an open letter to myself

Dear Respected the Right/Left/Center(depending on your political opinion) Honourable Mr. Avi,

 

For long has the world witnessed your diabolical tirade against anything acceptable. It is with great difficulty that I am writing this open letter since any letter encolosed in an envelope inevitably tends to go to the trash bin like that ICICI statement. I sincerely hope this open letter will result in closing this implorably despicable chapter, which is your existence.

Why are you like this? You make #widowJokes on twitter. Bug the life out of prominent twitteratti in your inescapable attempts at being funny. Do you even realize that being funny is a proprietary right of a select few who declare themselves to being funny? Do you even know that being funny means you can overstep the boundaries after convincing the people whose boundaries you are overstepping that it is only intended as a joke unless you’re an NRI who makes fun of RIs with tacky humour about arranged marriages?

First of all, you are a nobody. A nobody also includes an engineering graduate in case you were propping up that defense. There are more engineering graduates in India than the population of Greece. And look where Greece is right now! Anybody who is a nobody will know that whatever you do everybody is going to criticize you because you mean nothing to anybody!!! How difficult is that for your cranium to digest! All you do is vomit insults trying to act your age when you clearly are under developed for your age group! Even worse is when you court the friendship of older ubercool persons who’ve swam against the current and made it in life. Everyone, especially the older ubercool people, know the only reason you do it is because you didn’t have the balls to go against the current! So why do you indulge in this insensitive extremely inconvenient brand of self damage?

The next round is the tinkerbells. The people who’ve just entered college to freshers gang. Note, these people are cleverer than you. They are only using you as a reference point as to what not to become when they reach your age. How blind can you be that you cannot see this plain and simple truth. Do you know you are embarassing everyone who has ever been associated with you? including yourself!! I hear your mirror pleads with you everyday to be someone other than you! why can’t you ever listen?

Last but not the least. Please disappear.

 

Yours Truly,

A fan which is spreading the shit that hit the roof.

 

Never Trust a Skinny Chef

Its really ironic how people you’ve met the least sometimes end up making you more emotional than people who’ve been with you all your life. Must be some existential shit. I digress.

 

The chef who told me through words & a catch phrase that I should never trust one who’s skinny is no more. I met him a grand total of 2 times. First time was when I gave a treat along with my boss at that time for becoming a confirmed employee. That was the first time I had heard of this place called ‘Sparky’s Diner’. Apparently it served American food in Chennai & a white dude was its proprietor. A white dude who made Chennai his home with his family???? This I had to see. At a time where most Indians were leaving for the US either to study or work or become taxi drivers, what was a guy from gosh I actually don’t know where he’s from. But he was from the US. And he owned the restaurant which served the yummiest food I’ve ever had.

 

A bit about my inclinations are needed before you continue reading this post. I love food. Actually I really love food. If you held a hot chick and a plate of gobi manchurian, chances are I’d take the hot chick but the gobi comes a close second. That’s how much I love food. 

 

The second time I went to Sparky’s, I went with my then girlfriend who’s now my wife. She loved the food there and we met the Chef for a few minutes where he egged her like a kind grandpa to finish what’s on her plate. We took a photo together & we left. But I bought a T-Shirt for myself from there. I wore it on every possible occassion. I spread the word of sparky’s everywhere I went. I became excited if I met someone from where I am right now who had been to Sparky’s or had heard of it. And I yearned to go back there for some yummy food. But more than anything I marvelled at the man who made a restaurant, scratch that a ‘diner’ feel like home. And for that, Sparky’s will be the place I will go to. I don’t know if it will be the same now that Thom(yes that was his name. And even I discovered it only today) is gone. But I’m sure I’ll take solace from the fact that most of the stuff at sparky’s from the baseball bat to a the poster of Babe Ruth to the old navy diver’s headgear turned into a lantern will have the stamp and signature of the man who through food gave me an orgasm of the purest sense. Maybe this is why they serve good food in every memorial. I hope his comes with a blue berry cheesecake because that defined the man. Colorful, sweet, fat & special. RIP Thom.

