Airport Love

What follows is a work of fiction. Inspired by what I have been reading in the recent past and my feelings during said duration. This story has no purpose, no moral and no sarcastic/witty one-liners.
Its merely a situation, like any other, that has its own beauty.
And appreciating beauty as you should know by now, is an acquired taste. So dont hate, congratulate.


I've never like airports. The world insists on so much recycling. I guess those people never look at airports and see what I see. Recycled air. Recycled trays to serve food in. Recycled glasses that are proof to their seemingly genuine hospitality. Recycled paper. Recycled emotions.
But these are thoughts from another day.
Now, whilst sitting next to her , I feel no worry at the misdemeanor of the airport. I turn to look at her, find her reading a book. Doing the same thing she was doing when I first saw her. Apart from one of her hands being interlocked with mine. 
Our drinks had been refilled. I smirked at how small their drinks were and how much smaller they seemed compared to my predicament with her.
There's something terribly alluring about her skin. How it was somehow smooth and dark, throughout. How the darkness inside her was both there and not there. Visibly taunting me.
How her lips moved so effortlessly to say what pleased me and then closed. Leaving me wondering when they would open again and what they would say.
It struck me now, how simply you had said it and yet with so much conviction. That what we had was not meant to last.I continue looking into your face wondering if the beauty that lies herein would answer my never-ending questions. Then again, who would?


I remember now the countless steps we took together. Our eyes locked and our thoughts seldom remaining with only one of us. I remember now, the many pizzerias we ate at. How you agreed when I said these meats were too salty and these wines too syrupy.
I remember now, how I knew your mouth watered when I mentioned Good Ol Indian food and a chilled beer.


But I wonder now if I will be able to hear your laughter in the silence that will no doubt ensue. If I can see your smile in the darkness that will blanket my life. If eating pizza again will take me back to Rome with you?But as I leave the somewhat hazy bit of my memory, and re-enter recycled our extensively recycled world; I think not.


I understand and accept that the landscapes and sceneries I will encounter in the future will have to suffice. The landscape of your body and the monuments I discovered there will forever only be a memory.


Being almost late for your flight, you left. Leaving me with only the last ever taste of your lips.


But even among sorrow and recycled air, I am sure life will go on. Like water that always returns to the river and fuel that always ends up in fire, my life too will return to Normal.

Even if that's not what I want.


________________________________________



Unrelated news, I got into college. So thats a relief.
The road looks smooth now but then again, so do all roads.

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Now Listening: Bali - Shaitan
                        Danza Kuduro - Don Omar

Now Reading : Unaccustomed Earth - Jhumpa Lahiri
                        Family Matters - Rohinton Mistry
Now Feeling : Relieved

Of Buses And Autos

To one, To all, and To None,
This blog may have found and encountered a standstill, but life, evidently, hasn't.
In the midst of being subjected into a lotta close calls and some tight situations based on ze ever glorious board exams. The marks however, I wouldn't say were that glorious. My shortcoming or the just the system's inability to test me in subjects I'd want to ace or even have an aspiration to ace, I do not want to know.
But the infiltration operation is complete. I am now no longer bound to this system. Hope that counts for a little something in my life.
I have been asking too many questions. About what matters, how it matters, why it must matter and when it must matter?
Although, thinking along the same lines, I wonder if I'm asking the right questions and to the right people?
You can't ask a random someone how planes stay up in the air now can you?

I'm just putting random thoughts out into cyberspace. Let's see what happens. Take shit as it comes. Or so I say.

I am now in Chennai. Its a great place given the right amount of money and the right crowd, or so I'd say.
College beckons and I actually have no bloody clue what's gonna happen. I'm just sitting here staring at screens and bus displays trying to find a route. But what if I dont know where I'm going? Or even worse, when I am  to be there?
You see what I mean with the questions? Bus rides turn all philosophical and a random girl's face (a good looking one at that, if I may) turn into so much more. Slightly irritating at times.

Buses in Chennai are by far the cheapest way of transport  I have encountered. A 120 Rs Auto ride = Rs 5 Bus ride plus a decent bit of walking.

I've bin doing my own fair bit of exploring. Which need not include travelling. Helps me keep in touch with people in a more frank way.

I apologize if this has been a very boring read. I am bored at the moment and maybe that is reflecting on this. I appreciate it if you've made it all this way.

