Cloud Storage

What must it feel like to be a memory?
To be stored somewhere, dormant, impotent for an undisclosed and unimaginably infinite amount of time.
To possess the ability to instill nearly any possible cocktail of emotions in somebody.

Come to think of it, we're all memories in a way, already. Where even digitally captured moments can soon turn us to into old dusty photographs. Where we may soon be referred to as someone's better half, someone's father, someone's dear friend.
We live in a cynical world that allows us to partially but still peacefully exist in oblivion and then catches us by the throat and calls us to do our memory-related duties.
But in the very sense of dualism that only you and I may be able to comprehend, we are also, not, memories now.
All that surrounds us, all that we choose to surround ourselves with, the faces we see, faces we choose to love, the faces we unknowingly and uncontrollably admire, are all happening now.
The memories you call upon now and all the related thought processes are all happening now.
Do you not think of that as a good thing?

Im in that extraordinary place where everything is special, and nothing is.
Where nothing is invisible but not everything is entirely visible.
And yes, that makes perfect sense.

I can only hope, that memory or not, I have a good time.

You can carry on now.
-
V

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Although I wrote this only sometime back, they are collected feelings of late today morning and the after-effects of watching The Perks Of Being A Wallflower, which I liked.
As for the title, keeping in mind the content of the piece, is like my pun on how we store memories now.

Now Reading : Darkly Dreaming Dexter - Jeff Lindsay
Now Listening : Again - Archive
                         Red Dust - Zero 7
Now Feeling: Pretty damn good man.

Of All Things Lively

Hello.

Maybe its been too long since I wrote here. Maybe it hasn't.
But somehow, no matter how much I try, I can't write unless there's that sudden spark of inspiration.
I always imagine an artist can doodle something anytime. And a musician can always make a tune in progress.
Maybe writers pen short fiction and poems in these mid-spaces where inspiration is absent.
But somehow I can't.

Although I do have a pretty radical explanation to it.

What if what I perceive as inspiration isn't it? What if there's more? What if every moment until you realize you're inspired is in some way a small parcel of the overall inspiration?
Reading that sentence makes me shudder at how optimistic I am sometimes. I like being realistic. If you're gonna drown, you're gonna drown. Can't really tell you the water's nice and warm then, can I?
But maybe as humans we're programmed to believe in something? To always hope. To always look up and hope to see something that prolongs this eternal hope.
That line made me a little sad. But sadly enough, it is the truth. 

On unrelated notes, thanks to the unreliability in availability of an Internet connection in India, I've started maintaining a journal. Its probably something I should have done a long while back, but I guess something kept stopping me.

I hope  to find more meaning to life in the emptiness of the pages that will no doubt be filled.

And if you've been reading this all along and somehow within you a voice agrees, that maybe this dude has a point (most of the time), then Im being bold enough to ask you if agreeing with me has indeed affected you?
Its probably the most powerful thing someone can do. Inspire.
Especially unintentionally.
Imagine if someone shaped their lives based on something you once said. Or an action you once did.

But I said I was a realist. And that includes acknowledging the other side of the coin. Its an act of inspiration. Doesnt require that the person continue to be that way all the time. Or even that the particular quality you found interesting about someone is no longer there. That doesn't necessarily make them uninteresting or uninspiring but it sure as hell makes me wonder.

Why stories should have definite endings.
Because more often than not, its enough that we know of one incident and learn to move on from the experience and not let it rule us.
Like how in Asterios Polyp, they choose not to show anything beyond Asterios reuniting with his lover. Somehow its the best ending the book can leave you with. The knowledge that he has gained redemption, meaning and he's reunited with the woman who completes him, however abstract a concept that might be.

Maybe we too should choose the endings for certain moments in our lives. Save on the pain and spread some love, maybe.

Try reading this listening to Dawn at the Deuce and Sail on Soothsayer by Buckethead.

I shall end now, hoping that its adequate to say no more,

V

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Now Reading - Transmetropolitan

Now Listening - Sail on Soothsayer - Buckethead

                              Kaliyuga - Engine Earz Experiment

                              Khoya Khoya Chand - Kala Bazaar

Now Feeling  - Calm?

Fire In The Hole

Its that time of my life again when I have an exam coming up and have a compulsive urge to write.

Exams bring out another side of me. An irritable, sleep-deprived, hungry, bored and slightly, sorry, extremely confused side.

I dont remember the last time I was excited because of an exam. Many of you might actually say who does? But there are people like that. And in all probability, you fit into the slickest of groups and just blend and wait there. Wait for an exam to let your true side awaken.
Dont protest, we all know who you are. Question is, do you?

Past the pleasantries.


I often ask myself if I dislike exams because I dont do well in them. And I've done well a few times and the answer was no. I still didnt like the exam.
I then asked myself if I hated what they asked in the exam. Then I realized I hate examinations as an institution. As a concept. I hated how it has become a part of my wonderful life. Always around when I dont need it.

I had a physics exam today and it went better than I hoped it would. Needless to say I still dint enjoy writing it. A guy, like 4 desks in front of me puked halfway through. God knows what he ate last nite.
And twice after that the fire alarm rang, screwing my already pounding head. It happens all the time where I study, some dude (or dudette, with all due respect) pulls the alarm giving us an easy 5 minute breather.
This time, everyone, including me, had the idea that it was all just a joke and you wouldn't really care.
Or so I thought.
I could handpick maybe 15-20 people who actually looked back both times.
For the sake of an argument from a person who didnt write much today, put aside the fact that we instinctively knew it wasnt serious.

The first thing that struck me was that if we continued to be the ignorant, assuming fools we usually are, I would die writing an exam. I leave the repercussions of that thought to your own insanity and ingenuity.

