Days and Journeys.

Yesterday was about all that is perfect. About long walks, beautiful books and even more idyllic words. About the pertinence of not only sounds, but the quanta of silence that separates them. About how moments often encase perfection within them, much like hands clasp around a candle flame... to nurture it. It was also about the fragility of that very perfection, and what it takes to keep it inviolable. Close to the heart. 

Today, I'm packing my bags to fly to distant lands. To leave things to what they are for a little while. To let it simmer, and brew by itself. But I know that that is just me deluding myself. I am now tied to it in a multitude of ways, by the kind of cords one hopes to grow someday. Like convoluted roots that link a resplendent tree to the earth and all the beauty of the world. No matter how far I go and what I do, I leave a part of myself right here, waiting to be reclaimed and find itself with more reasons to spread its wings and take over my world, making it a better place to be in with every passing second. 

Tomorrow, I will be sitting about 2400 miles away, musing about time past and time present and time future and the non-redeemability of it all. And how the luxury of occasionally not being in control comes at a  hefty price, for the uneasy bearer of heavy crowns.  

...and so, providence takes its cue from man.

There comes a time...

...when life takes on a color you've never tasted. So complex, that it leaves you in awe. So perfect, that you can't believe your eyes. So complete, that it fills up a void, the vastness of which you had never even come close to estimating. All the bitterness of years and ages fades away, leaving not even a reminder of itself behind. Evaporates into thin air. That is when you know exactly what Neruda meant when he spoke of what spring does to cherry trees.

It's overwhelming. In ways beyond anything that the mind can comprehend. Beyond anything that can be approximated in the most delicate of words. Beyond time, beyond space, beyond all that is real and all that is not. It's not just a moment. Because time simply decides to halt, sometimes. Because a thousand wishes choose to come together and culminate in a magnum opus. Symphonies and chords that the world seems to dance to. It's sheer thrill. It's exhilaration. It's breathlessness. It's beauty itself. 

Because sometimes, when you really want something... the universe really does conspire to give it to you. 

And this, indeed, is euphoria.

Valentine Bish-Bash.

It's THAT time of the year again. Every teenaged punk in my neighbourhood is blaring sappy love-songs out of their respective mega-horsepower surround sound stereo systems. I am being visually assaulted by all the heart-shaped balloons and balloon-shaped hearts. I'm in bang-center of a major FML-phase, and it is definitely not a "valentine thing" that's causing it. 

(After a thoroughly satisfying session of Valentine-bashing, bitchy punning, and collective puke-hurling at the pink, mushy, coochie-coo plague.)

ENTER The Eternal Optimist.

TEO: Blah blah blah blah!!!... From deep inside, we all know that we need someone!

Me: Yes. A psychiatrist. 

       But we also make do with bartenders sometimes.  

I suppose that sums up my approach to all matters of the heart. Or it did, at least. Once upon a time, I believed that love and happiness came together. Then I was convinced that happiness(the non-delusional variety) doesn't exist at all. Never thought I would see a day when I would have to choose between the two. Or an abstraction of one of the two. I don't believe that either fades away, but sometimes both are capable of turning into something barely recognizable. Behold, a tiny slice of the FML-scenario! 

Incidentally, this was last year's post. Strange patterns I'm charting out here.

Bottled Thrills.

Clicked in my college's canteen by a fellow student, and sent on Gtalk. 

Yes, this be my new claim to fame. I shall be the local brand ambassador. Monuments will be erected in my honor. Line up for autographs, s'il vous plait! I come in "cola", "lime", "crazy", "crazier", and "OMFG!!!". 

Also, I contain no fruit juice or pulp. Thank you for your time.

A Crucial Matter.

There was a time when I seriously considered snitching potassium cyanide from the school chemistry lab, and feeding it to someone.A little over 3 years later, I might be meeting that person over cosmopolitans soon. 

The above statement might implicate me in a murder trial someday. Or, it might implicate her, in case she decides to poison me or drive a chainsaw through me in a dark alley or worse. 

P.S. You've got to love encounters with ex-arch enemies. Puts "living deliberately" on a whole different level.

P.P.S. I've had an unusually dramatic life. Contrary to probable assumptions, I haven't always been overly "dramatizing" it. It's true. 

P.P.P.S. I wish this was entirely a joke. Guess what? It isn't.

Time and Wagers.

Suppose I was a stranger in a strange land. Standing atop a sand dune, watching all that exists bathed in the molten gold that a setting sun spews onto the world. I would walk endlessly on the roasted sand, singeing my painted toes just a little... just enough. I would walk against the harsh wind, feeling it whip my hair around in a tangled mess(like I always preferred it), sting my skin just a little, and whisper sweet nothings to me in a painfully familiar voice. Have it hurt just enough to be comfortable, in exact measures and slow degrees. Because one always needs more of it, after a while. I would look above and see the birds. Not quite the sort you would want to wish upon, but one doesn't expect miracles anyway. So I would murmur those lines I  leave scribbled on a piece of paper, in library books for a stranger to see. And I would walk calmly, taking in the beauty of constant motion doomed to be frozen in time. There was a time when they had a word for that, I think. But time decays. Itself and all that is around or in it. Memory is all that is cursed with immortality. Curses, after all, also come in masquerade. 

I would then turn and look at my imprints in the sand, and think about things that will never be spoken and probably wouldn't be heard. And I would go on walking on feet that are now numb, except for a violent shudder that runs up the spine every now and then. I would see iridescent streaks of color emanating from a distant ball of fire on the horizon, and laugh exactly the way I did about fairy-tales and the tall tower that no one could get to. I would remember something and bend down to scoop a handful of gold dust, and let it slip out from my fingers like liquid silk. Then, I would start walking again.

And right there, I would have lost another of our little wagers because I would still be going exactly where the wind takes me, like you once said I would. But I would still have a lot to gain, you see. It's taking me a little further from you. 

...

Cast ye bottle into the sea.

Oh, dear world of borrowed opinions... I have lost my patience for you. Imaginations made of colourful paper-cutouts and convictions straight out of the late-night special. I'm done. I quit. I shall no longer try to rationalize with you. Ridicule be the new policy of choice.

To re-quote the guy my lecturer for Organizational Behavior likes to quote-"Never argue with an idiot, for they bring you down to their level and then beat you with experience." Right.

Orange Clouds Raining in My Head.

I'm often asked why I'm so in awe of Tori Amos, after all these years. Well, here's why:

Silent all These Years


My scream got lost in a paper cup.
You think there's a heaven where
some screams have gone?
I got 25 bucks and a cracker
do you think it's enough to get us there?

'Cause what if I'm a mermaid?
in these jeans of his with her name still on it.
Hey, but I don't care
'Cause sometimes
I said sometimes I hear my voice
And it's been here
Silent all these...

I'm pretty sure this is one of the most powerful songs I've ever come across. An intense story embedded in each stanza. How could it possibly not inspire awe? 11 years hence, it still does.

Confession #4.

No matter how insanely masochistic it may be, sometimes you find yourself digging up fragments of the past. Little pieces of the puzzle you never noticed, an odd little message buried somewhere in time, and some that weren't meant for you... that you were never supposed to see. But no matter how much it aggravates you, you don't want to stop. And you keep clawing through the thorns. Deeper...and deeper.

Sappy 91% waning gibbous night. 

Internet archives be damned.