That Little Voice

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The train crawled into the packed platform appearing to be in no hurry. The drivers of the train were looking out of the window of the engine, observing the crowd without seeming very obvious. A commotion had started near the coaches that didn't require a reservation to acquire a seat. Every other door had excited people hopping down even before the train had halted to a stop. He was standing right where his coach arrived. He smiled to himself and picked up his air-bag.

He pushed his bag below a seat in his compartment and got back up to stretch his arms. He pondered between sitting down with an elderly man or climbing up to his berth. He chose the former and grabbed his bottle to sip some water. The wife of the elderly man was fussing over the arrangement of her bags and he bent down to help her. She smiled at him after he was done, thanking him for his help. He smiled back and decided that he would climb up on his seat now.

He slipped off his shoes and plugged on his headphones to pass an hour until it struck midnight. He had always liked travelling when he was a kid, but now that past was twenty years away.  Now he realized the necessity and accepted it as a part of his life. It was an activity that had to be done.    He dozed off with the soft music and jerked awake with a start. The train had stopped at a station.

He blinked a few times and tried to look out of the window from his upper berth but couldn't make out the name of the station. There was nobody in sight too. The train was dark, all fellow travelers were sleeping. His watch told him that it was a quarter past one. He climbed down from his berth and fumbled under the seat for his shoes. The elderly man woke up, alerted, and calmed down to sleep when he recognized him. He stifled a yawn and dragged himself to the washrooms at the end of the train.

He pushed open the door to a vacant washroom and noticed that the latch in his washroom door wasn't working. He stood with his shoulder against the door and emptied himself to peace. He took out a cigarette pack out of his pocket as he came out and lit one while he stood at the door of the coach. The train had already been rolling through unknown terrains when he heard the rustle of bangles.

A girl in her mid twenties, around his age, was shuffling towards the washroom. She looked as if she was sleep-walking because her eyes were half-closed, but her hands were groping every seat and her face was turning towards him. He released a cloud of smoke that flew past her as she passed him. She clutched the door of the restroom he had just visited when he spoke aloud, 'You better ditch that one, the door's broken, doesn't lock.'

She snapped her head at his voice and scrutinized him. She fumbled her hand behind the door and verified his claim. She turned to the other occupied stall, stood paused for half a minute and went in the defected stall anyway. He shook his head in disbelief and turned back to the unknown terrains. He was throwing off the butt of the cigarette when she came back out again. Her hair was made and her face was washed. She passed him and paused for just a moment to mumble, 'Thanks.'

'No problem,' he replied.

She took one step away from him, but turned back as if contemplating something and spoke diffidently, 'I think you should try to not smoke.'

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. He could have understood a comment about not smoking in trains, but not this direct advice. He frowned and voiced his thoughts, 'What? I don't understand!'

She wasn't looking at him directly, but he could swear she gave the floor a look of disgust before saying, 'Nothing. You helped me, and I thought I'd be kind. Good night.'

She started stomping back into the coach. He replied to her retreating back, 'Wait. I'm sorry!'

She turned with a jerk. Her hair was flying in the wind.

He continued, 'I don't understand though. Why concern for a stranger on a train?'

She came back out again, cautiously. She fixed her hair with a pin and thought for a while before speaking.

'I don't know. I've never done that before. You didn't look like a creep, so I thought maybe I could make a difference.'

'Oh. And do you think you have?'

She looked up at him for the first time. Her eyes were seeking something in his.

'I can't say, can I? I'm only a girl in the train'

He looked away to focus on her forehead. She was a foot smaller than him.

'I'm not an addict. I only smoke thrice a day.'

'And that's not addiction?'

He was irritated. He only wanted some air while he smoked. This was way out of ordinary. She seemed to sense this and said with finality, 'I think you'll think about this. Anyway, I must get back. Nice meeting you!'

She waved at him and left him alone with the wind. She hadn't waited for a reply. Instead, he was surprised by a movement on the opposite exit door. A seemingly invisible man covered in rags was sitting on a newspaper there, gaping at him wide-eyed. He shrugged his shoulders and went back to his seat, climbed up, closed his eyes and started thinking about it. He sighed as the first thought formed in his head.

Maybe she is right.

Ten minutes later the man in the rags was hit by a cigarette pack on his head without prior announcement. It must have flown in from the window on the door. Who had thrown a full pack out of his window, he could never guess! Anyway, it was only his second surprise of the night. The first was watching that silly smoker talk with himself.