Drive safe,
V


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Now Listening : Nasha - Shaitan
Down On Me - Jeremih (Playing on loop)

Now Reading : Not much Id say

Now Feeling : Free?

Recurrance

Ever wondered what it would be like to lose your ability to store new memories? Short term memory loss. Media and propoganda have probably made you familiar with that term. But spare it a thought beyond the realm of film.
If your life began and ended every 15 minutes, how awful would that be?
Not at all. Allow me to explain.
I live a life of analogies and misunderstandings. Im hoping this story will help you realize what a blessed life a memory loss patient lives.

Waking upto gunshots is not exactly the dream life of many. But my condition puts me in situations like this. Or so I assume. The unnerving part is me holding the gun and staring at the eyes of a man  who just lost his life. Im trying by instict to see what emotion that man last conveyed before I helped him. I like to tell myself I helped. It doesn't matter anyway. Soon Im gonna be having this argument with myself. Thats my life. Lives rather. I dont have the ability to make new memories. I survive on notes and small paragraphs that I write myself to remind me of who I am and why I do what I do. Its a jungle out there they say. But the real jungle we're afraid of is in here, in our minds. The whole while. We just choose never to go hunting. So much for pleasantries. Although, wait, whats that at the window...


Flashing lights in your eyes is not how someone would like to wake up. But thats when I realize Im already awake with a dead man on the floor and a gun in one hand. A helping hand with the pun intended, if I may. But in the other hand, I hold a note written by a familiar hand to the not so familiar situation.
You are a nobody. Leave like one.
Golden Park Hotel. Room 908.
I am a dream walker, I say to myself. I live my own dreams and nightmares and I learn. But most of all, I teach. Who, you ask. Myself. Its a cycle. I learn while I teach and I teach while I learn. I guess wordplay isn't affected by my condition.


The sound of a moving train is not how someone would like to wake up. But I'm already up.
Trains move and so I assume, I am moving to somewhere. Where, I ask.
The note in my hand explains. I look around and see people with faces like mine, eyes like mine, and yet. How different we are, I wanted to tell that woman who stood next to me. I wont remember you in 10 minutes and I never will really know you more than how you present yourself to me every 10 minutes. Its a cruel life, said her face, as if Fate were playing a cruel joke on me and she had heard every word I had just thougt.
Maybe it is a cruel life. But this is my stop. And thats what I do. I Stop. And then I Start.


A train door opening and masses of human scum entering and leaving is the sight that I was born into. I miss my mother. I recount her face from memory and I realize that there's a chance she doesn't know of me anymore. Its a cruel world. A jungle they say. But the real jungle, is up here, in our minds. The note I clutch in my hands tells me where to go. And I, the obedient servant of myslef, follow.

908.
Its a funny no, 9. Any number containing the digit 9, when all its digits are added result in the sum of all the digits except 9. Try it. And any multiple of 9, when digit-added results in 9. Instinct tells me I have a thing for numbers. I've already made almost 18 (again, a multiple of 9 and a beautiful no. of its own accord) observations and conclusions on a 3 digit no. Its a funny world.

The room is empty and devoid of anything that encourages or implies that what lived within its confines was what would be called an average human. I think I would've liked to give this impression to anyone snooping on me. I raise my hat to myself. I live a good life, being able to marvel at my handiwork everytime as though I see and understand it only for the first time. I see that the toilet is very well maintained and once again, I marvel at my need to be clean even when little in the world matters.
On the desk I find a document filled with details of one person. I'm not one for names so I'll just skip it. I search for some sort of writing I recognize and I find it.


Waking up to a lone table in an empty room is not a story most would share. But this, alas, is my life. I see the paper has some words on it. Written by as familiar as familiar can get. By Yours truly. It Read:
He raises interesting questions. Probably he holds a cure to the misery ?
(To what misery?, which is soon answered)
How do you know that what you are thinking now has not been thought all your life and will be thought for , for the remainder of your life?

Suddenly, I shiver. Such brilliance. Such concisement in the matter of my life. My biggest problem brought down to one fucking string of words.
I ask myself, how do I know if I haven't spent all my life thinking whether I have spent all my life thinking of my life?
Its a circle of insanity. That never ends. That never ceases. That never stops.
Even imagining my life in this aspect makes me shudder.
But then, in the simplicity that only I can understand, it hits me.
This is not insanity.
It is pure beauty.
Why it sounds insane is because you think that you remember that the cycle exists. I do not. Each time is as genuinely felt as the previous and as earnestly awaited as the next.
It does not affect me. But yet it poses a problem.
And solutions to problems are a bit of my speciality.