Most people just continued writing. Wrote and wrote while the alarm slowly stopped to exist in many of our minds. It represented that which did not exist. A false hope. An emergency exit that always remained locked. A car that always remained parked.
As I saw the back of all the inclined heads, trying to find redemption or atleast the charge of a particle, it struck me. The silent, unassuming brilliance of it.


Somehow, this institution of exams is so deeply imbibed in you that your subconscious rules out the possibility of danger due to fire, placing higher fear and importance to the paper and pen that lie in front of you. It sounds practical actually, to place importance at what lies in front of you rather than at what lies beyond you.


If you are trapped by this perspective, do something about it. Im not asking you to start hating exams.
Im asking you to put out the fire. In whatever way that affects you.


In one way or another, a fire took place today. Not a fire that helps us live but one that tries to stop us from doing so.
I put it out today. Not out there, but in here, in my mind.

But at the end, this is just an argument.
Its your call whether you argue for or against me.

Unscathed, for now atleast,
V

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In other news, Im reading The Zahir- Paulo Coelho which contemplates what a Free Man is. Ironic that I must read and agree with him, when I am at a stage of least freedom.
Also, I'm on a rediscovery of Coldplay. Comforting when you're up all night with a headache.



Now Listening: Coldplay
Now Reading: The Zahir - Paulo Coelho
Now Feeling: Warm

Freedom Is Just A Word

Hey you.
How are you?

Those 3 words I just typed, I ask them everyday, a million times to everyone I meet in all the languages I know those words in. But I dont know how many of them I actually care about. How many people's replies to those 3 words will actually affect my state of mind. But I still continue asking this question everyday and will continue to do so till I exit. Why? Because I might just start caring.


Now, onto what this post is all about.
What is freedom?
Most people spend an entire life never answering that question. And if you think a 16 year old can answer that in a blog, you should probably go read something else.
I know people in my family, and even teachers from my school who have tried to capture that would get them freedom and failed miserably. One who found that freedom was less freer than what he just escaped and another who found freedom in what he once despised.
Point is freedom is not something we all want. Freedom is an opposite of what one currently has. Freedom is a perspective different from reality. Different as in an altogether 180 of reality. The other side is greener. And most of the times when you cross the road, you get run over by a truck. Most of the time we're like bugs, fascinated by the lamp but unaware that touching it is gonna burn us. Fascinated by the outside but fail to see the glass that stops us from going through.

Freedom is a concept that we have to understand, we may never truly understand.
Freedom is in Manual labour. In driving a convertible car with the wind rushing past your face. Its coming home to a beatiful son/daughter. Its living life on your own terms. Its yourself. Its Literature. Its Music. Its Chocolate.

And while this is freedom to you it may be what I'm trying to free myself from. That is perspective.

All said and done, we all fight for freedom, live for freedom. But how do we know we actually have it? I dont know.


But, as ever, there is a possibility (isn't there always?) that what I've written is all wrong and there is no freedom. For all we know, that may be the truth.
Maybe accepting this truth is freedom.


Think Again. Maybe Freedom is just a word. Another word for life.
So find life. Find life in your life. And you've found freedom.


A Free Man,
V



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Now Listening : Coil-Opeth
Day That Never Comes - Metallica

Now Watching : Traffic. Muscat Traffic.

Just Read : The Blue Nowhere - Jeffery Deaver (Awesome Book)


Now Dreading : The Approach of the Exam

Its Because You Disagree

Hello,
The FIFA World Cup Final is running in front of me but I'd rather stare at this screen. Why?
1. I'm not much of a football person
2. This has turned out to be one boring match.

All our lives we work and then procrastinate and blame everyone other than ourselves for the absence of a vacation. And when you are on vacation, what do you complain about? Exactly. Nothing.

Maybe conspiracy theories are all wrong. Maybe there'e no peace on Earth merely because that's not possible. Why you ask. I, being the generous one, shall oblige and enlighten you. Its because when things are perfect, everything is short-lived. I understand that the logic takes a while to settle.

Picture this.
Your neighbourhood, your school, your friends, your life were all just perfect. It actually takes an effort to imagine this in the first place. Now, what next? How would you actually choreograph a life where everything is perfect?
Now you go back a paragraph and read again and agree that its not possible.


But like all problems in the world, a solution exists. And its not a complex equation or a long Bill or Capitalism. Its one word. A word that I associate with one great man. Einstein.
And the word : Relativity.


Perfection is not possible, but relative perfection, I believe, is very much attainable.

But where there is relativity, there is perspective. And where there is perspective, there is everything you and I love about humanity.

When Morgan Freeman explains the beauty of free will in Bruce Almighty its more than profound to say the least.
That whole movie is a symbolic reverse of yesterday's notions. That the white man is greater. Whoever decided to make a black man play the role of God, God bless him.

Even if you never realized the symbology, your sub conscience accepted it. And that is the beauty of it.
And by giving his powers to Bruce, he establishes equality among the races, and in his own way ending the debate once and for all.


Now you may agree, disagree or laugh at what I've written above. And its because you can and will. And thats why you are human.

And its learning to weave acceptance and tolerance in the wee gaps between prejudice and irrationality that perspective produces that helps each one of us become a better human.

Take any random person, and you will disagree on 99 things but agree on one.

And that Ladies and Gentlemen, is the Beauty of it.




Hoping Someone Scores Soon,
V

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Now Reading : Not Much
Now Listening : Suno Aisha - Aisha
Revelations - Audioslave
Just Watched - Titanic

In another note, its about time Indian Music channels take a break from Reality TV and start playing some bloody music.