Sixteen, Again

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In the midst of chaos,
In a private bubble,
Of time frozen,
There is a meet.

So many words,
Race to find an end,
But silence prevails,
Where smiles greet.

Hand be touched,
Or would a nod do,
Or the bubble be broken,
With turning feet?

Or be it possible,
To not stir at all,
Until the heart is full,
Until the moment is sweet.

Who Let the Dogs Out!

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What happens to the pile of ear buds I keep collecting on my window pane?

Sometimes I trash my own room unconsciously when I'm in a hurry. I forget to clean it, and one gust of wind does it for me. But how bad is it?

There is a restaurant that serves average food but has incredibly well-mannered waiters, and another that is the exact opposite. A lot of people might be torn. And that is what the game is about. If you have terrible coders, make sure you have awesome marketing guys. Somebody has to make the consumer feel good, right?

In the case of my surroundings, I am the sole customer. My filth affects me.

I want to think of the garbage around me as an indicator to how healthy I am inside. Clearly, if you see somebody piss right on the edge of a busy road, you know they have a problem. As you climb up the pyramid of sophistication, you might find yourself at a level, with toffee wrappers crushed inside a book you were reading working as a bookmark.

In my previous post I narrated the story of the silly alien who got itself killed because he spat on somebody's shoe. It is lame, right? The alien emulates what it sees. Does that mean that deep down, because you see a guy throwing that pani-puri cup under the lorry makes you feel you have the right to do the same?

I think it validates it. This pattern of mirroring people also applies to anger, love and joy. Especially the kind of joy where you see a kid laughing shamelessly at a dog who fell over in a pond accidentally. Or, if you're like me, you'd just laugh at the dog directly like an ass.

But, there's a lot we can learn from a dog. But everybody knows all of that. Well, almost everybody. I've met an awesome set of people recently who have horribly twisted the rules of what relationships must be like.

Only if I knew this before I grew up.
Anyway, the most essential lesson my mom focused on was, a dog always cleans the area he's going to dump his ass in, and look at you! Needless to say, she isn't here and what she doesn't know, wouldn't hurt her! But I do miss the useless banters. Because scattered over a day, they didn't mean much, but, boy, you should listen to a mother go on a five-minutes long phone call! Whew!

If we be aware and alert and learn from the mistakes people around us are making, it'd be enough to teach us a lot about life. Why dogs, learn from the best of humans! That kind of emulation can't go wrong. Unless you're the alien who's learning the wrong things.

In closing, I want to appeal, if you aren't on Quora yet, get there. You're missing interacting with a lot of cool stuff. Think of it as a boat that expands as more people get on it. All of them afloat the water. All of them dry. And all of them learning to get by.

Curiosity Killed the Alien

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Why does watermelon only come in the summers?

I was asked this question last month. And, admittedly, it is a simple question that can be assumed to come from a young brain. But, after a month I'm still stumped by the brilliance of it.

Whenever I remember it I start wondering what has happened to our curiosity! Why have we stopped asking such questions? Are we afraid that we'd be labelled as stupid? Because I can proudly announce that I didn't know the answer to the question posed above.

On a humorous note, I have to reveal, the question was asked by a colleague of mine when I was talking about my love of watermelons. Who can't love those fat babies?

I googled Alien + Watermelon to find this!
Alright, lots of questions in one post. Let's discuss a short story:

We have an alien, let's call him Jerry, who's come from another planet. We fall in love with him when he lands among us and one of us is assigned the task of taking care of him. Let's assume that person's you.

You take Jerry out for a walk. There he points at a man who was beating another because the other had spat on his shoe by mistake, and asks, why are they fighting? You patiently explain that on earth there's this thing called humanity that these two idiots don't know. 

Then you begun to tell him what humanity means and in the process start thinking if those two idiots belong to earth at all! Meanwhile your alien spits on the man's other shoe and gets himself killed.

The process of starting to think about stuff in depth right in the abrupt end of the silly story, that is the reason why we mustn't treat any kind of question as stupid. Instead, treat every person you see as an alien. That would sort it out!

I urge you to start treating seeing everything from the eyes of a foreign entity. Like, Aamir Khan in PK! Just, don't go to the level of absurdity he's chosen. Once a wise man in a movie had this amazing thing to say to all of us: Nigga, never go full retard! 

