Friday, December 6, 2013

An asystemic redemption.



Yeah. Its been more than two years without you. You continue to be the unaccounted for anomaly. There are those who have been after my life to let go. In my best interests. But, as is in most cases, that shit seldom works. I could have discounted it if you just haunted a sporadic drunken stupor. The problem is your absence is more potent without alcohol.
 It’s the mornings that are the hardest. Time was supposed to dim the smell of your hair, well, I still remember it. And that is bloody unfortunate, lying around for fifteen minutes, struggling with the sheets to blot it out. And trust me, I get more bloody efficient with it everyday. At least I try. Another century, and I’d probably be on the brink of having a normal morning. The worst is when you’re there in a dream, where all is still well, nothing’s happened, and then something has to fucking happen to wake me up. I really cannot describe it, but its really close to falling off a motorcycle, dragging on the road, and the first shot of red hot pain when the initial shock sets in, the one where your head reels, you see stars, your hands go cold, you break into a sweat, your throat goes dry, and your feet buckle under you. Yep. Picture that. Exactly that. Every fucking time.
Its hard to explain, but there is nothing to move on from. You may have lost interest, but that really does not work both ways like a portal. And as long as that portal remains open from one side, I guess I’ll always be in that wormhole. This is where that bad boy image takes the real thrashing. The whole cocksurety goes out of the window, like a balloon going plonk. There’s a sense of misplaced pride that will not let me relent and make that call, though I really don’t count on that working either, but on the other contradictory hand, there’s that misplaced as fucking hell hope that refuses to die out, that maybe you’d break. That you’d make that call. Just, maybe, but well, that’s what losers do in general. Talk about fucking Stockholm Syndrome.
There are those nights after alcohol where that phone glints like the proverbial bullet, but the scary part is when it’s the same after tea. If they take me away to a padded cell one day, maybe, they really wouldn’t be that off the mark. I hope the medication that comes with that straitjacket, is strong enough to blot out everything. Everything. Well, most of it anyway.
I’ve always been really good at taking the hostage out of the equation, but the problem is I can’t really take myself out, can I?

Thursday, August 29, 2013

Of Wolf and Man.

There will always be ways and means of showing us down as a collective. And for the most part, they will be true. You can choose a thousand ways of deprecating the accepted way of life that we have. Again, I’m not justifying it. I’m just accepting it for what it is. Maybe it is because we have a very Hobbesian view of things. Maybe it is because of the diverse demographic that is at the root of the discrepancies, with the progressive liberals on one side, and the ultra conservatives on another.

Every nation has its ghettos, so do we. Yes, the fact that the majority is still in a third world rut, can be a tipping point explaining the clash between the ultra modern and the rustic rudimentary ideologies today. Every home or a semblance of it has the same raging debate. Sadly, in a house where one television in the master bedroom is playing a serial where the poor twenty year old girl needs to be married off quickly because her erstwhile fiancĂ©, who dumped her because he was a douchebag, or she’s not going to get a suitable match, ever and in another room, Walter White is cooking meth on a laptop, such differences are bound to arise. Cataclysmic generational change is always accompanied with ramifications, the growing distance and divide is just the cause and effect of the same. Some might pass it off as harmless entertainment, but yeah, it plays its own part. We're a fucking impressionable lot.

There are some who want to get married, wear designer bling on the wedding, have the picture perfect honeymoon, have kids, and attend weekends wearing the latest from Tom Ford at Verma uncle’s farmhouse for a wine tasting thing, then there are also those, who’d just pack up a rucksack, strap on their boots, and fuck off to the hills. The problem is, they’re reaching uncompromising ends of the spectrum, where the link is just getting more and more tense, and you know that its at the point where it may just snap.

But hell, that’s not even the issue here.

The issue is the state of things and how people from different segments are reacting to it. People say there’s no law and order. Where else can you flout the speed limit as diligently as you can here? And seriously, do you mean to tell me that you’ve never crossed the speed limit of 50 in Lutyens’ Delhi? Come on. How many times have you paid your way out of talking on a cellphone, not wearing a seatbelt, drunk driving, and maybe a million other offences. How many of you are staying in rented accomodations with registered lease agreements? Have you never paid a bribe, for electricity meter issues, back dated insurance, gas connections, and maybe another million such issues? I think you have. And then, you have the balls to light a fucking candle and go to fucking India Gate? Seriously. Get a grip. At least don’t laugh at yourself.

A Godman is accused of rape. He will not be arrested. A fleet of twenty Fortuners will receive him, and you can't do shit. Oh yes, you can. Go light a fucking candle. His son decries the child who was raped. He will not be touched. Time to light another candle. Discuss it on another primetime forum. How many candles will it take for you to fucking see that an approaching wolf will not be deterred by a candle. Jesus.

Accept the darkness that plagues you. Accept that you’re a nincompoop and that you chose the easy way out all your life, which is why the nation’s in a shithole today. Understand that the only thing that’ll keep you from going under if you come across a goon will either be brawn, the telephone number of the SHO from so and so Police Station, or a sidearm. Its as simple as living in a failed state of anarchy. And where chaos reigns supreme, you do not light candles. You douse the lights, stay the fuck home, and hope the wolves don’t choose your house for fine dining tonight.

Or, as a corollary, become the wolf.

Acceptance is the only key.