Nostalgia has kicked in, it's that time of the year again when the temperatures drop and sleep eludes me yet again. Times like these, my mind starts wandering, and I return to thoughts of things gone by, and the direction my life is taking. These are the times when I think about things I really hate to think about, thoughts that underline the change that has swept through me.
It was with great happiness that I learnt that a couple of my friends from back home were dropping by our recently renamed city for a fleeting visit. Natural talks of "Let's meet up, dude", several follow-up phone calls to ensure that the meeting up actually happened, and we met over coffee at my neighborhood coffee house. I hadn't met these guys for ages now, and meeting them just brought back all the feelings of homesickness that I have tried to fight off for the greater part of two years. We just talked about college days, and other stuff that guys talk about..who's seeing whom, what's everyone else doing in life, etc...Shortly, discovering that my mind and my mouth cuold function as two complete seperate entities, I let my mind wander. Thoughts of home, my friends, my old life all came flooding back. It's only been two years since I left home, but it feels like an eternity. I've left way too many things behind-my private spot on the rocks, where I could just sit and watch the ocean for hours, the coffee house which my best friend and I had made ourselves so much at home, my best friend, not to mention the only woman I probably ever fell in love with...even something as inane as MY bed. Thinking of all this made me smile, a tad wistfully, but a smile all the same.
"Dude!", said my friend, interrupting my reverie," that is the first real smile I've seen on your face all evening. Boy, you've sure changed!" DId he really have a point? Had I really stopped smiling?? Maybe he is right. I can't remember the last time I was truly happy, the last time I smiled because I meant it, not just out of politeness. And have I really changed all that much? I went from being Mr. Popular back home to Mr. Nobody here. I learnt to deal with it, eventually, even fancying myself as a bit of a loner, but everything has a limit. A few moments of time to yourself or solitude is sought after by all, but everytime i walk into a restaurant, remove my book and read because I have nobody to talk to, everytime i go through my phone book to see who I can call and talk to, everytime i see a large group of people sitting together and having a ball of a time, everytime I walk into my classroom and see the rows and rows of empty benches and realize that there is nobody around to fill them, the loneliness hits me like an anvil falling onto the head of Wily Coyote.
Perhaps I have changed, Perhaps the facade has finally slipped. In many ways, I may remain an overgrown child, but in many ways, I've grown up far more over these past two years than I might have.
I may have been broken, several times in this period, but I know I always manage to bounce back. I guess growing up is good, change is necessary, and solitude is but a passing phase.
Perhaps it is time to smile again.
V
Friday, November 24, 2006
Of Making out, Phlegm and Much Much More!! - by V.
I just finished a play. Maybe not as much as the other actors but I did my part. I will remember this play for a long time, not because the acting was so terrific, not because i adored the script, not because I amazed even myself by doing it in 3 days flat... I adored it for sheer ineptitude, incompetence and disinterest. Not to mention almost falling from a roof 40 feet high. It is a long story involving jute. Trust me...you dont want to know.
The advantage of doing a play is that you get to meet that rare species of human beings known as the theatre going audience. There were 3 days of this show and all 3 days gave me a glimpse into various sub-strata of this rare species. In order I will list V's top categories of the avreage theatre goer.
Day 1: I had to strain my eyes to find a memeber of the audience. Perhaps it was because I was not wearing my glasses. On this day we are introduced to the making out audience. These particular creatures always function as a pair, some more effective than others. The object is to minimise boredom and maximise excitement. Excitement for them and entertainment for us who managed to see them. Dont ask me why I was staring at a couple making out, especially considering that the girl was my ex-girlfriend.
Day 2: This day we a re introduced to a more civilised audience. Not a peep out of them throughout the show. Several times we had to have the lights focused into the audience to make sure they were actually there. Again, we meet a couple of specimens of the making out species. This was more raw...more animalistic. Sort of a "chomp off the jaw" genre. But then again technique is only refined with practice. I think there are more plays coming up. Ample time for practice I would say.
Day 3: By this time the actors have also realised that the only entertainment we are providing is to ourselves. And perhaps the harassed stage manager. Our third day audience was a mixture of the refined and the raw. On this day we are introduced to the species calles the "Coughers". Not to be mistaken for the well off, more the phlegmatic type if i may borrow an expression from Hippocrates. Allow me to give an example.