(To those who are curious, Robert Downy Jr says that in Tropic Thunder to Ben Stiller in relation with tips to get Oscar when acting a retard in a movie. I think it fits to what Aamir Khan is doing.)

In the closing, I've been updating my blog every week as I resolved to. That's my personal agenda. Until the next one hits the shore, please check out all that you might have missed! I don't always share what I've posted on my blog on my Facebook timeline. You could have missed something fun!

Oh, and I deliberately left out the answer to the question that instigated this post. Go figure!

Where Is My Mind?

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A scooter scraped the side of my ride last weekend.

The man tried changing lanes without checking if the road was clear or not. Hence, the scraping. Now, I was furious at him, but was also getting late for work, so I kept driving. This was wrong on my part.

The man took this as a defensive stance from my side. And he drove ahead, stopped me and started abusing me in Odiya. Why, I asked him again and again, was I the one at fault? And after a few failed attempts at clarifying, he gave up and I moved on.

Don't you think this happens with us in our conflicts with people all the time? Sometimes people mistake your calm for something else entirely. But this topic is so complicated that there's no easy way of discussing it without picking up a book on psychology.

I think that's what happened in the tenure that Manmohan Singh took the reigns of our country. Look at Modi go! I don't like any leading politician in these times, but Modi is making sure we're better heard and never dominated.

Anyway, this general rant exists only to take something off my head and that is the trouble with finding people to trust in this turn of my life. I want to look back and read this post to see if anything has changed. If not, then I'm the guy on the scooter and I'm focusing on the wrong things altogether.

In closing, I'd like to admit that my work has gotten me less creative with the inner findings of life. This isn't how it should be. I must take some time out to think about everything happening around me. Let's see how that works out. 

Face The Moon

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I am humbled by the response I've received for Face The Sun. So much that the next day of posting it, I wrote the second part to the story. This is a different setting, and though it doesn't need a read of the first part, you might relate better if you did. 

I was also touched by friends who reached out to me, worried that I was writing about myself and concerned that I went through so much. I extend my gratitude to them. Now, on to the end.

Have you ever felt like running so fast that your feet take off from the ground? You no longer step on the gravel but find yourself floating. Probably, giving it a few more seconds, you'd not need your legs at all. You'd be pushing yourself forward through your hands. Leaving everything behind. All the rush, all the pain and all the formalities you need to go through to live your life.

Can you hear the wind whistling to you? The night is trying to calm you down but the city lights anger you more. Higher and higher you go, leaving the world below until the sky tears open. A thunderclap disguises your disappearance and you leave the material world for ever.

Can you feel it now?

He had been feeling it since the sky had started darkening. But he wasn't running. His pace was slower. He was bound by the physics of real world, as much as he wanted to be an exception. All his life he'd been brought up to believe in superheroes. That realm was obviously so stupid and unreal.

Despite his internal struggle, he was walking down a busy Bangalore road looking for a temple. Iskcon, as he expected, must calm him down. Being an atheist, it was an absurd idea to seek shelter in the court of God, but he was breaking down. He needed hope. He needed peace. And he needed solitude. Luckily, the bus' last stop was a kilometer before Iskcon. That had motivated him.

He didn't think he'd ever find it. He noticed a very old couple walking past him. They clutched each other tighter and jerked in horror when he called out. With a shaky hand (Parkinson's maybe?) the wife pointed him the direction. He smiled at them and walked faster. The shoes were still hurting him but he needed hope.

The road had a metro track overhead. It was still under construction. The noise was pressing and urgent. It demanded attention. And he ignored it until he spotted the towering domes. The temple wasn't crowded tonight. Though, the long corridors built to handle queues were being operated. He took off his shoes and deposited them in a stand in the middle of his walk to meet the agents of God. In ten minutes he found himself facing the idols.

There were no self-proclaimed pundits bothering him. Everything was quiet. The air inside almost seemed lazy to him. He had switched off his phone. Nobody knew where he was. But who cared anyway? He'd turn it on to find no calls missed. He was away from his circle of people, from his family and his most concerned friend and yet everybody had errands to run.

He knew it wasn't anybody's fault that they didn't relate with the pain and struggle he was going through. He didn't expect anyone to anyway. This was his fight. All that he was experiencing, he had brought it on himself through the decisions he had taken in the course of his life. If push came to shove, the blame was on him, and nobody else. And he was thankful that he moved to a new city to look for jobs, everybody did that in the folk lore he'd read in childhood. It was a tradition being followed since centuries. A man moves his settlement to where he can earn livelihood.

