SANITARIUM?

Wrong time.
Wrong place.
Wrong dimension.

Wasn't supposed to be here.True,for the most part Hollywood has been the bane of my belief.

But what do I do if I see more sense in Captain Jack Sparrow's insanity than Alvin Toffler's reason?

What do I do if I see more sense in Memphis Raines' gunning Eleanor over the ramp on the Vincent Thomas Bridge than the average suffocating seatbelt?

What do I do if I see more sense in the return of the King than i can ever hope to find in a general election?

What do I do if I believe Neo can take down three agents faster than a politician can utter two syllables that make some sense in the most peurile of senses?

What do I do when I believe that knowing the evolution of Darth Bane on wikipedia is more important than reading Darwin?

What do I do if I believe I would prefer leasing a service apartment in Minas Tirith than three penthouses on Park Avenue?

What do I do if I'd like to win a duel with lightsabers or even broadswords rather than nuke out an entire army of millions?

What do I do if I'd rather take my chances with a Velociraptor in Jurassic Park rather than produce the documents of my bike to a fat cop at every signal?

what do I do if I'd rather be the Terminator/John Connor than some stupid millionaire wasting time to make his 34584759032nd million?

What do I do if I'd rather James Hetfield throw a used pic at me at Rock am Ring rather than Bill Gates throw the signed Power of Attorney at me concerning all his assets?

What do I do if a Lord of the Rings marathon is more prestigious to me than getting a distinction in academics?

When is Morpheus arriving with the red pill?
I'm dying to tumble down the rabbit hole.

When will the Narsil be reforged and handed over to me so that I can walk over and crash into a horde of ten thousand Orcs?

when?

Mr. Wizard..I need an exit.
Wabash and Lake's already in the tracer program.





" I know you're out there.
I can feel you now.
I know that you're afraid.Afraid of us.
You're afraid of change.
I don't know of the future.
I didn't come here to tell you how this is going to end.
I came here to tell you how its going to begin.
I'm going to hang up this phone and then I'm going to show these people what you don't want them to see.
I'm going to show them a world without you.
A world without rules and controls.
Without borders or boundaries.
A world where anything is possible.
Where we go from there,
is a choice I leave to you. "

- Mr. Thomas A. Anderson

THE SMALL DICK SYNDROME : a 350 cc disease?

This one has been a really long time in coming. Legend has it that one of my uncles had a ducati 916 poster in his room when I was about 2 or 3 years old.ducati was probably the first word I could spell, speak, pronounce without mistakes. Till date, if I see one tearing down the road, I feel the hackles on my neck stand up in salutation and absolute wonder. I’m not much of a tech freak and a regular average Joe as far as mechanics are concerned. I currently own a bajaj pulsar DTS- I 180, 2006.

This one is an ode to all the dipshits who, roughly over the past six years have been trying their level best to explain to me what real biking is about. Its just about time I told them a little something from my side too. I have had a Royal Enfield Bullet STD, 1973 for some time too. I was in love with it, still am to an extent. But my mistake was that I’d bought it as a student from the money that was doled out by a measly summer job. Inexperience prevailed, I lost a lot of money, sanity prevailed later and I took the most practical and heartbreaking decision of selling her off. Providing for her maintenance and mine proved to be quite impossible in my meager allowance of three grand a month. Nuff said.