Cast member: Vaaatar..(Something unintelligible that was supposed to be water... I think.)
Now we observe a very peculiar phenomena. From the bottom left of the audience came a sound suspiciously akin to a snicker. It was a cough. from there it spread to the next row. And the next row. And the next and so on and so forth. It was sort of like a mexican wave with phlegm. Not to be outdone, the actors took it upon themselves to join in the chorus. From backstage came a sound that sounded suspiciously like "frigging morons". That was the stage manager. Probably to drown that out an actor on stage let out a really loud wail which originally was supposed to sound like "oh no!" but ended up sounding like a lion in orgasmic ecstacy. By now the actors and the audience were all one, each trying to out do the other. Which led to a very cacophonic symphony. "Cough cough"..."Vaaatar!!"...."Frigging morons"... "awwwww nooooooooooo!" interspersed with song and one very loud "AIYEEEEEEE!!!!" followed by a loud thud, which may have been the stage manager collapsing but was most probably just another actor knocking into a light or a prop backstage. Or potentially your honest blogger walking into a door. Somewhere in the midst of all this, we suddenly remembered that we had a play to finish and went for the curtain call... all incredibly smug about a very interactive performance. Group theatre at its best!
Somewhere out there a battlefield is still burning and the Monolith is still smoking.
As the lights fade out, one last time we hear "cough cough".."thud"... and "Frigging Morons!!!!"
This is Random Tandem member no. 2, V, reminding you, watch more plays. We need the money.
Cheers!
V.
The advantage of doing a play is that you get to meet that rare species of human beings known as the theatre going audience. There were 3 days of this show and all 3 days gave me a glimpse into various sub-strata of this rare species. In order I will list V's top categories of the avreage theatre goer.
Day 1: I had to strain my eyes to find a memeber of the audience. Perhaps it was because I was not wearing my glasses. On this day we are introduced to the making out audience. These particular creatures always function as a pair, some more effective than others. The object is to minimise boredom and maximise excitement. Excitement for them and entertainment for us who managed to see them. Dont ask me why I was staring at a couple making out, especially considering that the girl was my ex-girlfriend.
Day 2: This day we a re introduced to a more civilised audience. Not a peep out of them throughout the show. Several times we had to have the lights focused into the audience to make sure they were actually there. Again, we meet a couple of specimens of the making out species. This was more raw...more animalistic. Sort of a "chomp off the jaw" genre. But then again technique is only refined with practice. I think there are more plays coming up. Ample time for practice I would say.
Day 3: By this time the actors have also realised that the only entertainment we are providing is to ourselves. And perhaps the harassed stage manager. Our third day audience was a mixture of the refined and the raw. On this day we are introduced to the species calles the "Coughers". Not to be mistaken for the well off, more the phlegmatic type if i may borrow an expression from Hippocrates. Allow me to give an example.
Cast member: Vaaatar..(Something unintelligible that was supposed to be water... I think.)
Now we observe a very peculiar phenomena. From the bottom left of the audience came a sound suspiciously akin to a snicker. It was a cough. from there it spread to the next row. And the next row. And the next and so on and so forth. It was sort of like a mexican wave with phlegm. Not to be outdone, the actors took it upon themselves to join in the chorus. From backstage came a sound that sounded suspiciously like "frigging morons". That was the stage manager. Probably to drown that out an actor on stage let out a really loud wail which originally was supposed to sound like "oh no!" but ended up sounding like a lion in orgasmic ecstacy. By now the actors and the audience were all one, each trying to out do the other. Which led to a very cacophonic symphony. "Cough cough"..."Vaaatar!!"...."Frigging morons"... "awwwww nooooooooooo!" interspersed with song and one very loud "AIYEEEEEEE!!!!" followed by a loud thud, which may have been the stage manager collapsing but was most probably just another actor knocking into a light or a prop backstage. Or potentially your honest blogger walking into a door. Somewhere in the midst of all this, we suddenly remembered that we had a play to finish and went for the curtain call... all incredibly smug about a very interactive performance. Group theatre at its best!
Somewhere out there a battlefield is still burning and the Monolith is still smoking.