But if it was the right thing to do, why wasn't he happy?

He turned his thoughts back to the Gods that should have been talking to him through voices inside his head. If today was the day he would start believing in Gods, then so be it. He was ready to bask in the glory if it helped him find peace. He was ready to bloom as the brightest flower if facing the sun was his only way, but.

Nothing. He heard nothing and he felt nothing. He was disappointed again. Of course it meant nothing to him! He backed into a corner and sat down on the floor along with some defeated devotees. The atmosphere reeked of sadness. He could feel it enveloping him too. What was the rest of the audience thinking? He dropped his face in his hands and almost gave up to the coat of despair.

Then he smiled. The sadness was trying very hard to penetrate him. And that made him smile. In a few minutes, thinking about it made him laugh too. The temple echoed his loud guffaws. Sadness! He could feel it scarpering now. Nobody except he understood what was happening. Sadness is a silly concept. He was at the lowest point of his life. He was away from everybody he ever loved. He was scaling the roads of a city synonymous with unemployment. And he was hugely undervaluing himself.

Now that the graph of his life was touching bottom, could sadness break him any further? What happens to the smallest particle in the universe? It becomes God. You can't touch it anymore. It is indivisible. That was what he was. Invincible. Nothing could get him lower than this.

He felt powerful now. If you've seen what it feels like to be floored, would you ever be scared of it ever again? Never! He resolved. Never again.

He quickly waded out of the temple. Unnecessary establishments that fool people into disbelieving themselves. Why would you trust somebody you've never met so much and not the people who're sitting before you begging for a job whilst trying their hardest to impress you? The entire system is flawed. He realized.

He passed the shoe stand and didn't even pause to think. He didn't need to bring so much pain in his life. He walked barefoot out of the temple and hit the road. He saw a bus going to his abode but he avoided it. He wanted to walk.

He thought about his words. All that he was experiencing, he had brought it on himself through the decisions he had taken in the course of his life. Then why was he was bringing sadness in? He was such an idiot! Why does he have to beat himself down with sorrow? When all of it is in his hands, why doesn't he lift himself up instead of going down? He laughed again. The din of the city's hustle masked his voice but he could hear it. He could feel his heart getting out of the cage he'd trapped it in.

If it was so simple, why wasn't he doing what he felt like? He crossed over to face the traffic and broke into a run on the footpath. This was his choice. This was his life. He was tired of long shadows. With his face flushing with sweat he realized that to get up and fly into the face of the moon, you have to face the sun first. The process of learning is always one way. And what he'd learned today, he would never be able to unlearn, try as hard as he may.

Face The Sun

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I've spent a little less than two months exploring jobs in the most crazed city for techies. What I saw there, I wanted to share it with everyone I know. Life is not all smiles and cherries. It takes a long history of sorrows to start appreciating the joy in everything. I like to believe experiences like these make humans humble and more grateful. And I hope this touches your heart, because it broke mine.

He had a borrowed bag containing his portfolio slung over his shoulder. He didn't want to use his bag because it didn't look nice enough. The signature sky-blue shirt and black trousers seemed to hang over his body too. Sweat soiled his freshly pressed shirt. He tried to look at himself in the Lamborghini's showroom's impeccable glass window. Two kilograms gone in two weeks, he judged.

A salesperson inside smiled at him. He broke away from his chain of thoughts and stole a look at his watch while he boarded a bus. It was two hours to the appointment.

He had missed his breakfast, as always. The conductor gave him a ticket to his destination and he stole a look at his wallet before stuffing it back in the bag. Stealing looks wasn't his thing. But there wasn't much in his life now. He had a total of three-hundred and something rupees left. His bank balance read five-hundred something.

He had never been aware of money. But now that he was chasing it directly through job interviews, he realized how crazy it was. He knew the pang his father would have felt all his life while parting with his money. He was ashamed now. He had come of age. There is a limit to what you can put your parents through.

He wiped his forehead on his sleeve. And when he stole a glance at the sleeve, he realized it was somebody else's. He turned away and muttered a quick sorry. The man stepped on his shoes in exchange. That is when he realized how badly his feet were hurting. He had been walking in cheap leather shoes for ever. They were bound to go bad in the heat.

At his stop, he found himself out of the bus with the crowd. He forged through and rested against a pole. He stole a quick look at his watch again. Now he was ten minutes late for the interview.