Sorry about the needless bit of detail. I’ve heard that the bullets and the T – birds have become quite a rage among the rich and/or the adventurous. You’re supposed to be a dunderhead if the only thing not on your mind is tripping off to some far off location on the machine. And that too, not alone but in hordes much like the armies of Anubis hunting down a single madji. And they shall take their cameras along too. I modestly call it the Memento / Ghajini effect. They’re so busy with the shutter speed and ISO and lighting and angle to catch that opportune moment that they miss the moment altogether. They say that the pulsar is a plastic bike. This plastic bike can do two rounds of the city before the decompress starts to work on the bullet to just pump it up. They prep their bikes for days to do a 500 km trip. The pulsar does it just fine in a tankful and ten hours of a straight ride. First hand experience. They talk about endurance, durability. I have four examples to put everything to rest. The Bajaj Chetak, the Kinetic Honda ZX, the Pulsar, the Karizma have all been to Leh and back. I’ve seen the impossible sight of an M80 taking the weight of two rotund women (100 kg each at least) and mind you, the sputtering whelp managed just fine. There was a friend who could manage a sustained wheelie, change gears and change or maintain altitude on a Caliber 115.yes, the Hoodibaba. Another enthusiast who took off on an 11 year old battered splendor and had all the flash that these new age kids can dare to dream of. The Royal Enfield is a brilliant machine. Its just sad that these freaks of nature are the last bastion of hope that it has. I’ve heard that the Bullet doesn’t leak oil, it marks its territory. Bullshit. With some whipped cream and a cherry on top. My pulsar then, farts daisies and craps blueberry muffins. But then, an ego based on a 350 cc piece of metal couldn’t be asked to come up with something better now, could it? They ask me to get a Bullet because my Pulsar is really inconspicuous in the parking lot. I take it all with a very Sean-Connery-shaking-his-head-saying-kids.

I had always thought that biking was about not proving the thump to the world but having the thump inside. Till date, when I rip the machine open late night on prithviraj road, she responds with a growl as throaty as ever. Maybe the Bullet is better. I really don’t care. That is good enough for me. I don’t ride like my tail is on fire. I find it to be quite stupid and puerile. I cannot ride in a herd. I hate classification. I hate plans, maps, cameras, and compasses that work. The horizon is the destination when you’re out for a ride. A ride is not a photo op. it’s not a race either. It’s a journey inward and outward. It is about the spiritual confluence of the rider and the ride, the moment of revelation where they both realize and revel in their unison. Solitude is a boon for that precise moment when you’re lost and the only thing that fills your head is the beast growling between your legs waiting to be unleashed and swallow the road for a well deserved meal. As long as its even a 50 cc Scooty coupled with the insanity to go off into the sunset, its all good.

I’m not Valentino Rossi.

I’m not Eddie Zero either.

I’m me.

And I love my bike.
Keep yer balls safe next time you think of trashin it.
I’m not the best rider.
But I’m better than a Lebanese chef with a cleaver.

Lets ride.

ETERNAL FURY : THE KID V/S THE MAN

" you can't kill me because i'm already inside you" 

   

                                                - Corey Taylor

the six year sabbatical draws to a close.the cocoon of  the feel good security is beginning to erode,falling apart one shard at a time.the slime of the sin of sloth is washing away alarmingly quick.soon,it shall be time to be purged and be baptized in the fires of what we disdainfully refer to as reality.expectations and responsibilities approach as inevitably as the executive working in his cubicle on the 80th floor would have pictured the approaching airbus before the leviathan's fuel proved its volatility in a split second ka boom on 9/11.get the picture?

trouble is,his woes were at end.

mine are just about to begin.

the wayward kid refuses to grow up.the erupting delinquency has given way to a dormant smoldering backdraft but that's about it. its almost like a restrained werewolf being refused the craving to turn and howl at the moon,spill some blood and revel in the debauchery of the devil with macabre unapologetic glee and instead having a dozen silver swords sticking in him,waiting to twist and compound his pain at the slightest hint of defiance, to make him an enslaved black fuck from the slave era to do the bidding of the man.the war continues within the walls of my psyche as the man in the black suit with the slick hair,the cushy job and the nice car has the kid in a deathlock.the kid refuses to give in,battling thru sweat and blood to uphold the last bastion of freedom.the kid realizes that its not just teenage angst but someting more that he's standing against.the flag of non conformity has been carried into battle,all in tatters but still flapping proudly through glory and fall.

