This title will never be long enough.

Two months! 
They'll give way to twenty, to two hundred, to two infinites!
And this lucky jay gets to spend it with the phoenix of his lucid dreams and pipe awakenings.

Funny, how release of a few chemicals in my noggin make me want to dance and jump and scream for joy.
Make me want to sleep and ride and draw and colour and make me feel alive.

I swear I was going to fill this with our exploits through time and space, past and future, but when I think of you ... There is no time.

There is only now.

There is only the ever lasting horizon of you, of us. They say horizons like they are the ending, the limit of what you see, what you think. Expand your horizons, they say. Never to look over, to imagine.

The horizon, to me, isn't an ending. Its the floodgate to EVERYTHING. A beginning, really.

Why am I talking of horizons? That was impromptu. 
I like being spontaneous.
In the here and now.
Fluid thoughts rushing and tumbling in my mind.
Past not weighing me down, future not pulling me forward.

I can skip fullstops, substitute them for commas and just keep rolling out words and phrases and don't care if they get too long.

I am rambling, dancing in my mind, humming along

This is what being in love with you is like.

Bad poems and pretentious prose.

I love being in love with you.

No backspaces.

I am so happy I found you.

No spellchecks.

I love you.

No spaces.

Iloveyou.

Cookies and Cake

It was a dark and stormy night.

Sorry, it really wasn't. I've just always wanted to write that.

It was a brisk, November evening. The air was rich with wafting scents of cheese and baking.

I walked in, cake precariously balanced, eyes scanning for literally the one person that mattered.

There! Right? Yeah must be. I need her. There are too many people here ... I just need to get closer to you ... Hi-

It wasn't you.

Okay, don't panic. She's coming. Just running late. Put the cake down before you lapse to your clumsy nature.

Wow there are a lot of girls here ... Am I the only guy who made something? Heehee that's pretty sexist isn't it Roo? Roo? Oh yeah ...

Better text. Better call. Oh, traffic? Oh okay. I'm here bae!

I'll just put the cake down on this corner table. Wow, I don't know a single person here ... Welp, time to bust out the phone and stare at the screen and avoid eye contact and omg those people are looking at me and Roo please come fast like okay I'm good.

Hmmm good ol' BBC. Economic Cameron G20 ugggh ROO!

ROO!

Roo! I'm here! I'm waving! Hey baby! You look amazing! Roo! Where are you going?! You are so far away! Come here bae!

Wait, you are messaging me ... No, its okay come over here, there's no space over there.

She's coming over. God Roo, you are so beautiful. I'm smiling at the memory of you just walking over to me.

I need to hug you. Iloveyou so much, baby. 
I can smell the cookie dough sprinkled with lavender, right now in my room.

And I'm smiling.

I love our third space. I love being with you. I love my arm around you, your arm around me. I love your hand in mine, my hand in yours, our hands intertwined in each others. I love being able to smell you, to make out each hair, to kiss your cheek, to watch your dimples wink when you smile, when you laugh, when you are so you.

You.

I'm smiling bae. Just thinking of you.

Iloveyou.

Get Busy Binging

"ARE YOU CRAZY?! YOU ARE ADDICTED TO VIDEO GAMES!!"

Mom's sudden verbal barrage did snap me out of my glazed reverie with the screen, but I was absolutely unconvinced with the validity of her concerns and the accuracy of her outlandish claims.

Granted I had been playing the new Borderlands for near five hours at a stretch, but addiction to videogames? No siree.

I am addicted to consuming media.

I got off the laptop to placate the matriarch but immediately plopped down in bed, and continued my thrilling read of Hitchhiker's.

Funny enough, I apparently don't have a reading addiction.

We have become a generation of information hoarders. And this has been going on for quite a while too. Every single subsequent generation is born smarter than the last. Now babies are learning languages off youtube and racism off Fox, before they can even find their own feet.

The education system does not help in this regard either, rather it exacerbates the condition. Ever since we are little we are forced to absorb tremendous amounts of information as we are told that that is the only way to succeed. Since, everything is a competition the kid with the most information wins.