He looked around him. He could easily count fifty job-seekers on road at that instant. The tragedy was, not more than five of them were going to the same company. If you want to see engineers from the field of computer science looking desperate, you must visit the silicon valley.

His stomach grumbled from lack of nutrition as he limped across the scorching road to look for the address. He didn't care call for an autorickshaw. They overcharged. His thoughts went back to the list of friends that were toiling away in their respective air-conditioned offices. He had never imagined he'd become so needy to do that himself.

It was almost noon. His day was going to be long. One more session of discussing his candidature for the job. One more painful reminder of what he was and how he deserved to be treated better. One more blow to his self-esteem as prepares to kill his dreams and settle for a contractual slavery.

A tear sprung free and trailed down his face as he climbed up the stairs of a dingy complex. The elevator was out-of-bounds for job-seekers. He wiped the sweat on his face. Sweat, tears, blood, who cared? He shrugged as he came face-to-face with another tired company representative. He extended his hand to the security guard and pulled a smile out of nowhere. It had become sort of robotic now.

The guard asked for his identification proof, matched it to a name in a list he had stuffed in his back pocket and asked him to stand near a wilting plant. The only good thing about Bangalore, he felt, was the weather. Otherwise, the city was as good as shit. In fifteen minutes, the guard snapped at him and urged him to go inside.

He cracked his knuckles and made for the door. The cool wall of air curtain hit him as he pushed them open. Several heads glued to dimly lit monitors turned to face him. He felt ashamed and conscious of himself. In his hurry to leave this feeling behind, he let a zipper toy of the bag hook up with the door. His portfolio fell open, sprawling certificates all over the floor.

The guard came forward, bent down and began stuffing them in the portfolio haphazardly. He'd had enough. He pushed the guard away. Half of the valuable papers were already ruined with angry folds all over now. He picked the rest up one by one. He wanted to cry now. People had started undervaluing people. This taken-for-granted attitude broke him. And he made the decision right there.

He pushed his portfolio in his bag and got up. He turned back to the door, gave the guard an angry look and started descending the stairs. He didn't need their abysmal job. He didn't need a job at all! He wiped his face on his sleeve, spotted a bus and got in without checking the route number. When the conductor asked his destination, he muttered, last stop. He craved peace. He craved solitude.

. . . continued in Face The Moon.

Illfitting Shoes

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What moves at the speed of light?

I met a kid who made this joke and laughed at it all by himself. In time, watching his hysteria, the corners of my lips turned up too. And then I cracked up.

Why is laughter so infectious? Specifically, why can kids make you laugh at the stupidest things? I saw a kid with a shiny new bald head wailing, rubbing his head all over. He was so depressed about the newness!

This also brings me to the second point. Why isn't sorrow so infectious? Why did I smile at the bald kid? For all I know, his shaved head might be pulsing hot from the razor! I like to think that I took it lightly because I underestimated the sorrow. Only if I were a kid I'd understand the horror of roaming around and not getting to flick my neck to take that hair outta my face.

This underestimation is the root cause of many a worry. We forget that everybody has different levels of capacity of handling emotions. A girlfriend might scream her lungs out at a broken toenail, where a boyfriend could easily walk through a car wreck like a freakin' terminator. Does that make the girlfriend's pain any less?

If you yelled a resounding Yes! to that question, you're in a serious trouble. Be ready to face the truck kinda trouble!

I don't like Paulo Coelho that much, but sometimes he brings good words to trend again.
Also, isn't it ironic that software developers in my company get abundant of lunch they can choose to ignore and the labors lifting steel beams right outside crave for a few morsels of food. In my opinion, they need it more than we do. We sit around all day anyway.

But that's how twisted we are inside. Look at me, I'm blogging about it when I can get up and do something. Or maybe, I'm just overestimating their sorrow?
They might be worried about something else entirely!

I have an example of happiness being underestimated too, if you're interested! I transferred my blog to my own domain a few days ago! And I am so freaking happy!

But, it's not as big a deal for many people. And while it's totally understandable, I want reasonable understanding from them too. If you see me dancing about it months later, please, don't judge me.

Anyway, in closing, I'm actively seeking book recommendations. If you've spotted a bomb and need a tester, let me be it. But be warned, if you recommend me Half-damning-Girlfriend, I might buy a few hundred copies and burn them on the busiest cross-roads of the city of temples. In that context, I'm not sorry that I can't walk in your shoes. They don't fit.