as it flaps unhindered, the new warrior sees a cloud of dust approaching and its not the man with reinforcements but his comrades who took the vows of non conformity with him but gave in with a few shiny doubloons thrown their way fighting over them like rabid wolves.the warrior picks up his sword and braces himself.the evangelists descend from the converging walls to kill the apparent non conformist antichrist.so much for the fucked up evangelistic nazerine.

bring it on,bitch.

the finality of the situation makes itself sickeningly clear.

inescapably so.

flashes from the past and the present rise in the warrior's line of vision like the shockwaves from the thundering hooves of his apparent approaching doom.

the first kiss on his front porch.

the first drag of a liberating cigarette.

the first accident and the liberating freeflow of purging pain after that.

the oncoming scyhtes have the glint of the death blue twilight and draw closer.

the first argument  with the man and many that followed.

the first laugh at designer clothing. 

the first unapologetic snicker at posterior licking retards.

the fits of laughter at the norm of spending an eternity amassing a material fortune.

the realization that as much as they'd try,he'd  never give in.

the realization that his lust for freedom was always going to be bigger than their paltry greed for wealth.

the realization that he stood alone.

he stood proud.

the pounding hooves and screams filled his ears as the army draws even closer.

he remembers the rebukes,from parents,relatives,friends,authorities.

the infuences and catalysts of change that crashed in a manner as futile as a million waves on a rock on the pacific coast that refuses to wither.

the child shall not grow.

the dream shall remain.

the last stand shall be fought for tooth and nail.his knuckles go white as the grip on the hilt of his sword becomes tighter.the resolve only grows stronger.the last surge of power seeps in as a grin spreads on his face.

the kid becomes a warrior.

the warrior remains a kid.

he grits his teeth and stands tall in the fading light,sword and head held high.the cackling army cringes at the final moment as the warrior walks nonchalantly towards them armed with his sword bloodlusting for freedom or death.he crashes into the hordes and is enveloped in an eternal battle and the mist of blood thickens on the scorched plains.

so begins the war.

the end isn't in sight.

the armies of everything he is against are relentless.

and the kid isn't in the mood to quit either.

inter alia,ceteris paribus.... bring it on,bitch.

VOID

"this is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object"

                                                                                               - The Joker

                                                                                                    (R.I.P.)

its all coming back.the fortress of solitude.cut off.drift off. the  pointlessness of being.used to be confusing in happier days.scarily so,isn't now.the finality is sinking in with a really calm candour. the sickening routine of groping for words.the attitudinal and behavioral pattern, the continuance of which can have only one resultant; the blur of chaos shards where incoherence and disdain reign supreme.the abject disconnect.nothing to state.nothing to declare.to the point of being almost at peace with the hopelessness of the situation.like a warped lap at thunderhead.at a point where the road ahead is almost like a simulated fucking obstruction versus slalom course. not quite sure about the resolve to cross it this time though.the world was given up on long back.the anomaly seems to be taking the same course now.its like watching a richter topping earthquake in slow motion and admiring the hopeless serenity in an aspect of its magnanimous entirety.the fatal flaw of hubris is working like a modded supra failing to find traction at 8000 rpm.like listening to beethoven's ninth with a scotch on the balcony while a satellite view of the planet shows criscrossing mitotic orange mushroom clouds enveloping everything around me,with a calm realization of a saturated grainy grayness to follow.complacency at its very best.or worst.a lot like what john connor might have felt at crystal peak.but there is no war.there is no solution to a stalemate.no enemy to vanquish or die fighting against. nothing. just an emptiness that is like an hourglass where the movement has been postponed indefinitely.like being part of a car crash in slow motion where the pile up continues like a deja vu overlapped to infinitesimally complicated and everchanging proportions that pursue a disturbing symmetry on the fractal curve.lorentz would have been proud.so would malcolm.escape is inevitable.hell,should've listened to smith when he said that its the sound of inevitability.will make him a janitor program if he comes back with a cheeky i told u so.used to question the quirk warps in my existence at a point in time.its over. don't feel the need to anymore.could be a good thing. or the worst thing i may have faced. but i think i sincerely don't care anymore.still don't believe in the concept of destiny or  fate but i think i'd attribute it to the extreme non application of foresight.could have saved the anomaly from the angular collision course.should have heeded the funny man in time.

too bad.

