Monday, February 13, 2012

When Enough is Enough!

Overloaded bag, that last piece of curly fries, that ample swig of rum, the over adequate sounds of pity, the myriad questions, the copious amounts of tobacco, the abundance of nonsense...when is it ever enough?


How do you know its enough?

How many times will you scream your guts out that its the last time but go back to the same thing again and again, like some unstoppable force was pulling you... like you were on auto mode, a helpless puppet of your own desires, insecurities, fears, the reservations about your self, reaching that pinnacle from where there is no return... longing for a finality that should come, has to come, but somehow always gets delayed, gets ripped in one single corner, tucked far away from consciousness. A part which hardly matters at the moment but exists for all purposes to remind you that, a little sliver of it has seeped back to where it was... where it always will be...a memory of that initial theorem.

The basis of choice, made in haste, frustration, despair but always weaker than that eternal damnation...'Hope'. How does it manage to sneak back in is beyond comprehension but once in, it grows like cancer, becoming bigger and bigger until you scream out again "Enough is Enough" hoping that this time its the last.

Deep down, I know the answer is 'Never' but still the heart hopes. Sigh!

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Fake Smruti :Fake Speech : Free Thought

I have no ideas...I have no passion... I have no inspiration....otherwise how do you explain my cyber silence? Is social media eating into my expressions? Am I slowly losing my voice by voicing my thoughts in 140 characters?

I would like to believe that I am so hard pressed for time what with work, old monk, the occasional socializing that I have no energy to scribble something here... but the real story is much more disturbing.

I have become a 'pleaser' from a 'dont care'er and I am always trying to please somebody or the other...so if I write about the romantic illusions of somebody I know I realize that the person is going to get offended or if I write about a book on a nice Wednesday afternoon, another friendly soul

would not take it lightly...so how would I please anyone?

Maybe I could use an alias and draw parallels that are so complicated that nobody gets it....but then what is the point if nobody gets it? Why is free speech so difficult? Isnt it supposed to be freely available?

Not in Mr Rushdie's world....and neither in mine. Sigh.

Maybe I will be tweet under a different handle "fakesmruti" and say what I really want to say...but there is another problem there...will 'fakesmruti' be like the real Smruti? Then she should have the same issues? so 'fakesmruti' will have to create another handle 'fakefakesmruti' ...but then the problem would get compounded... imagine a world of fakesmruti's!! As if one Smruti wasnt enough....maybe its easier to bottle up all the thoughts and pass them through some thoughtcast to a universe its stored for eternity. Where can I find such an universe? Is it google/youtube?

Monday, October 3, 2011

State of Mind

Irritated. Tired. Cranky. Sad. Empty. Dead. Charged Up. Rebellious. Wish there was a gun to shoot everyone. Wish I was all alone. Wish I was far from civilization. Wish Mom was here. Need a hug. Hungry. Thirsty. Thirsty for rum. Especially Old Monk. Miss Totos. Miss friends. Want no human interaction. Want a home. Need to pack. Have to shift. Have to find a house. Have to make a home. Tired eyes. Up for 20 hours straight. Need more energy. Why is there a mosquito buzzing around? Craving Blueberry Cheesecake. Havent baked for a long time. Cooking is therapeutic. Sleep deprived. Fondly remember the glow in the dark starry bedsheets. Unstable. Meditation. Superpower. Force. John Abraham. Lust. Bicep. Exercise. Boot Camp. Old age. Retirement. Bucket List. Paragliding. Macchu Picchu. Road not taken. Nostalgia. Books. Prized possessions. Alternate world. Escape reality. Reality TV. Bigg Boss. Work. Edit. Crunch. Walls. House. Brokers. Communication. Writing. Blog. Book. Characters. Sabina. Unbearable lightness of being. Coincidences. Bigger Picture. Future. Long wait. Tough. Filmy Dialogues. Kishore Kumar. Music. Silence. Calmness. White. Peace. Words. Life. Death. The End

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

3rd time lucky?

So this is the 3rd blast in Mumbai which has happened near me… and when I say near I mean near… the first (7/11) where 7 serial blasts send shockwaves across the country….it happened when I took the train home… had left early from work….I had to walk home cursing everybody not knowing what was going on. The next day there were slogans on ‘the spirit of mumbai’. Memories of human sea and panic have added to my claustrophobia.

Next was the 26/11, where the hostage saga carried on for 54 hours … I was shooting in the same locations for a channel id and had unfortunately packed up on time and had just left when we got the call. Memories of widespread media panic-mileage-hype added to my disgust.

The third time is today, 13/7 where 3 blasts again sent the media hype to a zenith. This time my office was nearby the site and yet again this was a day I had chosen to step out from work early. Wonder what memories will plague me this time?

Moral of the story – don’t leave work early, coz I may not be lucky the next time.

Sunday, June 5, 2011

A new parenting technique which may evolve to a new career option!


Gone are the days of “mera beta engineer ya doctor bannega”. Now all that hyperventilating dads and shrieky moms want, is a child who can throw a tantrum and refuse to sallow a morsel for 3-4 hours even at the cost of turning blue in the face.
Most of the old timers are aghast at this new parenting technique and these new age parents who are fighting the Sharmaji and Guptaji’s in a race to clock the most their child is deprived of food are secretly plotting their climb to fame.
When contacted by eager journos, Gulabo Devi, a resident of Haryana said that she was forced to starve her son due to the acute poverty they faced but being the people of the soil; his son battled it out against malnourishment and hopefully against corruption someday. She seemed apologetic that she chooses her husband over her son. Between silent sobs, she concludes that “kya karen tau, aurat ki zindagi ek sangharsh howe”. Her son has now grown to be a successful ‘Professional Hunger Striker’ and is currently eyeing a piece of the political pie.
Moving from the hinterland to the mainland of corruption though is another story where choices of starvation are self inflicted along with choices of bulimia and anorexia. Mrs Anchal (it is fashionable to drop the surname these days) claims that it was a tough task for her to hide all the snacks and tidbits especially the cereal boxes from her tiny tot. “He has the nose of a blood hound, he can smell food from a mile away!” exclaimed Mrs Anchal while describing the tough times she had to undergo while training her son Ram to stay away from food. She describes that if she wouldn’t have been tough then, her teenaged son would not have made a successful career of a professional ‘Hunger Striker’ that is so in vogue these days.
Currently Ram is part of an NGO (ashram as it is lovingly called by all and sundry) which flash mobs issues plaguing 23% of the population. Ritambhara another young Hunger striker rising slowly through the ranks and confident of making it big in the main leagues says that being a woman it was doubly difficult for her to fast for long stretches and not shop to fulfill the hunger pangs. One of the professional hazards of being a hunger striker is to lie still among thousands of people in an open maidan.
Ashutosh another eager journo asks peevishly, if the fire in belly prompts the firey speeches that also have become a hallmark of a seasoned hunger striker? His question is rudely ignored and Ashu is reduced to posting status messages on his FB describing the under the table diet that these hunger strikers consume. His next assignment would be a sting on the same.
However, the only thing worrying Ritambhara, Teenaged Ram and parents pushing their kids to this new career option is the diminishing causes that drive able bodied men with a glint of political power in their eyes to the arena of public fasting.
Meanwhile Sudhakar Jagdish a journalist with Indian Express has posted a new nursery rhyme for kids who want to take up this vocation later in their life.
Baba Baba Black Sheep, Have you any cash?
Yes Sir Yes Sir Three bags full.
One for my ashram,
one for the phoren cruise,
and one for my political career which needs some push!