As the lights fade out, one last time we hear "cough cough".."thud"... and "Frigging Morons!!!!"
This is Random Tandem member no. 2, V, reminding you, watch more plays. We need the money.
Cheers!
V.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
To: VV
(This article is dedicated to a very sweet lady, to whom I made a promise… that promise is now here, in words…
Floreat…)
It is strange when a building can evoke in you a response all out of proportion with the occasion. Was it because the building was my alma mater, or was it because it was the 25th anniversary of the school? Was it because I was compere, same as I was for the last three years of school life?
Floreat…)
It is strange when a building can evoke in you a response all out of proportion with the occasion. Was it because the building was my alma mater, or was it because it was the 25th anniversary of the school? Was it because I was compere, same as I was for the last three years of school life?
Or was it…?
Was it because the same, beautiful girl who’d stood next to me one that last Annual Day was standing next to me this time also?
Can time juxtapose feelings? Can a place carry memories? Maybe all the lives that passed through that old school building left their traces… imagine…
The lives, the games, the loves and the crushes of thousands of students, left behind in names scratched on fading paint, in marks on trees and in smashed glass…maybe those memories can talk…
And maybe they did talk, to me, yesterday… Another scene played itself out to me as I stood there, announcing the day’s schedule. The scene of a youth, torn between love and despair, standing mute, wondering whether to grieve at the end of his school days or to grieve at the fact that he would be leaving someone behind…someone just an arm’s length away, and a truth waiting to be told…
Strange…
I wondered how we all change, how something that could’ve meant life or death to me in school, was now something for me to smile at, as a fallacy of my jeunesse dorée. A smile must have come on to my face, or the beginning of tears, I don't know.
But people were looking at me, and so, memories of love put aside, another (though less truthful) smile on my face, I went ahead
and announced the next program.
Strange…
Thursday, November 09, 2006
And in the Darkness, Demons…
A Short Short-Story by K.
[Author’s note: This Biercean story/piece was inspired by the semi-mythical nature of certain events. The friend in whose house this happened will most certainly recognize mentions of them – and him – in the story; I request him to kindly forgive this trespass on my part, to forgive a writer’s enthusiasm for having twisted the facts. I am not portraying you, friend. The characters are mine own. Still, I apologise if anything comes across in the wrong sense.
Please forgive me.]
The door groans as it is pushed open. The brand new, shiny steel lock glints against faded wood and rusty iron. The large house is empty and dark. The wooden rafters creak as they settle in for the night, tired from a long day of stretching and shrinking to the heat. The walls breathe, exhaling the miasma of years of accumulated smoke and whisky. The tang, with the odour of cigarettes and single-malt Scotch drifting behind it, assaults our nostrils.
Big mistake, for soon I can hear spectral voices chanting in cadence to mine…twisting the words…Being a Professor of Occult Studies is no used when you are scared: you can only give names to your fears…And I see the letters forming before my eyes…an innocent sentence…‘might like Ken…’ I see the starting letters…
MLK…Mōloch…
I cannot stand it anymore, the words scream thmselves out my throat…Vade retro me Satana!!! Get thee behind me, Satan!!!
And then the meaning sinks through. I hear a rustle behind me, I turn round. But not fast enough…I can only see the swinging of the curtains…Something behind it must have moved…
A Short Short-Story by K.
[Author’s note: This Biercean story/piece was inspired by the semi-mythical nature of certain events. The friend in whose house this happened will most certainly recognize mentions of them – and him – in the story; I request him to kindly forgive this trespass on my part, to forgive a writer’s enthusiasm for having twisted the facts. I am not portraying you, friend. The characters are mine own. Still, I apologise if anything comes across in the wrong sense.
Please forgive me.]
We are two scared men; living together. All alone. We dread the coming of the night; dread the visitations of our nightmares, our fears made flesh. Strange how in this time of demystification, of pooh-poohing of myth how the human mind conjures up images scarier than those any myth ever produced…strange…
The door groans as it is pushed open. The brand new, shiny steel lock glints against faded wood and rusty iron. The large house is empty and dark. The wooden rafters creak as they settle in for the night, tired from a long day of stretching and shrinking to the heat. The walls breathe, exhaling the miasma of years of accumulated smoke and whisky. The tang, with the odour of cigarettes and single-malt Scotch drifting behind it, assaults our nostrils.