For When I Close My Eyes

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Talk about paradise,
The flowers, the sunlight,
The moon, and the scent,
Of happiness in the air.

How the rainbow,
Is always visible, and how,
The rain is, always,
Oh, so beautiful!

No, I can't be put down,
No, not so easy,
I can't be made sad,
There's her, you see?

Everything you'd find,
In your dream of paradise,
She shows it all to me,
In a radiant, patient smile.

Hah, if only you could smell,
The happiness on my breath!
Oh, boy, in her, lies my earth,
And, in her, lies the hint,
Of my paradise.

Hi!: I think writing poems is the easiest form of fiddling with poetry. I'm publishing a poem after a very long break. I hope the effort stands tall! Happy Deepawali! And please, if this sucks, talk to me.

What Goes Around Comes Around

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Today, an elevator tried to suffocate me. Us!

I naturally avoid the office's elevator. They're ghastly. But some days you just can't avoid the sight of one sprawled open, waiting for preys to enter. So I did. And so did five other guys.

The elevator closed the doors and went silent. We panicked, rang the bell and when it turned out to be dumb, I broke down into laughter. The five guys looked at me while I clutched the side of my stomach and tried to stifle it, but to no avail. Anyway, the lights turned off at the next moment and so did my laughter. Snap! Just like that.

Anyway, the point is, does Karma exist? Laugh and you'll cry later. What does this even mean? It is our tendency to try to act or look serious all the time. For men, revealing emotions is a betrayal of the highest order. Why can't we just freaking smile all the time?

I wanted to post the picture of the wretched elevator. Unfortunately, the rascal is too elusive!

Oh, and if Karma does exist, who controls it? Who decides what reaction should a guy's action get? I think the answer to these questions will unlock a whole universe of new questions. My flatmate's upper lip swells up one morning. Is that a reaction too? Or is that an action? We might never get to know.

When my blog's interface was old, Facebook commenting worked. Now that I've revamped it, try as hard as I may, the damned commenting system isn't getting implemented. I've given up. Like the Scotties gave up trying to divide the United Kingdom. Some things are not meant to be.

In closing, I think I should confess that I got locked out of my car again. I was in the gym when this happened. My trainers came out carrying their biceps, "Tod den? Tod den?". I grinned like an idiot and left them with the car to look for a mechanic. But only after pleading, "Dada, main bas gaya aur aya! Please piche se kuch kariyo mat!".

The Heart of Life

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I've received a complaint about my blog. First of all, it's too self-centric!, it ran.

* * *

Do you remember the day when you wanted something so badly you'd cut off a part of your body to get it? I still remember that one time when I had given all I had in a dream. Every pore of my body worked towards realizing it. And in that I felt connected with the entire world.

I read newspapers, I followed politicians and I even listened to TED talks, but nothing could prepare me for what I felt when I felt connected. I could feel what a desperate soul feels when it wants something, they know the way of getting it, and yet it is not enough.

Ever since the creation of humanity, we've been living and evolving. We try hard to get up and walk. We struggle to learn to talk. We keep on changing ourselves. We keep on making ourselves newer. And that zeal never dies. It just hides somewhere inside.

I want to appeal to everybody reading this to look for what they're hiding. It's not tough, really. There's always that thought alive. We know what we want. We only forget that we are a supreme being and have fought our way to where we are right now.

The most important part in this struggle to find ourselves back is learning to be extremely productive when we're alone. We descended to the existence alone and we'll leave the same way. The catalyst we're looking for might get too late!

I remember typing, "I'm scared" and sending it to the person I trusted the most a night before my big day. My secret is still well kept, but that doesn't change the fact, right?

In closing, I'd like to point out that I do realize that my posts have become self-centric these days. I don't know why, but I will work on it. Till then, please keep reading to stay updated about what the disillusioned blogkeeper is doing. If you find a generic post, know that he's fallen ill and can't write anymore.

Good luck.

PS: Sure, my blog is random. I write what I feel. It doesn't have to make sense all the time. But do you really think a blogger can be so random in one small essay? 

PPS: I think connecting the dots is a game that's best left to be played by the reader. If you find a central theme, Voila! You've understood what went on in the blogger's mind while writing it! (And maybe more!)
* * *

I searched courage on Google. It gave me this.
I just couldn't keep myself from sharing it!

Deliver Us To Evil

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I killed something last night!

