There is no spoon

After about 3 years since I have started uploading the stuff I write to fend off the evil within me into this blog, I am here to make an alteration... Nay, to completely modify the preamble to this hellhole in which I had stated long back that this would be something to check the sensibility and rightness of my perspectives.




In course of the three years that followed, this blog went all zigzag reflecting my mood swings, turmoils in my psyche and the petty triumphs and defeats at various phases of my life.


In that way, I admit that there is no point at all in correcting something which has lost all its relevance in those wild fluctuations that the entire blog underwent. Anyway, the heat and blinding light from the slanted rays of the April afternoon sun trapped by the translucent glass window of my room instilled a couple of realisations in me along with a severe headache. I’m here to share them, for I believe that gloom is something that the world deserves to have a share of.



What I realised was that there is no spoon. No right perspectives and no wrong perspectives. You can bend it according to your whims since there isn’t one. The whole realisation thing was easy because I myself had a split personality and all I had to do was throw a perspective at them and watch the creepy assholes battling fiercely trying to kill each other over it.


While the translucent window was busy, I was lying on the bed drenched in sweat listening to “The room on top of the stairs” and suddenly I realised that it was not a beautiful country song about ethereal love, but a veiled narrative of how an asshole frequently took a chick upstairs and nailed her. The splits fought about it for a while till I declared the verdict that it could be anything.


You see, that’s the whole difficulty. The fucking perspectives bend. They bend sideways, forward, behind or even go for a full circle.


So what’s the point?


What’s the point in writing about the freakin’ perspectives?


Nothing.


Therefore, no more spoon talk from now on.

Red Doom, Part-I

 

Only I knew it. The secret that would save the world. Beer. 

April 18^th, 2011. A Monday that would not only begin the week but the destruction of the human species as well. 

No one had ever thought that the so called “advanced” human race would be annihilated from the face of the planet earth which they proudly reigned and that too by a bunch of creatures with technologies at which human beings would have, in another context laughed their asses off. 

Infra red. They used infra red beams for everything. From assessing the conditions to planning the attack. And not a “technologically advanced” human soul except me detected it. 

I spend days watching the night sky through the electronic viewfinder of my Digital Camera because I didn’t have a telescope. The 30X Digicam was my only option to watch the sky magnified. And I detected the beams. The blue streaks. Weeks and weeks, I watched the blue streaks blipping, forming chaotic patterns with undecipherable messages. Initially, I reckoned it was some kind of satellite activity. 

But one night, lying in a puddle of beer beside the splintered bottle on the terrace, I saw it. One of them. It came near me and winced at the sight of the beer. And it withdrew. Whatever it was that it feared in the stinking brewed malted barley, saved my life.  

Waking up next day in the clothes stiff with dried beer, I found my camera gone. They knew that I knew. That was why I was visited. 

Should I run through the streets warning the mortals blissfully living their lives of the impending doom? I’d rather not. Watching them being taken by surprise will be more enjoyable. 

Got a couple of cases of Heineken and few packets of Act II. Let the battle begin. 

-----

Die mortals. Die. Die like dogs.

 

End of Kraz - Part I

     Dust storm finally engulfed the powdering bones of Kraz. Dried up flesh of vultures which greedily fought for his flesh months back tried hard to beat the wind from blowing them away. The desert was a curiously efficient machinery that creepily reduced everything to dust. First it was his hopes, then his dreams, then it was his will and finally through a hundred corporeal and incorporeal aspects that shaped and described the entity that once existed by the name of Kraz Arkin, it was his bones. As the white powder went up the air mixing with a trillion grains of beige, yellow, orange, red and brown, Kraz was reduced to the myth of a legendary blogger whose tale grannies told wide-eyed kids who’d later have nightmares about dust storms and vultures. 

---------

Either the asshole Kraz will resume blogging or I’ll keep posting more nonsense about his end.

Fragment

You are with a unusually cute gal in a lift which malfunctions and you both spend some time trying to sort the trouble out and smiles at each other during the process and manages to get out of it and you both get inside a functioning lift and are both on your way up to your respective floors and suddenly she strikes up a conversation with you about your work and sort and when the lift stops where she has to get off, asks if she could meet you when you are free anytime in the next 2 or 3 hours so that she could talk something with you and you give her your number telling her to call you whenever she is free. 

Since it was happening in India, involving me with an impeccable record of screw ups and a total lack of confidence in miracles from the past experiences in life, I keyed down the following possibilities in the next two excruciatingly slow hours: 

1. Insurance Policy

2. Multilevel Marketing

3. Some weird product for sale (Height enhancing insoles or a set of Books)

4. Emigration

5. Higher Studies Abroad 

Gave me a ring after some time and we met. It was something I should have added, Charity. She worked for CRY. Told her I required more help than any of her CRY kids and she left disappointed.

And I crawled back to the dreary asylum that the courtroom offered.

Hopes

 

 

Sometimes, all that is needed to be convinced about the possibilities of life getting better is reading some old journal entries. Found these two while fishing for some lost documents.

"Existence - Log Entry

08^th June 2010

Somewhere in Rajasthan

Half lying cuddled in a woollen blanket on the upper berth of a fresh train scatting over the metal and wood rail stretched across the arid landscape of Rajasthan, insulated from the blistering summer outside by the electrically treated air, I comfortably cud  some old existentialist dilemmas... 

The recent past will slowly become a dream. Stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the truth and after fighting for a while, I will adjust to it. Then I will be back to routine. Delhi. Dust storms. Occasional Rains. Filth. Crowded Markets. Disgruntled lawyers. Sleepy courtrooms.

And I will soon forget. That there is not one but many chains. That they aren’t tightening together but independently. At their own pace.  

09 July 2010
Delhi

Another scorcher shattering the hopes of better days. All those rain showers and the furore done with.

Got fried inside the oven again. Funny how the climate affects outlook. A mere 20 minutes drive in the sun did the damage. Internal thermo recorded 47, sparking off discontent.

Again the routine. Weary steps all the way up the stairs. Kept knocking for about a minute. Door opened with mumbled apologies. Staggered into the room. Everything just the same. The windows that never let anything in or out, even air. A huge pile of clothes for laundry. Unkempt bed. A worn old blazer that fell off from the chair as usual.

It was time to play my part. Open the window. Sigh at the clothes. Restore the blazer to the chair. Throw the socks to someplace under something and make it disappear from the picture. Fall on the unkempt mess. Stare at the ceiling with the dusty fan that struggled in circles. Close the eyes and forget the place. Wake up with a headache, drenched in sweat. Blankly stare at the lizards clinging to the ceiling. Cliché stuff I’d read somewhere. Life, in its myriad forms.

Watched a couple of movies after long, at a stretch. The Secretary, Presumed Innocent and Goodfellas. First one turned to be a worthless softporn and the other two curiously had the guys getting into trouble from infidelity. Probably a message for me. Just like forbidding someone from doing something. Say it and the hitherto alien idea grows on him.

How better can life ever get??? Probably this is the tip. It’s the decline that’ll follow. Stay in this tip or go for the decline. Maybe decline is effortless. Better than dragging oneself all the way up. Just slide down the mountain... Yipeeee...”

Well, it hasn’t got any worse than that yet. Something hopeful.