...
He looks at me: I can see the tiredness in his eyes, as he can see the weariness in mine. Apathetic and disillusioned smiles stretch our faces. He motions towards the hall, his other hand making as though to hold a bottle. I understand. Time for M. Daniels. Silver Select. With ice.
…
The whisky is well inside us now, with a small amount of water. Heads are beginning to spin. The whisky educes humour, but behind our laughter we can see Hysteria grin, see Madness peer out from the unfathomable depths of Fear…The laughter is quickly silenced…there is work to be done. And it is getting late. Outside, a crow caws. The sound is so harsh it sets my teeth on edge; an involuntary shiver racks my body. I look at him, nod. He nods back. We do not speak. Stillness…
…
The whisky is well inside us now, with a small amount of water. Heads are beginning to spin. The whisky educes humour, but behind our laughter we can see Hysteria grin, see Madness peer out from the unfathomable depths of Fear…The laughter is quickly silenced…there is work to be done. And it is getting late. Outside, a crow caws. The sound is so harsh it sets my teeth on edge; an involuntary shiver racks my body. I look at him, nod. He nods back. We do not speak. Stillness…
...
He goes into his room, to work and listen to music, his refuge against the demons. I return the bottle and glasses to the kitchen. The hall lights are silenced. Trees rustle outside and I know it is the wind but my mind…I can see images of horrendous beings clambering over the leaves, dribbling, slavering, peering in at the windows…A shadow moves across the shutters and I imagine red eyes looking into mine…
He goes into his room, to work and listen to music, his refuge against the demons. I return the bottle and glasses to the kitchen. The hall lights are silenced. Trees rustle outside and I know it is the wind but my mind…I can see images of horrendous beings clambering over the leaves, dribbling, slavering, peering in at the windows…A shadow moves across the shutters and I imagine red eyes looking into mine…
A scream tries to let itself out, but I prevent that, gagging in my dread…I do not want to scare the both of us. Failure has already made us weak. I take a book, and retire to my room. I shout goodnight so he can hear me but the sound is so loud it shakes our very souls…his mumbled response follows me inside my room. The window in the wall is open, it has no shutters. There is nothing scarier than waking up at an ungodly hour and trying to make sense of the shadows therein.
...
Mysterious creaks and midnight sounds leak into the room, the moonbeams seem to swish and whisper as they slide over the sheets…A rat squeaks. The book is no help, so I try to silence jangled nerves by reading out aloud.
Mysterious creaks and midnight sounds leak into the room, the moonbeams seem to swish and whisper as they slide over the sheets…A rat squeaks. The book is no help, so I try to silence jangled nerves by reading out aloud.
Big mistake, for soon I can hear spectral voices chanting in cadence to mine…twisting the words…Being a Professor of Occult Studies is no used when you are scared: you can only give names to your fears…And I see the letters forming before my eyes…an innocent sentence…‘might like Ken…’ I see the starting letters…
m…l…k….MLK…Hebrew…Melekh...The King…But the Masoretic vocalisation reads Mōloch…The Devil…
MLK…Mōloch…
...
Bosheth! Shameful thing! Get away from me!!! “Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour...”
Bosheth! Shameful thing! Get away from me!!! “Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour...”
I cannot stand it anymore, the words scream thmselves out my throat…Vade retro me Satana!!! Get thee behind me, Satan!!!
And then the meaning sinks through. I hear a rustle behind me, I turn round. But not fast enough…I can only see the swinging of the curtains…Something behind it must have moved…
...
I cannot stand it anymore. I get up, I run out of the room nto the darkness…I cannot find the light switch… VADE RETRO ME SATANA!!! I blindly rush to the main door, yanking it open, as behind me I hear two voices uplifted in song. Loud, very loud… “Regrets, I've had a few; But then again, too few to mention…” He takes his refuge in Sinatra. The same song plays through the night, a million times, till he has sung himself hoarse, and then Sinatra sings alone, keeping fiends at bay…
I cannot stand it anymore. I get up, I run out of the room nto the darkness…I cannot find the light switch… VADE RETRO ME SATANA!!! I blindly rush to the main door, yanking it open, as behind me I hear two voices uplifted in song. Loud, very loud… “Regrets, I've had a few; But then again, too few to mention…” He takes his refuge in Sinatra. The same song plays through the night, a million times, till he has sung himself hoarse, and then Sinatra sings alone, keeping fiends at bay…
...