So I tore the note and made another. Even more concise than the last.
It read:
Kill Him. He challenges the beauty of your life.



I woke up to a note telling me to kill someone.  To a note from me telling myself to kill someone. Of all the people in the world, who else would I trust but myself?


Now,
If I can only remember where the bloody bullets are?




___________________________________________

In completely unrelated news, I just got a BlackBerry.
Which means that getting in touch with me has never been easier. Drop me a line if you require my BB pin, my phone no. or any of the email id's that I can access via the BB.

Stay safe .


-
V


_____________________________

Now Listening:
Hello Good Morning - Diddy Dirty Money
Please Don't Go - Mike Posner
Dum Maaro Dum (the original one ) - Dum Maaro Dum

Now Reading : My BBM conversation with Shivani. \m/

Now Feeling : Sinister

La Vie Est Une Plage

Greetings Padawans.
Hahah I dont know why I said that. Had a chat with some friends about how Star Wars entered a world without pop cultures and cults and the sort. Hats off to Mr Lucas and Obi Wan Kenobi for the crazy lightsaber fight in episode III.


Past 3 days have bin a blur. Like one of those happy, dont-want-to-forget blurs represented as video montages in movies. Great shit.
I've bin to shatti each and every day of it. At the right times and tides. Great views of the greatest cars and of the best beach Muscat can offer.
Great conversations with great albeit leaving people can somehow alter the sense of leaving and emptiness that their absence may cause. Most of the people I chill with leave by this month. Kinda hard to digest that sort of emotion. I've never been good at handling emotions and I think Id prefer it that way.


Im getting carried away here. The point is that the awesomeness of being able to be close to the beach, with good conversation and an even better atmosphere kinda cannot be beaten. My life is now a beach. Tranquility, excitement, activity, beauty and unrest all merge together to form the ever more beautiful horizon. Time is the sand. And like Sid says in Dil Chahta Hai, the more you try to encompass sand in your hand , the more easily it slips away. Time and sand are slipping away from me and Im trying to make the most of it.


To whomever has walked with me, sat with me and spoken to me in the beach, I raise my now half-empty glass of water to you. The beach represents the ocean and my glass represents the {insert something emotional here}.

Im really looking forward to tomorrow's match. Bleed Blue fellow Indians. \m/
I now want more of this place. With these people. Like a standstill in time. But I want too many things. Few get fulfilled. Fewer get fulfilled immediately. C'est la vie ma cherie.


Goodnite "Padawans"
-
V






________________________________
Now Listening : Yeh Saali Khushi - Dev D
                        Club Foot - Kasabian
Now Wanting To Read : The huge collection of comics Roshan has.
Now Feeling : Serene?

Insanity Amongst Other Things

Greetings and wishes for unwished occassions my ever faithful audience. I am of the opinion that there is no apologizing to be done for my absence over the past few weeks. I doubt I was missed and I hope I can bring back that writing mode I ever so love. The exams are yet to be done with but the ones that are over have taken their toll on me. Im happy they're over and I think thats all I wish to speak of 'em.

What follows is a short story I made in my mind a few mins ago. Written at a stretch with no drafts and reviews. Dont judge. Dont hate. Congratulate.




