Times have changed

Jack was running late, as usual. Throwing on a Batman tee and a pair of ripped jeans, he ran to the bus stand.

Waiting for his bus, he bumped into Andy. Andy wore a simple shirt, trousers and a watery grin. They exchanged pleasantries, deciding when to catch up for drinks with the boys. And as their respective buses arrived, they went their separate ways.

Jack to his office, and Andy to college.

Unwindings

Sometimes, the best way to take the edge off a week is simply to sit back with a book, an old CD you haven’t heard in a while and a well-iced beverage.

Does ink die?

...as it dries on a page, spread out into incoherently scrawled symbols?

Or do those symbols grant it a new life eternal?

Just a thought.

Quiet, Cold Nights

That’s when I miss you most.

Now Playing: My Life

This may sound a little repetitive to the two of you who used to read my blog a year or so ago. But then again, seeing how my posts aren’t that memorable, I think it’s safe to proceed.

Doesn’t it just knock the wind out of you when the radio (or your shuffle playlist) pulls up a song, out of the blue, that perfectly describes the state of your mind?

I’m still trying to catch my breath.

Simple Things

It's amazing to see what reactions you get if you just get out of a rickshaw and thank the driver. The simple shock on their faces is worth it.

Yeah, I know I've been away a while. Hopefully, this marks a comeback.

I am Santa.
I am Satan.
I am a genius.
I am a spectre.
I am all-powerful.
I am the world’s greatest guitar riff.
I am the best pot of black coffee you ever had.
I am a four-thirty am chat window.
I am a lion’s mane.
I am the line.
I am a word.
I am a dog.
I am a God.

It's Festival Time Again!

Seeing how everyone is saying this, it's about time I step out of my self-imposed stupor and wish people.

So here's hoping people had a lovely time with India's greatest celebration of air pollution and child labour!

Clearly, I'm not a festival-sy kind of guy.
Let it also be stated for the record that this frame of mind is brought about only by my thorough dislike of what these festivals now stand for. I'm sure they originally had loftier ideals in mind, but that's clearly not the case anymore.

Safety Hazard: Wet Floor

Walking here really isn't advised, but I love my front porch.
*evil grin*

I always thought the choice most of us make, between the life of Meaning and the life of Happiness, whether that choice be made consciously or not, was made out of ignorance, stupidity, or denial. That it was a choice most people made that I would never understand. I still believe most of us choose the life of Meaning because of the above.

But I also, now, know of a people who do it for noble reasons. For love. For ideals. This is the final frontier. The last hurdle. This is where the almost-strongest, the pseudo-idealists fall.

Hello!

Welcome, season of horny bullfrogs, gumboots and folded-up jeans. Of drip-drip and wet socks, of squelch-squelch and chai. Of pakodas and closely-huddled-for-warmth-lovers, of Marine Drive walks and wind-blown umbrellas. Of filmy dance sequences and sodden-drenched children, of tandoori chicken and screaming mothers.

Of steaming soup-bowls and makeshift rafts, of flying ants that love the lights. Of switched-off ACs and curled-up book lovers, of damp walls and never-drying clothes. Of talks of new paint jobs, of children's faces turned upwards as one; welcome, O Season of Seasons.

Love is...

... bare toes wiggling in the sand next to tractor-soled monster-boots.