I rush out into the cold night, to the night of anonymous sounds, to the night of unknown insects making their insect sounds into the dank cold air, the night of Ba’al Mōloch, of Belial and Abaddon…
I rush out into the cold night, to the night of anonymous sounds, to the night of unknown insects making their insect sounds into the dank cold air, the night of Ba’al Mōloch, of Belial and Abaddon…
Behind me, there is the house, and Sinatra and darkness…
And in the darkness, demons…
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
I Don't Want To Be Me
With due apologies to all those who think song lyrics do not form appropriate blog entries, I wish to paste below a song by Ian Anderson. I love the lyrics. And it kind of matches my mood right now (and the mood of someone else, I am thinking...)
I Don't Want To Be Me
by Jethro Tull
(Words: Ian Anderson)
Got a grand house out in the country.
Marble pillars holding the door.
Empty bottles lining the wall from the night before.
Got a Roller out in the garage.
But the wheels are stuck to the floor.
Got no reason to go anywhere--no friends call anymore.
I don't want to be me,
I don't want to be me,
I know it's hard to see,
But I don't want to be me.
Had me playing down at the palace.
I was declared the belle of the ball.
Made the boys take my goods and chattels away--
now I'm staring at an empty hall.
I don't want to be me.
Pardon me--I'm on my way.
Pardon me but I'm going.
Taking on the simple life and I feel the grass roots growing.
I'm going to ride the ragged road--
diamond spurs jangling into the sunset.
No circuits running overload--
Well maybe I'm not done yet.
Now there's nothing left in the cupboard
and three bears' been eating my soup.
My life is one big critical mess if you take a look.
And the butler's off in Ibiza on expense account gone berserk.
But I can't check out of this crazy world
without being a jerk--
I don't want to be me.
I Don't Want To Be Me
by Jethro Tull
(Words: Ian Anderson)
Got a grand house out in the country.
Marble pillars holding the door.
Empty bottles lining the wall from the night before.
Got a Roller out in the garage.
But the wheels are stuck to the floor.
Got no reason to go anywhere--no friends call anymore.
I don't want to be me,
I don't want to be me,
I know it's hard to see,
But I don't want to be me.
Had me playing down at the palace.
I was declared the belle of the ball.
Made the boys take my goods and chattels away--
now I'm staring at an empty hall.
I don't want to be me.
Pardon me--I'm on my way.
Pardon me but I'm going.
Taking on the simple life and I feel the grass roots growing.
I'm going to ride the ragged road--
diamond spurs jangling into the sunset.
No circuits running overload--
Well maybe I'm not done yet.
Now there's nothing left in the cupboard
and three bears' been eating my soup.
My life is one big critical mess if you take a look.
And the butler's off in Ibiza on expense account gone berserk.
But I can't check out of this crazy world
without being a jerk--
I don't want to be me.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
K’s Top 10 Reasons to Leave Bangalore (In Increasing Order of Importance) ®
1) BENGALOORU. I do not think I need to say more. That name does it.
2) We’ll go with the classics now: POLLUTION
2) We’ll go with the classics now: POLLUTION
3) All the roads need restructuring and replanning.
4) Traffic SUCKS. There is NO road sense or sense of any other kind.
5) Public transport SUCKS. Drivers have no road sense, no manners, they are often indifferent and treat passengers like SHIT.
6) The people are indifferent, most of the time. Everyone wants to have only their way in the city, which is very irritating.
7) (Now we get down to brass tacks) ZERO NIGHT LIFE. Everything closes by eleven and the only places which do not get raided by the police and foster criminal cases about our rich scions.
8) Entertainment sucks. There is literally nothing to do if you’re not a shop- or a spend-aholic. (Though I guess this is true about every other city as well)
9) Smoking banned on stage. Now theatre artistes have to pay a fine (it’s HUGE) if they have a play featuring smoking, and they will have to justify the reasons. CRAP.