1.15am
About the time when the drunks and the not so drunks begin leaving the crowded bar and head to the wife. Whether they get a banging or get to do some banging will never be known. She herself never bothered. Cleaned the glasses. Cleared the plates and got on with life. Deep down inside, it was the picture of that '69 Mustang and the joint she kept in her locker that kept her going.Possibly it was some psychological problem that a doctor would cure with a hundred million sedatives and an ever-more effective bill. But to her opinion, everyone had some shit messed up in their heads and it often was a matter of perspective to realize who would really stab you while you sleep and who wouldn't.
And then he came in.
Oh yes, straight out of one of those magazines, she had never seen this man come into the bar before. Never seen a man like him before, in fact. She had never felt the kiss and warmth of a man for a very long time. She never knew what it felt like to have a man celebrate her as a perennial festival and not as a singular evening's trophy. C'est la vie, someone had told her. C'est la vie Je ne veut pas vivre is what she wanted to tell that someone. But not all that is thought is said in this funny world we call home.
He sat right across her, she behind the counter, eyes fixed on him and his, fixed on the TV screen.
"Jack. Make it a double", he said. Simple enough order if it had been another man. And it would've bin given in the same old dusty glasses used for eons. But no, this was no ordinary man. One of the new glasses, a little more than a double and a professionally cut lemon wedge perfectly placed so as to not hinder the first and the perfect sip. But the person she served was no usual at this bar and neither was he paying attention to all the signs this woman was so subtly conveying.
In a matter of seconds, "Reload", he said.
Same routine. Unnoticed, obviously.
2 seconds and 2 shots afterward, he asked,"I've always thought the bartender would wonder why a man comes in  late and orders more shots than you're allowed to give this time in the night. You, however do not seem to share the opinion." 
Blood flowing faster than all the alcohol she had served, she was at a loss for words. The handsome brute spoke. He was not just a morose tank. He was a talking morose tank. Christmas does come early once in a while.
Doing the same thing any woman does when talking to a man she has a thing for, "Uh. Okay. Why you drinkin' so much pal?"
Not overdone, she thought.


He smiled. Not a giving smile. A sinister, almost borderline grieved smile.
"You see that woman on the tele? That Martha J?"
"Yeah"
"I asked that woman to marry me 4 nights back. She said yes."
"Oh my God. Im so sorry"
Why was she sorry? Martha J was featured in the news report about her death.
"No you're not. You havent done anything , why must you be sorry?
It is a shitty situation when you hear bout someone's death and there is no bloody right way to respond. Eh. Who gives a...?" 
5th Reload.
"Suicide is what the police have confirmed. I got me a text from her the night before she did it. Telling me not to mourn her and to consider life as a new page. Funny bit is that the police never found her phone. But we were no spies or important people for a suicide to be staged. Maybe she threw it. Maybe she didn't. Im just gonna have to live without that knowledge. Although, living at all seems to be a harder task now."
"You gotta hang in ther' honey. Things will change. I know it."
"Says who? Say, whats yer name Missy?"
"Hope."
"Thats as ironic as life can get. 
I better get going now, lass. Got the rest of my life to brood. This is for the drinks and for being the first person in many to have not asked me if I did that to the woman who would've been the mother of my children."
"I can't take your money sir. Its alright"
"You see this bunch of notes? Comes to about 15 bucks. I first met Martha when she was ahead of me in line in a branch of a fast food joint. Their credit card machine was down and she didn't have no money. I was hungry and I offered to pay for her meal. After the customary formalities and involuntary denial she agreed to it and promised she'd pay it back. That's how we started dating. Then, a day after she killed herself, I got a letter from her addressed to me, written on the day she did it. It contained this wad of notes. Now why would she do that eh?
Did she want me to think that the whole thing was just a prolonged mindfuck to pay me back a measly 15 bucks? That I was supposed to forger her like I forgot that she owed me money?
This money won't let me sleep missy. You keep it. You look like someone who knows how to use it."
"Er. Thanks. Where will you go now?"
"Home. Or whatever is left of it"
And he left. And she never saw him again. She almost considered the whole thing being a dream.


Hope told this story a total of a hundred times before her death as a tool for inspiration, strengthening relationships and as her last words to the man who held her as she died. She valued it more than any heirloom that she inherited. And cherished it beyond measure.
But her story was incomplete. She never saw the tele, after our man left, showed that Martha was killed in a car accident. And nothing to do with suicide.




Back "home", he enters and hits the bed.
"Hey honey, how did the class go?", asked his wife. Yes, his wife.
"Life changing Martha Darling. Life-changing. By the way, don't you owe me money from the first time we met?"








If the intricacies and the underlying message of this story failed to reach you, leave a word and I shall explain.


________________________________________________________
Got one exam left and I hope it goes well.
Played Holi like a maniac today. Cheers to Daddy Long Legs for that.
Stay safe and don't drink and drive. However horrible you are, I think you dont deserve to die in a space as tight and enclosed as your car.

Goodnite Folks,
V










Now Listening:
Payaliyaa - Dev D (Trippy song, check it out)
Den Standiga Resan - Opeth
High - James Blunt            
Now Reading : Brisingr - Christopher Paolini (The fourth book, Inheritance is out in November and I dont think I'll survive the curiousity!)
Now Feeling : Happy and slightly hungry.