's favorite knock for me). News channels (however thoughtless they are!) are mercilessly flashing his average in the second innings which is way below his overall average. The daggers are certainly out for him, more so when Saurav Ganguly has announced his plans to retire after this series. All through his career and more so, lately, he has said that he doesn't have a point to prove to anyone. I do go by that. But his critics and detractors don't. But here the issue is proving a point to himself. Realistically speaking, this may well be his last Test series against the Numero Uno in India. Wouldn't he want to do it in grand style?
From what I have seen of him, he must be very determined to do so and Brian Lara's record would be the last thing on his mind, if at all, it is on his mind. The pitch is deteriorating, but his getting out to a ball that looks like it kept low, only because of his actions (the bat's toe touching the ground, his right hand coming off the bat in despair) would look highly ugly. He would still be in the team for the next Test even if India loses, but would that please him? I doubt. Also, he can play like he did in Sydney enroute to 241, carving out a draw, but would that please him? I doubt! (Req. RR - 3.6, Curr. RR - 2.6)

So fight on SRT. India and your mates in the dressing room back you to get the job done. This opportunity-in-disguise would never come back. We don't want to burden you with the weight of expectations. Do know that we are with you, in victory as well as defeat for you have served India like no one else. We are proud of you!

Score update

• SR Tendulkar 31* (71) and VVS Laxman 5* (32)
  
• Last Batsman out - G Gambhir on 29
• India 87/3 in 34.1 overs
• India need 299 from 83 overs to win

Edited : SRT out for 49. Huh! The match looks set to end in a draw as bad light looms large. Maybe ... If ... but ...

Union Bank of India Gold Tooth Ad

First thing first, this post and future posts under this label are courtsey this blogger - EmptyHead. Also I have used this as a guide.

Today, I start this new exercise of reviewing advertisements. As a potent form of publicity, ads have fascinated me a lot, be it the print, radio, TV or Internet version. Please be aware that the reviews are going to be totally non-technical since I'm yet to fufill my MBA dream. So, the perspective you'll get is the consumer's.

If you watch TV regularly, you could not have have missed the above advertisement. And for all you software engineers slogging at places far away from the comforts of your "Home Sweet Home", you can watch it here.

Re-branding has been the hot trend for some time now (remember Ceat and Axis Bank). Union Bank of India has undergone a complete makeover too. But it has retained its punchline - "Good people to bank with". This ad looks like a move to consolidate that idea.

Now, let us delve deep into the ad.

• First Reaction - Like all ads featuring cute children, (the girl in this ad is an angel!) this ad too manages to establish a mushy connection with the first-time viewer.
• Music - The background piece is very nice too, but you get so lost in the ad that it's hard to notice it, the first few times.
• Novelty of the idea - The catch is that the idea of getting kids to win hearts in favor of banks is not a new one. I remember a memorable ad in which a cute boy takes his piggy bank all the way from the village, protecting it fiercely from prying eyes along the way and parts it with it happily only when he gets to the bank cashier, who shows him the way to his own locker. So, whether this ad would actually appeal to the consumer to the extent where he opens an account, is questionable.
• The concept - The concept is fairly good, where the kid tries to help out the young guy in fulfilling his dream of developing a racing car and the bank tries to convey that it will help its customers in the same vein (almost like an angel investor) because "Aapke sapne sirf aapke nahi hain!". It does sound a bit cliched, but aren't ads supposed to be that way? There is a slight chance that young girls may tug at their respective (to be precise! LOL) dads to open an account in this bank, but a slight one only.
• The Appeal - The ad does hold a certain emotional appeal to the consumer as well as inherent motivation for the average bank employee since it is an ad that is straightforward, carries no extra baggage and the message does get across.
  
• Negatives - The ad has very few blatant negatives, neither does it confuse the viewer nor is it too familiar or irrelevant. But, yes, it is a bit far-fetched.
  
• Recollection - Ads are most effective when they stay in the almost schizophrenic public memory for some time. This ad definetely scores highly on this scale, primarily due to the superb acting of the kid who wonderfully exhibits a very likeable cheerfulness in collecting broken teeth from everywhere. Also, the camerawork is good.
• Overall - 4/5

Readers, please pour in with your comments. I would definetely want to improve here.

My love for Manchester United!

