weather is bullshit

Haunting the corner coffee shop, sitting down in my favorite corner I wondered why some buffoons who came in ones and twos, cribbing and smoking, saying "shit man this weather is bullshit!!"

I had half a mind to "say look whos talking? at keast stop adding to b'lore's pollution!!" ( but one ws refrained by a curiously funny thought of securing a pg seat in the handicapped quota ;))

As i go around ,seeing familiar places crowded with coughing and mufflered masses of people.

I see many pairs of eyes follow my tread as i go about in my regular shirt and trousers.

what is weather really?

An excuse to stay off office?
An excuse to stay off school and drink chicken soup?
An excellent opportunity to rekindle that amorous feeling in a disintegrating marriage with a large rug and hot chocolate?
Is it an excuse to bug everyone saying "sob! i have the blues, blame it on the weather."
Is it an excuse to throw a snowball at someone and say pleasant change of weather?!!

No it just a curious consequence of all the shit we have downloaded onto this planet. maybe not in front of our own homes, but into the living rooms of millions of whales and other sealife.

Stop making all those sissy excuses and get out there with me and do your green deed for the day.
Work up a sweat walking to office/grocery store whichever is nearer.
Instead of "draggin" and "vrooomin"to impress that cute girl next door,
join her for a jog or something. Carry a trendy huge bag when going shopping. shopkeepers will smile, when you tell them that you have a bag/ paper covers only.

Yes indeed, its all that bullshit we have given our surroundings thats giving us one tight kick in the butt back.

So get out there and Show weather is plain old bullshit, lets have less of it and more of a good season.

when winter comes to the heart

It is winter. A Cold, sand papery wind blows against one's face, the sun is a brilliant coin stuck on the bright blue clear sky.

The place is stripped off all colour,burdened by gray leafless skeletons and a dusty unbeckoning road.

As one walks through these roads of a memory far too old.
The heart craves for the footfall of the One. A nook here, a corner there, where we stole a few moments from the din those days were. A tear bleaches hot on a withered skin.

Wait!!!!!!!!!!!!

What was that? A footfall? wishful thinking maybe.

Again?! its too real to be a hallucination. running helter-skelter in the ruins, seeing glimpses of a dark garment flitting around the edge of one's eye. One is hauntingly drawn, seduced maybe for that one last glimpse of HER.

Coming in to a blind alley to find a dusty old rag and nothing else, a despair creeps into one's mind to encompass it like the shadow of fangorn.

Slowly, in despair as one turns back to return, the sight so unbearably true.

Its her.

After the initial surprise clears, one notices her flowing clean robe of black, it used to be blue.
Those eyes look clear. Too clear in fact: calm and restless,
not at all like her: fiesty fiery and with abundant commotion.

As she spreads her arm beckoning one, a sense of darkness envelopes the mind. A silent scream of something forbidding. As we draw closer and finally into each others arms the darkness grows,Like unwilling eyes closing. Everything grows silent. But im alive, the only thing i hear is my heartbeat, throbbing evidence of a clinging life inside me.

In a sense of completeness, I smile.
Lucky, I think, to be dying in her arms.
and let go.....


A point of light appears from a distance, growing closer, Its is a raging tornado engulfing me in its inferno, it hardly singes me, it makes me alive. I feel the flames leaping off me like solar flares.

As i open my eyes, they meet hers. brown and wet. Real.

**********************

I had gone out to see the northern lights when I was caught in a blizzard. I almost died of hypothermia while I was brought to the hospital. But something brought me back. yes .

why did she look like death? she completes me in every way.
The way death completes life.

**********************

Still looking for her

MY SPRING...
MY FLAME...

THE CONCEPT OF HER

THE CONCEPT OF HER..

Of what maybe considered beautiful,the form of a woman is a major chunk of a man's imagination.

To an aesthete form means function.

Function here is the smashing of mans logic to smithreens and reducing him to a whimpering mass of adoring, incoherent, neural activity,
A mind numbing,art evoking force.

Analyzing this one can really fathom the innumerable ways of how SHE can overwhelm one's senses.


The gentle turn of an exposed wrist,
the sleep shattering sound of her bangles,
the eloquent swish of hair,
an angry twirl of an eyebrow,
a hesitant teardrop on the precipitous cliff of her eyelashes,
the soul piercing all seeing stare,
a loving caressing sleepy gaze,
that all revealing blush,
her courage arousing grip of his sleeve,
of confoundingly impressive feet and the shiver of the anklets as she twitters around one's mind and abode,
of reverie evoking rose petals which speak magical words,
and those heavenly curves that inhabit her.

oh man!!!!! this is just information overload and system failure.

Why are Women so Beautiful?
Friend the answer is a self effacing truth, which most of us and even they seem to believe is just plain old flattery.

Women are Beautiful because we, the men, love beautiful things.

They are the the curve to our angles,the dream in our logic,the warmth to our passion,the love in our lust,the caress in our grip,the heart in our mind.

