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

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.