The Dark Passenger

It lies passive, waiting for opportunities when none existed...to rear its head not unlike a baby sparrow. If only it was cute like the sparrow. The exact residential place is not known... nor is its destination. It is fascinating to observe the speed at which it grows though. Like all things resilient it strikes when you least expect it. Unlike all striking things it aim is directed at itself, somehow it musters this great rage but somehow gets too engrossed within itself and self destructs. 


The more you try and control it, the more you distract it, the more you ignore it, the stronger it grows. What does it feed on? Why does it exist? What does it want? 


Give it that small ray of light and the tendrils uncurl and multiply and uncurl and multiply and uncurl and multiply and you lose track of which was the offending one. Somehow it has also grown stronger with thicker roots and stems which cut deeply and leave a scar. 


Will it bind its vines so deep that escape is impossible, will one have to find ingenious ways to channel it, will anyone be bothered enough to pull out its roots? 


Dexter Morgan, thanks for giving the name, at least one doesnt have to call it by some clinical name. 

Special Superhero!

I always knew I was special… God must have made me special… what other reason was there for me to exist if I wasn’t God’s favorite child.

I can’t fly airplanes or invent things that need inventing, even though I can doodle I really cant paint or write, create fancy online applications which earn me millions, be a sports star and win medals for the country while endorsing various products, sing or even dance without jabbing my elbow into someone…. How am I helping this world? I guess there is a secret plan by the cosmos (not the magazine dodos but the supreme one with halo and lightning as a weapon) and I am like a sleeper agent who will be activated when the time is ripe.

Of course, half of my life is over waiting for this super secret plan to work out…maybe its so super secret that I am doing it without realizing it…like the other day when I crossed a traffic signal and almost made that speeding car crush me ….saved that driver from being penalized by the traffic cops!

I continue to hone my skills while I wait for my cue to save the world…unlike the other established superheroes I don’t have a revenge drama to take care of while waiting to save the world…nor do I have to win over somebody’s love or sew my own tights… I have to continue with my everyday existence in the same mundane way without letting anyone know that I am a superhero… a special superhero for that matter.

Why am I special? Coz I actually do not have any superpowers…so I guess I have to be!

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!

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?

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