zzzzz

"So you sell dreams, is it?"
"Yes"

"For how much?"
"Depends on how big you want your dream to be"

"I see. Aren't you being eccentric here? How can you possibly sell a dream?! And where would you find customers for them anyway??"
"Haah ! So many people need to dream. They would do anything, pay any price to dream the dream they want."

"See, you're being vague again. People have the ability to dream weaved into their subconscious. It's the nature of the human mind. You can't possibly teach someone how to dream for heaven sake ! It's absurd!!"
"I am not teaching them. I don't intend to. I am just selling the dreams. What they want to do with it is their problem, not mine."

"But.."
"But ?"

"You're just being intentionally obscure here. Deliberately wasting my time. I am complaining to the writer right now. I want a different character with me."
"Why?"

"Because with you, the story isn't going anywhere!"
"Where do you want it to go?"

"How the hell should I know!? Depends on the writer."
"But where do you want it to go?"

"I don't know! Never thought about it. Besides it doesn't matter what I think or want."
"Why not?"

"Because! We are characters in a friggin story, that's the hell why !! We are not supposed to have human faculties."
"Do you want to have human faculties? To have real emotions and not borrowed sentiments? To be able to live out your own story in real time and not drive someone else's thought train towards a predetermined destination?"

"That isn't how it works. We live out our lives as defined for us by the writer. It cannot be otherwise. Because that would be...umm... betrayal of sorts."
"I didn't ask you for what works or doesn't,  my friend. Would you like it to be otherwise?"

"Umm.. well, yes sometimes I do wish I was doing something else instead of meekly following orders, I guess. But that's just sometimes."
"But you do feel it."

"Yes, because I sometimes wish things were different. It's like getting crushed under a terrible uncertainty because I don't know if things would have been different if I were not a character and had a voice of my own. That is a horrible paradox to suffer."
"I see. So what do you do then? Do you do anything about it? Do you want to be in a different story?"

"Umm.., yes, maybe a different story would be nice."
"What kind of story do you want to be in?"

"Actually I don't want to be in a story anymore. I want to write my own. I have it all in the head, the story, swirling about in an inchoate gooey mass !"
"Ah that's good."

"Yes. I barely have the time or inclination to think about it. Circumstances don't really permit you to dream, especially if you're a lead character! But sometimes I can't help it. The mind wanders and suddenly I start dreaming about things banished into the dark recesses of practised pretension, that is our subconscious."
"I see."

"But thanks for your words. I guess even getting a fleeting glimpse of what I actually want provides enough sustenance to fight on, eh ?!"
"Yeah, it sure does. That will be 49.50 dollars. No cheques please."

Just another walk

An eventful birthday month ! 10 years back 'eventful' translated to a party with cake, friends, family and the occasional LSD (well not true... just trying to be cool here). Anyway, now at 23+ 'eventful' doesn't seem to have the same positive vibe to it.

On my birthday I went for a walk. Yes, nothing fancy. No rave parties, no hookers drenched in Beer or covered with Gelato. Just a walk. The apartment complex is located right beside (almost right on top of!) the sea and they have a wonderfully long and broad strip of road for residents to jog, run or take uber-melancholic walks along. Steel railings are present to ensure no one jumps in for a swim, as they have a swimming pool for that, duh !

Anyway, the weather being very dark, very overcast with just the right amount of chill in the air that makes you yearn for a cup of chai or coffee, a walk seemed to be a very alluring proposition. The parking lot opens into the walking lane so I had to endure that space again. It's slightly depressing to see a Porsche Carrera followed by a Cayenne, followed by a Lamborghini, followed by a Ferrari and so on and so forth. The cars will look at you arrogantly and mock your servile existence as you think of what she must be like beneath the hood!! Umm.. moving on then..

Weather conditions hadn't changed the general mood of the city. Not that it's necessary though. But there are little things which perhaps tell you what the fabric of the city is all about. I remember in Calcutta, dusky clouds are enough to set off a ripple of excited anticipation, frustration, surprise (if you're from the Met office), and romance depending on which demography you fall under: young school/college crowd, office goer, the busy housewife who must collect the clothes left out in the open to dry. Everyone has a reason to love/hate the rains. And everyone has an inherent reaction to it. But here, people seem practically devoid of emotion. They walk on unperturbed by the fact that the sun has slipped quietly into the dark clouds. Almost hurt by the lack of acknowledgement of its existence on part of these people marching busily ahead. The first drops of rain caress the glass walled skyscrapers urgently. Then they hit the smooth as silk and parched as a desert concrete in vain. But it can't touch the people, they have opened their fashionable Gucci umbrellas quickly and in time.

When I walk back, it must have been around noon, the streets are empty. A slight drizzle made the air more nippy than it was and the roads ahead looked like a pencil sketch, all grey.
 

Return of the Jaded

What is this space? It seems oddly familiar. Just like that nagging sense of deja vu that hits you repeatedly and you simply cannot dispel it away, until you give coherence of some sort to that nagging, annoying feeling. Until you finally see and recognize. And remember.

*melodramatic pause*

No shit, It's my blog ! I rediscovered it after ages. I left it. Abandoned it. Betrayed it. Or I just was too goddamn lazy. I think it's the last. But things have changed so much since then on a personal level that this place offers a strange warm comfort. This obscure insignificant speck in the blogosphere reminds me of simpler times. Of a fuzzy period in my life when all the root cause of anxiety was the low talktime in my phone and the stash of porn CDs under the study table cleverly marked "Science Project". In short it reminds me of less fucked-up times.

Although I'm teetering on the edge of regurgitating every little emotional capsule that I have been digesting over this period of long absence, I will hold most of it back. When I started blogging, I promised myself to never adopt the 'personal diary' angle. I wanted to be a serious blogger. I wanted to be taken seriously. But then I discovered the fourth cardinal sin: sloth. Love at first sight, I'd say.

Let me not digress. So yes, this space reminds me of simpler times. Evoking nostalgia and shit, you know what I'm saying. Which is why I'm here. Trying to write. That's another issue with me these days, "Trying" to write. Words don't flow as much as I'd like them to, these days. Which is odd given the fact that I went on to do a motherfuckin MA in Journalism and am currently in the field of "communication" : see the irony? no? Just me then. Probably it's to do with my current non-existent social life devoid of inspiration of any kind. More importantly the lack of a stable career as I still haven't figured out where the fuck I'm headed.

Anyway, since I am in an existential shithole of sorts at the moment, I thought the best way forward would be to simplify things. So, in an attempt to avoid over-complicating things, I have decided to seek refuge in this blog. And write more often. Yes ! That's my 2011 resolution.

Also high on my resolution list is to get a lapdance and a 6-pack.
Believe.

Peace ][