Tuesday, September 22, 2009


I'd better clarify things so that some people important to me stop worrying about what is happening to me.
A lot of you guys have been reading my blog posts, and status updates on Facebook and been asking me if everything is alright.
It all alright folks!
I'm like this only and I've always been this way since the day I was born.
Hyper, absurd, loud, crazy, almost insane as they say... but yet its been like totally ok for me to be the way that I am because of the acceptance and understanding of those who have always been closest to me.
I think now, my father must have known that since I was really young, and worried about how I'm going to get along in life being the way I was, which is why he pushed me to read and read and read more till I would fall apart as a child and wonder if all the things which were written in the texts that I was lapping up were going to be of any significance to my life in my later years at all. It was always a problem for my folks to get me to bite into a book, but once I did, I wouldn't stop chewing on it.
This went on for many years until, as a result of it, I started writing.
That, I remember was my dad's most proud moment when I wrote my first play and showed it to him. He loved it and that was enough for me.
Thereafter I continued to write, and couldn't stop, like all writers do. I carried on reading more as time went on and I grew up to devour more complexed literature. I enabled myself with the ability to watch, absorb and observe, and then comment through my writing in a manner that didn't offend anybody, but shook up almost everybody. Once my father was clear that I was a writer, he was confident that I would make a living and also be able to cloak my eccentricities behind the veil of an intellectual aura... because if he hadn't prepared me in such a way, people would have really thought I'm mad. :)
Words consume me and compel me. I live with a constant monologue in my head as I go about the normal things that people usually do in a day. That monologue is a racy assimilation of my observations of what is going on around me. Used to be a chaotic experience at first, but has toned itself into a soothing rendition quite often layered with some interesting background piece of music, to make it more acute and dramatic.
I have lived my entire life so far like this. Making comparisons of people in life, with characters from fiction, and events in the surroundings with mysteries of the deeper mind.
The only people who can hang it there and be my friends for long times to come are those who understand that I am doing bakwas and talking nonsense... the rest get terribly terrified and run away. Its not that I haven't  understood this but whenever I have tried to give others the time to understand me first, before I reveal myself, the fake behavior has boomeranged on my face so badly, that its been even worse. There has been many a time when I've had to explain my actions to others as precociousness or dark humor. But those whom I've hurt have been unforgiving and left me in pain and regret.
I often wonder if I should change. And when I did change once, for a few years in time, I harmed myself so badly that I am still recovering. I became sensible, decent, humble, kind, caring and soft spoken. This destroyed me. I went from pillar to post looking for myself again and finally, having walked through the murkiest and darkest lanes of life, reached here, where I am today. Back to being myself, only surrounded by the people who are either as crazy as I am, or at the least desire to be, therefore understand me.
My family and those few friends with whom I can laugh after having spilled out the sharpest razor edged comment which could have left an unknown to my sense of description and humor, slashed to bits and bleeding profoundity.
Gosh! Had my father been alive, he would've never let me go through the mind altering experience of becoming whom I wasn't. But having said that, I guess he was taken away from me so he could not be there to protect me when I plunged into an abyss of darkness on an impulse to know what else there is to life.
I'm glad I'm back, hurt, but not without the capacity to heal myself.
I also returned having found, what else there was to life.....
To know that, you will have to read my next blog post :)
But I must end this piece by saying, "Guys I'm alright. Don't worry for me because I'm just a writer, playing with words like you do with your tools. While your tools are inanimate, I want you to know that words, however harmless they are, are animated and therefore capable of throwing you off, although you'd wish it was the writer who had lost balance at the edge of the cliff, instead."

Sunday, September 6, 2009


Procrastinating, specially if I have some work to deliver, is my most comforting pass time.
For years I've made music my best known excuse, because it's quite interestingly convincing to tell myself that it inspires me to think, which then drives me to write.
So I start my day, just before the date of delivery, with promises I make to myself and setting targets.
Then I set out to write, opening pages, aligning and realigning them to suit my state of mind.
I casually go to my music to surf through my collection, which I also term doodling, and then find a track which goes well with the mood for what I have to write.
I tell myself that I will listen to one track to get myself in with the space I need my head to be with, and go for it. I avoid confronting the truth that the next ten odd tracks are one better than the other and that I haven't heard them for ages.
So while I make myself comfortable on the couch to spend just as much time as it takes for one track to end, my dog Charlie repositions himself somewhere close to me. He knows me better than I admit to myself that I do. He knows now that I am here for a while.
At least an hour.
He knows after one track ends and the next begins, I'm bound to shout out to my maid and ask her to give me a cup of tea.
And he also knows that by the time I'm done with the tea another couple of tracks will have played out.
So now, and hour or sometimes more, are past and I'm deep in my thoughts.
Music makes me either nostalgic or takes me into an unknown world of fantasy, depending on how ancient or comtemporary my choice has been for the moment.
I travel back, or ahead in time. I particularly enjoy going ahead these days for the badgering I've got from some friends about the power of such positive thinking that you can make what you imagine happen.
I go far away from where I should've been to slowly glide myself into work which is lying waiting for me, and at the end of an hour or two realize that I have veered much further away than where I should've been before I had ventured on this little trip of mine.
Now I need to come back, but it's lunch time.
Gosh! I havn't eaten lunch with my daughter for very long, have I?
So Charlie goes wagging his tail to Sandhya, as I call out to her, to put my lunch alongwith my daughter Ritchelles, on the table. (Normally I pick food up in the form of a rolled up chappati with sabzi or dry meat or something and walk around the house pretending to be thinking of what I should write next).
Now I end up having this long lunch with Ritchelle asking her inane questions, which I know are irritating her no end, because, like Charlie, even she knows what I am up. I'm being unnecessarily interfering with her, so I tell her that I just have to get to work now and leave the table.
I go to the wash room through my bed room and as I step out, my bed invites me, and I accept.
Bloody hell, this is crazy, the sun is setting now.
Sandhya is walking around the house shutting windows and turning lights on in the house.
I'd better play this one last track, get into the mood and get down to what I have to. There's only but a few hours left to deliver. This is the nth time I have promised the person to whom I have to deliver my work that he will have it on his desk top when he gets to his office the next morning.
I can't let him down.
I turn on the music. This time it is Techno Trance. The perfect waves of sound which are going to steer me towards where I need to be in my head. Its Tiesto, or its Shiva Shidapu...
Hell... back to back tracks that somtimes run for over an hour each.
Gimme a spliff and here I am, completely ready to write.

Midnight..... :(
I only have the next three to four hours of wake left.
Facebook is going beserk with activity I'm addicted to.
The friends I'm hooked on are waiting online. I'm afraid they'll go offline if I turn my eyes away from the spellings of their names twinkling at me.
It's 2am and I'm angry with myself.
I shut everything out.
I go to the page perfectly aligned and lying waiting for me to paint it with some of my black humor.
I go for it, as I chain smoke, often letting a stick lie on the brim of the ashtray and wear itself out.
It's over.
Done, loaded and sent :)
6am, it is.
Charlie's just woken up and needs to go for a walk.
I don't want to see day break, but he is happy to.
As I crawl into my bed after a cup of tea finally, I swear I will never do this to myself again.
But here I am, this Sunday, doing it all over again.
As Sandhya waddles around shutting windows and turning lights on, I'm writing my blog, another time pass I've found which goes kinda well in a lunatic way, with music.
It's going to be a long night.....