 

A Fan and a Foodie. 

countdown begins

1/11/11 to 11/11/11. 10 days to my wedding. I’m so mindfucked right now, I don’t think I’ll get the wedding jitters. good for me.

ebbs & flows

boats rocking steadily, men inside alive

their catch flying by from side to side

naturally are they balanced & poised

like a kettle of tea on the stove.

 

fishes glide and the seaweed sways

all in one movement of harmony.

a dangling worm tantalizingly plays

with the surface of water to lure a scrum.

 

a school of fish spot their prey

instinctively scrambling about

beethoven in the head of the fishermen plays

symphony is what life had become.

 

sudden darkness comes to pass

rocking the boat and its passengers

fish and man move around

gills or legs mattering not.

 

the school of fish watch in awe

scenes of panic and fury above

neither a shark nor a whale around

what was all this about?

 

raghu the oarsman, mathew the captain,

ravi the cook all come ashore

with a catch to fill a thousand mouths

but their breath had been left below.

nameless

real life scenarios draining my life
caustic words burn
demonic sparrows leading me to
cliff of eternal mourn

killers now dying in my head
arrows of flowers
pounding around like bread
into the ovens spurned.

kindled like fires of etna
sacrificed a damsel
revelled in the gore yonder
here I come hell.

manic or maniac #youprefer

For a long time now I have been dealing with an existential crisis of a different kind. Whether my mind exists in one reality or in alternate realities which move around when time comes and goes. Past hauntings future misigivings and present misery form most of my day with a few beautiful breaks in the form of a sweet voice thrown in between. Now even that sweet voice has become a reason for torture for this tortured soul. What if I lose my mind, or even worse, lose it and don’t realize its gone. My brain is in a daze and Im hardly able to concentrate. Sleep when it lasts seems like an intermission for the sense of foreboding which I seem to thrive on as an existential necessity than anything which tends to relax and rejuvinate.

In the midst of all of this, I have one of the most important and cherished events for a person’s life which I desperately want to happen as normally as possible happening in the most bizarre fashion. Its a stuff of a film makers dream and a protagonist’s nightmare. Though my mind is clear about what I want its the surrounding confusion relating to everything from fighting past demons, reliving horrors which Im not even sure exist outside my own mind and having a general hallucination tendency to convert reality into imagination and vice versa. This post though is written during one of my clearer moments which have eluded me for so long it feels like a new lease of life just to be clear about what Im feeling even if the feeling is unpleasant. Thank you Murphy for ruining my life.

In spite of the persistent c’est la vie which has become my life over the past few years, the yearning of knowing what I want to do in life and not able to move towards it for numerous reasons which only my mind can fully comprehend isn’t very pleasant. I used to earn less but be a king, now I earn more but feel like a prisoner. In neither of the states was I happy. Is this a fault of my mind or is this what reality is supposed to be? The matrix had a very interesting allusion as to how the human mind rejects every situation where fear,threat or unpleasantness is absent because it considers it unreal. But this constant feeling of being on guard and tunneling through the life as though it was a block of iron ore has left me pretty tired and almost delusional right now. I went through a blog about manic depression and I fear, very really that it might be me right now. The blog ends with a quote :

‘Have you ever been afraid of your own sanity?’ the answer is a very resounding yes. Im feeling it right now and have felt it for as long as I can remember. What gives me the jitters is, Im not even sure the ‘as long as I can remember’ has a particular time frame associated with it.