Manchester United Football Club is a name that makes the adrenaline flow super-fast down my neck. My love for Man United is not equivalent to my love for the Indian Cricket Team, because the latter is something that had been decided by my birth, and the raging Indo-Pak political issues added fuel to fire. This love is out of my own choice, and this characteristic alone makes it that much more special, something to write about.

I became a true-blue Red Devil during the slump years from 2003-2o05, and I am proud of this fact since it wasn't a case of me saluting the rising, or for that matter, the shining sun. I watched almost all their matches in those seasons and what struck out to me was the team's character - unrelenting in attack, always on the lookout for goals, smarting from the 8-month forced sabbatical its premier defender had to take but still fighting on.

Also, Sir Alex Ferguson, their most successful manager, always inspires a sense of trust and permanence with his passion for the club being unmatched. He has had a series of spats with players of high calibre like Ruud Van Nistelrooy, David Beckham, Roy Keane but his credentials have never been doubted. Every now and then, short-sighted people attack his throat with calls for him calling it a day. But the wise ones know that Sir Alex must be allowed to continue for as long as he wants to because if there is someone out there who can uphold the glory, it's him. His absolutely wonderful handling of the enigma that is Cristiano Ronaldo bears ample testimony to this school of thought. Also, he has been central to the change in Man United's character from a team who only knew how to score goals to a team who can attack and defend equally well. Bringing players from places like Brazil and Korea is also a first in United's history. His knack for picking players from other teams (Dimitar Berbatov from Tottenham Hotspurs, Wayne Rooney from Everton) which fit into the Reds' culture is just superb. Also, a fantastic striker of yesteryears, Ole Gunnar Solskjaer is managing the reserve team and players like Paul Ince, Roy Keane have learned the tricks of the management trade under him.

What differentiates Man United from other teams is that relatively lesser number of controversies crop up and they are handled in the most professional manner possible. Also no player is given undue latitude to get bigger than the club or the game itself. Sir Alex is in cruise control mode.

I guess if I say anything more I'll be labelled a pundit which I don't want to be. But surely, the Red Devils have it in them to go for a treble this season.

Man United, Here we go!

Untitled (deliberately!)

Poor me..
fractured leg...
my buddies...
alcohol, bootlegged...

feeling dejected...
and alone...
fighting devils...
like Mahone...

highly active...
suddenly inactive...
fortune twists...
I'm captive...

TV, Internet...
kill time...
Someone kill...
misery mine...

Sunday night...
just me, PC...
everyone says...
"take it easy"...

Mom calls...
"Everything's fine",
I tell her...
Standard line...

SMS recieved...
"Get well soon"...
If I could wish,...
would touch the moon!

Why it's me?
I wonder...
get no sunshine...
only the thunder...

Keep going?
No clue...
No more moaning...
Life's a flu!

Shine On!

There are numerous adjectives that mortals shower on men or groups possessing talent and then, there are some who rise aeons above such pettiness because of the sheer, everlasting quality of their work and more importantly, their absolute disregard for the concept of comparison. These men are so deeply involved in collating matter that flows out of their creative outlets that everything else automatically assumes secondary importance for them. This is where the highest principle of Objectivism, as stated in that God of books - "The Fountainhead" comes into the picture.

Pink Floyd is how you spell genius. This band from the UK was, is and will be the marquee name in Psychedelic Rock. I am no music connoisseur, I don't even come close to being called a dilettante. But to me, psychedelia unleashes its complete effect on the listener only when it fulfills two criteria - extraordinary poetry and unparalleled music.
If I start elaborating about the music (the absolute perfection over instruments, the tunes, the riffs, daredevil experimentation like Musique concrète et al), it would be like showing a candle to the Sun. The poetry was absolutely phenomenal too, with radicalism, surreality, allegory, philosophy, Onomatopoeia, imagery, simile and metaphor being the highlights of almost everything the band created.
But what stood out was that simplicity was never sacrificed and that vital connection with the listeners (the elixir for any band) was always established. And the back-to-the-basics idea behind the cover art lured audiences, no end!

Pessimists, critics and other related tribes have always got diatribe up their sleeves with respect to the controversies that Pink Floyd was involved in. But as they say, "Many men, many minds!".

Pink Floyd is definitely, the single most powerful source of inspiration for the novice writer, the poet in me.

I wrote this post as the words, "There's someone in my head but it's not me" reverberate in my ears through the headphone, along with the sado-masochistic laugh of a lunatic. No prizes for guessing what exactly I'm referring to - "Brain Damage" by Pink Floyd.