10) Smoking banned in movies. No more movies will be made featuring anyone smoking. And some IDIOT wants to ban screenings of all movies heretofore made which feature smoking. GOODBYE Bachchan, Shotgun Sinha, Devdas, Bogart, Wayne, all our heroes. Goodbye Tarantino.
THAT’S IT FOLKS!!!! TIME TO CLEAN UP OUR ACT OR GET OUT!!!!
Loving Regards,
K.
6) The people are indifferent, most of the time. Everyone wants to have only their way in the city, which is very irritating.
7) (Now we get down to brass tacks) ZERO NIGHT LIFE. Everything closes by eleven and the only places which do not get raided by the police and foster criminal cases about our rich scions.
8) Entertainment sucks. There is literally nothing to do if you’re not a shop- or a spend-aholic. (Though I guess this is true about every other city as well)
9) Smoking banned on stage. Now theatre artistes have to pay a fine (it’s HUGE) if they have a play featuring smoking, and they will have to justify the reasons. CRAP.
10) Smoking banned in movies. No more movies will be made featuring anyone smoking. And some IDIOT wants to ban screenings of all movies heretofore made which feature smoking. GOODBYE Bachchan, Shotgun Sinha, Devdas, Bogart, Wayne, all our heroes. Goodbye Tarantino.
THAT’S IT FOLKS!!!! TIME TO CLEAN UP OUR ACT OR GET OUT!!!!
Loving Regards,
K.
Friday, November 03, 2006
K's Totally meaningless Poem - 1
Early in the morning, as I lie awake in bed,
Memories of last night runnin’ thru my head,
A song comes screeching right through the wall,
It’s my sister playing ‘Don’, sitting in the hall.
The remixed and re-mastered version of a classic
Makes me groan like some monster most Jurassic,
And as the singer tries to gyrate like Kareena Kapoor,
To them I feel like doin’ what was done to Tupac Shakur.
And then as the tempo shifts through the music blaster
I realise my sister has turned and started playing ‘Bluffmaster.’
The songs make gorge and bile rise in my throat,
As another stifled little scream dies in my throat.
How I wish someone’d play Sabbath or even the Stones
Instead of this shit that rattles all my bones.
Even as I sit in bed trying not to throw up,
I realise I just have to let my sister grow up.
And thus, cursing this setup, I groan and stretch,
Feeling – after all that – like a perfect little wretch.
And still the music comes at me, twisted and ugly…
I run into the loo, screaming –
“OH FREDDLED GRUNTBUGGLY!!!”
Addendum for Monolith:
Groop I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes,
And after you have read all the worst of my pomes,
And hooptiously drangle me
You will happily strangle me
With crinkly bindlewurdles
As I get through the hurdles…
Or I will rend thee in gobberwarts with my burglecruncheon
As I read my next poem during our next luncheon.
See if I don’t.
Memories of last night runnin’ thru my head,
A song comes screeching right through the wall,
It’s my sister playing ‘Don’, sitting in the hall.
The remixed and re-mastered version of a classic
Makes me groan like some monster most Jurassic,
And as the singer tries to gyrate like Kareena Kapoor,
To them I feel like doin’ what was done to Tupac Shakur.
And then as the tempo shifts through the music blaster
I realise my sister has turned and started playing ‘Bluffmaster.’
The songs make gorge and bile rise in my throat,
As another stifled little scream dies in my throat.
How I wish someone’d play Sabbath or even the Stones
Instead of this shit that rattles all my bones.
Even as I sit in bed trying not to throw up,
I realise I just have to let my sister grow up.
And thus, cursing this setup, I groan and stretch,
Feeling – after all that – like a perfect little wretch.
And still the music comes at me, twisted and ugly…
I run into the loo, screaming –
“OH FREDDLED GRUNTBUGGLY!!!”
Addendum for Monolith:
Groop I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes,
And after you have read all the worst of my pomes,
And hooptiously drangle me
You will happily strangle me
With crinkly bindlewurdles
As I get through the hurdles…
Or I will rend thee in gobberwarts with my burglecruncheon
As I read my next poem during our next luncheon.
See if I don’t.
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