Now our brains physically have not been able to keep up with how fast our minds are expanding, absorbing. This leads to the all so common stresses and depressions of everyday life. People find that they can't relax any more, can't "turn off" because you literally cannot: you are being constantly bombarded wherever you are.

Have you noticed how slower music seems to be dying out? Nowadays all the young whippersnappers are listening to their dubsteps and electronic-houses. Music with very very high beats per bar. I theorise, with my severe lack of knowledge on the subject, that this is how the brain of today tries to relax: by consuming media on the same frequency as everything else. Hard and fast music is preferred because that is what the mind is familiar with.

So what is going to happen? I guess either our brains will eventually physically adapt to our lifestyles or we will all crash and go back to a more primitive system.

Will be interesting either way though, don't you think?

We Roam

Sunday blues.

Home felt like a house when we grabbed the keys and made our way down the winding staircase into the brisk October.

Vespertine sounds greeted us as we took in the welcoming darkness. We were delinquents in a modest neighbourhood.

Draped in PJs we all but ran to the car. 

Keys in the ignition. A moment's hesitation.

"Just drive," she said.

The V8 roared to life, lights illuminated the ashen asphalt, we took off, burnt rubber left hanging in our wake.

The roof pulled down, the wind weaved through our hair and stung our eyes. Refreshing, reinvigorating.

She pushed in a CD, drums and electric guitars sprang to life from the speakers and I squeezed the accelerator, putting more distance between us and the rest of the reality.

I laughed. Everything weighing me down now a halfbaked vapour drifting away in our slipstream. She smiled, eyes closed, making my heart do the two-step.

We were free. We were moving. Fast. 

Time lost meaning in the din of motor and music, we drove aimlessly, the empty roads a heaven-sent. 

Nothing but endless skies above us, she raised her arms, embracing the universe. We were lost in blissful detachment; nothing mattered but here and now and us.

A hilltop park beckoned us. Stationary wheels did not stay our spirits. We needed to be loud.

But speaker-fueled ambience was unbecoming. She grabbed her guitar from the backseat. 

Copper strings strummed the still air. The universe hummed along.

The Facebook Way

We don't need friends any more. We need an audience.


I have been on a permanent sabbatical from the accursed website for a week now.

There has been a marked improvement in my life.

For one, i actually have time on my hands. Before, any free moment would have been consumed by the azure headed demon. Now, i can go to other websites. Or, read a book. It's a big difference, trust me.

The fact that i dont know what everyone is up to every waking moment of every fucking day is liberating to say the least.

Have you ever felt shitty after going through your newsfeed? Of course you have. If you say you haven't, you are lying and shame on you.

The reason is simple and quite scientific (numbers are involved!).

We only post the flashy, good stuff of our lives on FB. So we can make everybody jealous obviously! Now, that flashy stuff is lets say half of our lives, on average. Meaning that everybody has shitty days too. But you dont get to see that on FB now do you? One does not simply post that his haemorrhoids are acting up (unless you are going for the sympathy likes, but even then, butt stuff doesn't really garner the same appeal as say, my puppy died).

From your perspective, your "friends" have incredible fantabulous lives. And, comparatively, you are a piece of shit. Boring shit. You dont have one awesometacular day after the other, like everybody does apparently. No, you have got to scrape out the dishwasher and look after your racist, yet ultimately un-entertaining, uncle. Not good FB posting material.

The result: Low self-esteem for you, pangs of jealousy, strained relationships, an inability to prioritise your life, regret, and eventually death.

Simple question: How many hours has this succubus drained from our lives?

I really do not want to know, my self-esteem has barely recovered.

As mom shouts at 3.30 in the morning, "JOIN THE REAL WORLD, DOOFUS!" She cares ever so much, bless her.

She has a point (and an incredible booming voice). FB, and by extension other virtual social spaces, are not real. They are no substitute for actual human contact. And you've all heard this drivel before and i highly doubt this piece will convince anyone of you to actually change your habits.

Introspection is a dying art.

Just do me a favour? You know that person you actually give a shit about? Next time you think of them, instead of liking their post, call them. Don't even meet them. Just give them a call. Trust me.