In ways more than one, they complete us. our individual concepts of HER might differ. but the basic SHE doesn't.

Listen to the song 'you fill up my senses' by john denver.

It aptly reflects the utter failure of vocabulary to describe what one feels and experiences around each of HIS individual HER.

sorry for rambling away...

STILL SEARCHING..
SHE REMAINS MY ULTIMATE ANSWER.
(to this and to everything else in my life)

To delhi and back again..

Unidentified flying object files:
Declassified: Nov 3rd 2007.



Specs: 90 kgs, spectacled male
Identifications: male of homosapiens sapiens sapiens var. dravidus.
Start time: 1135 hours latititude longitude (over Bangalore domestic airport)
Flight path: take off easterly bank hard left and north westerly over Bellary to pune and onward to Delhi
Mean altitude at cruise: 39000ft, 914km/h,-15 deg centigrade outside, a pleasant 21 deg centigrade inside.
Life was a humdrum rollercoaster of ups and downs
Mostly in the comfort zone of what I had grown to be, here in Bangalore.
Acceleration: about a g and a half at take off.


Arriving here by the two take offs and two landings method.
I was amazed.

Fat man flying!!.

Enough said.

The Delhi experience
Well, the Delhi experience begins thus:

The experience began even before I set foot there. Sitting in the first window seat of the glittering winged bird that bore me aloft, I saw that big grey blue cloud hanging over the horizon. I expected a movie like –city, large and glittering, arising as we moved towards it.

That was not to be. All we could make out from the height was a city cloaked in grey blue smog. The famous Delhi veil.

Then Capt. Singh thanked us for flying spice jet.

The air was thick with the infamous ‘Delhi smog’ and the sun sinking at 1630 pm.
‘Alright.’ was the only expression I could muster.

The terminal was a thick hustle and bustle of taxi men and chauffeurs waiting for their passengers.

I really noticed was the gun toting police and army men everywhere.
Then onto the bus stop for the ISBT






It took me 4 hours to fly from Bangalore to Delhi(~2000km) and 4 hours to get from terminal to civil lines metro(~40 km).

Delhi had shown me what its traffic was capable of.
Already.

What is really important is what I felt than what I saw...

It is a truly big city. With a touch of impersonality, very conducive to the lone wolf that some people call me. What really struck me was - it is an all welcoming city, a deserving capital of the country. The uniformity that the language brings is so intense and practical. If you appear Indian they expect you to make an effort to speak in Hindi. Shopkeepers advertise that Hindi speakers will be honoured first, and they really mean it. I saw some fellow south Indians learning that that the hard way.


Public transport in Delhi is ubiquitous. DTC (Delhi transport corporation) running on eco-friendly CNG and ISBT (inter state bus transport) are efficient and numerous, they ARE effective modes of transport however foreboding and rickety they may look.

Roads are the pedestrian nightmare-large and ridden with fast moving ATTRACTIVE traffic (attractive to the auto buff, especially 4 wheelers. I saw many Porsche Cayenne and Audis, 1 murcielago, and 3- 911 turbo (996) s)
The saving grace from this onslaught was the subways, found almost everywhere.

The crowning glory in Delhi’s history of public transport is already here and in the making- a super efficient metro.

It’s almost half complete. It is very streamlined well maintained and supremely fast.
So much so that some driving junkies save their well tuned rides for the weekends.

Even though I lived at civil lines (at a private and well guarded installation), my daily commute took me an easy 45kms and in almost no discomfort.
Strangely though, I did hire the infamous auto rickshaw only twice. Rickety, noisy and extremely expensive, I would say they are better avoided except emergencies.

The city itself was a colourful, chaotic, impersonal, and patriotic.
Our Mecca of medicine- AIIMS Looks dilapidated but is a strong technical ground for finesse in each of its specialities.

After the exam, I shall not say anything except that it was an enlightening experience.
I went to see the Qutub minar; it is a simultaneously happy and sad. The engineering marvel that it is, the craftsman ship and the dedication overwhelm us.

The hall however contains pillars stolen from temples plundered by the invaders. It is a sad story of a fragmented India, looted and plundered by invaders. Of the misinterpretation of religious texts and the defacing of art that even now can move one to tears.

One always comes away feeling that the hard work and toil of a sect did not deserve that treatment, when right next to it, was built a tower that is also mirror to mankind’s craftsmanship.

Art- no matter who’s always deserves to live.

The penultimate evening I had my tryst with the gen x Delhi- Connaught place.

In all its commercial glitter and grandeur. With its well laid out plan of the inner and outer circle and a cleverly disguised metro underground station in the centre. It was the heart of Delhi. Truly.

On my return journey, I was missing Delhi at the security check itself.
One last spectacle from the air, with Delhi lit for primetime business, the glittering capital bid me a fond and reluctant adieu.

I want to go back.
Soon, if for good, better.

Three cheers to our capital
Three cheers to our nation,
Three cheers to the fat man flying.