Life as we didn’t know it

A feathery touch with a small hand,

arousing the twisted erotic minds

cant they not understand?

or are they just too blind!?

sweat pouring from the sweet innocent face

pulsating with horror & shame

sweet child tis not your fault

but what use is our grace.

distraught I saw pictures so raw

curdling the very spirit of  life within

what use is all this pshaws, go child may you get some wings

fly away from the picture where I see

into the skies your hollow eyes reveal

fly by my window sometimes, fly into the worlds unreal

linger here is a death knell sound, surely

you know it by now. fly away from that body

that now is the scent for the bears that kneel.

love & life have left thy hands, or so you must feel

fear not my child there is hope even now

just wait till all this heals; what lies!

I can’t bear to write this song of hope

for the child which is being tied with a rope

to be brutalized by these men with no hope

of freedom, can she ever feel without a grope?

senseless numbness gathers all around

when I see the sounds that can drive a devil to ground

is there no realm that man will not touch

is there no part a man will not go

near the devil’s lair is the home of such men

what use is this, when all I can give is hope

wallow in the wisp?

early morning before my time,

wake up to goundamani’s rhyme,

start meezik plays in my ears; suddenly I remember

Its already past my scheduled wake

all I can now do is make haste

 

walking around fiddling my thumbs

waiting for transport or more like some rum

neatly dressed like I’ve never been; I walk

into the mist searching the unseen.

 

Arrive at the place an hour before asked

twiddling thumbs and beating heart

my name called out I enter the den

shocked to find paper and pen!

 

I haven’t written in 4 years I protest!

nothing is easy in this life: I detest

looking through numbers and figures

wishing it was megan fox’s rears

 

Asked to ‘solve’ some problems I was

shocking that I cant really figure myself out

said some gyan worked some style

all the while shaking inside

 

finally asked to take my leave

what happened? I know not, fate not sealed?

all day looking at the phone my God

I hope I don’t wallow, but didnt I just start?

chai @midnight

Bear with me, this is more rappish(lose yourself)

Look. If you had, one shot, one opportunity,

to make a hot cuppa chaiya-one moment (phone call ring)

to make it but fuck you let it slip!

His palms are clefty,  knees this week!! arms are flabby,

There is ash on his kurta already, roadside food is ready

He’s nervous, but on the surface he’s bullshitting already to keep calm,

but he keeps forgetting what he dropped down,

the whole room grew so loud,

he opens his mouth, but the smoke wont come out

He’s coughing now, everybody’s poking now

The clock’s thrown out, time’s up over, bloah!

Snap back to reality, oh there comes gravity,

Oh, there goes flabbit, he joked!!

He’s so mad, but he wont give up that easy no!

kilpauk is a pigsty that he wont go,

tied to floors like everybody in his room before,

will he know that fate opens his fucking back door

and drags him back to the dream where his arse came clean before

to cops and mobsters even grandma lin, thats what he calls her

though she aint no chin but fuck he just needs to get outta this din!!

so he drops now the last gag outta his mouth

hoping and praying he wont be found out but shit thats when the whole

world will figure out that he’s got no figure to keep his sanity about.

Now he goes back to the music store, where he bought the first thiruttu video

of his backstreet boys that blacked out long ago,

in his straightjacket thats all he has you know the freaking stereo.

But now that he can get back to the life he had thought he had,

for the chai he missed that brought this all about

his smoke rings will probably make him figure out

life’s all about the fucking piss he talks about!

Time-Travel

Two weeks crossed after your’s truly passed

a mystery thats the visa of life

moving ahead trying to keep my head

about things beyond the glorious past.

Looking back forward, strange bedfellows; in a sense

revelling in my past conquests.

Tears flowing the winds are blowing

taking me farther ahead.

Unlike the past of forefathers, cast

in the ships sailing; leaving bated breaths.

A car to the port where air planes flow

taking people to lands listed.

Lost and found, some memories abound

of childhood friends. Leaving home with lots to atone,

guilt has become my daily bread. Proceed I must,

Irrespective of lust of adventures in my head.

Therefore I leave, for dollars and greed,

to a land I vowed to never step. Alas behold

my shame unfold, naked till my evening’s deed.

I hope this is no goodbye indeed.