Yes, i do happen to be anti-corporate and no, i am not "hating" on FB just cause. It kinda saved my uncle's life. No joke.

But it is a tool. A tool being misused. Use it for the base communication device that it is, instead of the attention sucking/seeking quantum singularity it has become today.

I have no hopes that this will change anything. But hey, what's the harm in trying?

There are many videos and pieces out on the interwebs made by smarter people than i, who explain the problem so much more eloquently.

Try some introspection. It just might better your life. No pressure.

Chaye Khaana Scene On

Another meaningless incursion away from the office. I would welcome such distractions if they were not so mundane.

We entered the posh and quite pretentious establishment a little after midday. The cheap lighting and the faux-wood flooring greeted us with an air of forced artistry.

Chaaye Khaana, the name itself dripping with bourgeois sentiments, is a favourite haunt of a certain class. Mostly iMac wielding hipsters. The mature, pipe-puffing intellectual reading away at his international newspaper is also a fairly common sight.

The lads from the firm and I took a seat which provided a wide angle of the cafe. People-watching was quite an enjoyable past time for my compatriots. I was impartial to the sport myself, but their company was amusing at the very least.

One of them started. "Yaar woh bachi check kar!"

The rest swivelled on their seats eager to get a look at the targeted prey.

Another piped in, "bara tight piece hai yaar."

A roll of my eyes, and I return to sipping the sad brown slop which they have the audacity to call an espresso.

Mr. T, a likeable fellow I must admit, changed the subject. "Oye, match dekha kal raat?"

The ensuing babble bored me. I turned around and inspected the adjacent bookshelf. I snapped my head back in disgust as my retinas were assaulted by pretentious tile after pretentious title.

The Secret? Really? I can discover self-actualisation on my own, thank you very much. And if it was that easy, that it could be condensed into a remarkably thin volume, you'd think we'd be inundated with superpeople.

Eleven Minutes by Paulo Coelho. An entire rack of Paulo Coelho. Huh. Arson had never sounded so appealing.

After we had finished off the sad fare, the bill dispensed off, we took our leave of the ostentatious cafe.

"Good scene tha, yaar. Phir aaye gaye."


- published in the first issue of Exist Magazine on ________

I see fire; I hear the wind

I stand in this cosmic cavern
In eternal darkness
My stance unstable;
I am walking on water.

Ripples cascade,
As feet fall on water;
This not be an unfortunate puddle,
Rather an ocean of black.

I walk, I glide,
With rhythmic footfalls.
No shore, no sky,
Only a never-ending ocean.

A luminescence!
Far off in the black horizon;
A speck of gold,
Flickering in the cold darkness.

Another step,
And the spark explodes.
Furious flames rush the horizon,
Surrounding me in a bowl of gold.

The flames twist and dance;
Spectrum of tangible emotion.
The heat overwhelming, cold dark forgotten
But I stand in awe, undeterred.

For I know it is you.

_______________________________

My quest,
Was of enlightenment.
My path,
Was forsaken.

Aimless wandering,
Thoughtless posturing,
Led me inevitably
To the cavern of no escape.

The wide black ocean,
Sapped my soul.
My body an empty vessel,
Devoid of life.
______________________________

The flames would not hurt me.
They playfully entice me
With their burning tendrils
But I'm not afraid.

For enlightenment was mine;
The answer within me.
It needed a spark to ignite my heart,
Remind me of what I knew.

I am the wind.
The flames do not burn me,
I fan the flames
Into a raging inferno.

It is a coupling of nature,
Feeding and nourishing the other.
I do not put you out,
I make you burn

But I do not burn with you.

If I ignite,
I'll be consumed.
Even though that may not be your intention,
It is your nature.

I am the wind.
At peace. Serene.
Flowing, enveloping the universe.
Fanning your flames.

You burn brighter, hotter
A typhoon of fire
Spiralling skywards
Incinerating the roof of my prison.

In the open expanse,
The eternally bright universe,
We do not disperse.
We bind together, becoming one.
____________________________

Our quest, renewed.
Our purpose, eternal.
Peace, and passion.
Fire, and wind.