We were returning back from a late night show of Deliver Us From Evil. After five minutes of drive we smelled it. Imagine, it's 1:30 of the morning, we're down on knees with mobile torches trying to figure out what's the thing that I murdered after watching a gory horror film! Too much to handle, Bhubaneswar! Give me a freaking break!

Why do we feel remorse? I yell at my roommates and behave crossly with them for an hour, but I calm down within two and start feeling guilty within four. I thought I was born with evil inside me! What the heck happened during my growth, I am unaware of!

I visited a beautiful art gallery this weekend. My favorite piece was a photograph of a guy sleeping on a coil of ropes outside a Kurl-On's showroom. I felt the ropes tugging at my strings. Ever since I've moved to this new home, all I can think about is getting a mattress that gives me the best sleep. I've been focusing on the wrong aspect of my sleeplessness.

Feels so rich, right? Art and all!

I want to keep this short. Too much information kills curiosity! And nobody is reading me anyway, I think! But that's not an excuse. I'll read all of this myself someday and figure out what sort of man am I becoming.

On closing, I want to tell you the story of my encounter with BBSR cops. I paid them half a thousand to let me off on the charge of not wearing a seatbelt. I didn't argue, I didn't speak. It was my mistake, and I must pay, right? The cops were so pleased (surprised, maybe?) by this, they cut down the penalty to three-hundred bucks. Super!

Find Time for Love

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We live for a limited amount of time. Think about this while I move ahead.

There is a limit to our actions. We can't repeat the same kind of mistakes infinitely. We can't spill our morning coffee every morning, can we? And even if some poor soul does, we know there's a day when he inevitably won't.

This brings my idea back to the table. If you're another kind of poor soul who has his heart trapped in a cage that somebody else unknowingly carries, please stop them soon enough. They have a right to know. Life is, you know, too short. What's the worst that would happen? They'd reject the idea of carrying your heart ever again. That doesn't stop you from putting it again in their basket without their notice again. After all, you've become an expert at that!

Though, love doesn't always need a human carrier. I've seen people fall in love with their mobile phones too (please refer to: A Letter to my Samsy) , in extreme cases! The most awesome part is, this kind of love is perfectly normal too.

Lol! Pretty shameless about this bad girl, I am!

Anyway, there's an end to this post. And that will become apparent when I start referring to my new car. It is the most beautiful thing ever! It never fails me, until that one crazy night when I locked myself out of my car. It never says no to any dinner plan, whatever the time it be. And the most sporty thing is, she supports me as much as I support her.

For the record, it took me a while to notice that I changed from it to she. But, none shan't judge! I'm in love and it is blind. I'm referring to the car here.

On the ending note, I would like to admit that this post was going to be another sappy blogpost about lost love and shit that follows, but somehow the thought of my car took me to another mood. I think that is how you know the love is true. Like when somebody tries to bump into her I get that sudden urge to get the gun out and shoot HIS FUCKING HEAD OFF! That is usually when I realize how love makes you do crazy shit and I calm down.

The City of Temples

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I've been traveling places recently.

I've achieved lots while doing so. I've walked down the popular traffic of Silk Board in Bangalore and I've peeked at the breathtakingly old temples of Bhubaneswar from the Boss (read Bus).

Lingaraj Temple, Bhubaneswar (Source)

See, initially I assumed that the people of Bhubaneswar were outright rude. There had been several instances where they asked me to find the Boss when I asked them directions to a place. I was frustrated until the large tin can passed me by and an excited local started hopping up and down in anxiety and shoved me. Needless to say, I was unnecessarily offended (again) and missed my boss.

It was an hour later when I was enroute to the address in a reserved auto-rickshaw that I realized what the hapless people were trying to convey.

Silk Board is an entirely different story. It is a stretch of road that doesn't span over two-kilometer but takes at least twenty minutes to succeed by a bus. I've never been able to scale it by a vehicle. The traffic is so beautifully complicated that I overtake several buses even when I walk.

The fastest people in Bangalore are the bikers. Not the fuel ones, mind you.

Anyway, you know you can compare two cities when they have the same first letter. So, I'll be using this God-given right to the fullest. But never in the upcoming posts. The actual stories of B & B will go to the grave with me. Till then, I can't control what my fingers let slip, right? *giggle*

Oh, in closing, I'd like to add that I've collected over seven 50-paise coins in Bhubaneswar. They still use them here. They don't like receiving them back though, strangely. They look at you like they've been offered dung in exchange for their services. Crazy, I tell you!