QUANTUM OF SOLACE

 "love cannot survive in the event of subzero quantum of solace"

                    - Ian Fleming

distance.

disconnect.

been at these crossroads before.the timing is just the worst ever.for once,groping for some support.clink.flash of light.burning paper.simmering tobacco.smoke.billowing blue and ultraviolet in the only surviving light of the computer screen.the smoke irritates the already weak eye muscles.a tear trickles out.but i'm still not crying.not smirking either.its this fucking suspended animation that i've come to despise to the core.its not anger.it ain't despair either.what the fuck is wrong?

would have fucking walked off as usual with a trademark goodbye had it been someone half as imperatively vital to sanity.exhale.cough.cough again.why? where did i fucking go wrong? talk it out.talk what out? weren't the cards laid out from the outset? did i put a full stop sumwhere that i'm not aware of till date?

darker days ahead.the tunnel continues.nightvision just makes it more eerie.the absence of the anomaly is worse than an aberrant presence.the presence is summin that can be painful at times like a safety net of barbwire but i'm used to it.i love it.don't feel like giving it up.have no idea whether its special or just the usual or at the nadir of human relationships.at a juncture where i can safely say that it is at a point of no return.i'll stay right here.don't know whether its ill advised,hopelessly romantic or fate.the anomaly can play a card of choice.i play blind.and up the stakes a notch.

prefer pain to death.death is the state of absentia of anomaly.the shimmering blue scythe might turn out to be slightly too sharp for me to handle.it is an appeal.please stay.

THE UPSHIFT THEORY

pain.

why? 

was it not by choice that i moved off?slinked off first and then wrenched out and flushed out into the trash.why desecrate it now? do i miss them? should i miss them?

it was like a fucken time lapse.people meeting each other.reacting.smiling.wisecracks.buttcracks.jackasses.assholes.good people.friends.foes.friends turned foes.foes turned friends.and on my part,an abject unwillingness to flinch.it made a difference.wasn't like i didn't want to react.have lost the will to.some said i had gained too much moss.some said i'd just grown older.i believe i'm just paranoid.one single interaction,the whole cause and effect of which can be unnerving is summin i'd rather avoid.break all bonds.forge none.the old pain may come creeping back up again.but i'm bloody as hell determined not to let a new one make room for itself.there's a threshold for every being...normal,abnormal,paranormal.i've reached mine.not anymore.maybe they are right.i might just be too old for this.disconnected.the people i cud die for at a point of time.just a completely confused state of existence.

and the bloody chip on the shoulder.trigger happy.always polishing the muzzle.cradling the blade.ready to pull the pin.pull the plug.and walk off with disdain.is it the inability to feel?couldn't be.then how is the pain justified.nothin is regrettable.the good times.the bad times.the times now.but that dull thump of a recurring migraine persists.why?like the blinding shock that sets in wen ya get up after a real bad mangled accident with a partially open skull,white knuckles and knees that slowly get flushed with red and asymmetrical blobs pouring the life outta you.wen the lips go dry slowly and ya choke on ur own blood as the post trauma cigarette [the feel of which can only be countered by a post coital cigarette..don't fuckin ask me how.go do it and then draw parallels before ya decide to trash me on this one].

still can't figure out what the fuck happens to go wrong here. the whole situation is like watching an autistic kid playing.u know there's summin about the kid that ain't right but u'll ignore it first,try removing it subsequently and finally try and wash yer hands off it.i guess that should be the endeavour here.move on.shift the gear.ignore the noise.the engine will have a proper run in someday.till then,just gear up for more potholes.good roads.crossroads.but enjoy the ride.don't kill the engine on the shoulder and hang yer boots...yet.