On Insurmountable odds and immovable rocks

This is probably one of my numerous nonsensical monologues that usually come to pass in verbal countenance. For a change it is now in zeros and ones and thus I shall try to please the high lamas sipping their cup of tea which made its journey from a garden near my childhood abode to the porcelain cups that now graces their smoke tarred lips in some corner of the Oxbridge. In my not so distant childhood, we had a subject called alternative English. From a mathematical perspective or rather arithmetical smog, this subject was nightmare. On a philosophical plane there was no right or wrong answer. You never got marks. For me the subject went beyond marks, it had stories to tell it had words to be looked up in dictionary, words that spoke a thousand words that painted a thousand pictures.Words that stained my imaginary canvas with all the droplets oozing from the battle field of the fight between the rain Gods and the Sun. For the sake of my literary mind, it did help that my first major crush went to the same English tuition as me. I was in a boys school so the only avenue to have heterosexual crush was tuitions. For the holier than thou, who feel I have defiled a sacrosanct temple of learning, I tender my unconditioned apology. But my teenage crush did spur me on to reach higher echelons of English language. It is another matter that things ended rather acrimoniously, one fine day I realized my then best friend had substituted his crush for three months with the object of my crush. I was devastated and in my state of shock I started doing things I never did before too much. I started studying like hell and made my way into IIT.
Somethings really don’t change, I still waste major chunk of real estate of my post in my customary beating about the bush. Well in the alternative English, I read the story of Antigone, her indomitable spirit that surmounted all odds moved the immovable rocks to give her slain brother a decent burial. I also read about the vengeance of fate that made kreon lose his own son who dies by his own hand on learning of Antigone’s death at the altar of his fathers inscrutable laws.The words inscrutable and insurmountable still finds me stranded on the sand dunes of a dry desert soaked in the tears of Kreon and lips parched by the dryness of the world that surrounds me. But the fascinating part of the experience was that the story was written by a blind man. Having conquered my malfunctioning pancreas to some extent, I thought i could conquer all but alas certain things are beyond the grasp of my hand. But life is not a fairy tale, I was told one day that I have lost one of the biggest fights of my life sometime back. Certain rocks do not bow before the indomitable spirit of civilization. Every day I pray and hope for the words of the essay “On Fame” to come true. Maybe human spirit is indomitable, maybe we win something in all the battles that we loose or it might be that somethings are just written and will come to pass no matter what the minds of any insignificant human soul decrees.Maybe some dams can defeat the surging waves of the oceans till the oceans tire and dry out. Maybe you are born to lose something and win a few in the few moments that we exist in this world.

unrequited Love of my unrequited love

I plead, I beg, I scream, I pray I cry
for it to leave me alone
Yet it still comforts my eyes
When I cry all alone.
When my eyes scream
“No more tears to rain”
It make me dream
About Dancing in the rain
With the one I wish I live on till eternity
And my tears go away to the distant island of reality.
Requited love is only a crown of thorns
that forever conspires to keep you forlorn.
The pain of parting makes your heart shiver in fear
You need your ears to hear
You need your mind to listen
What the nose might have spoken
You need your skin to tell that she is actually here
To reassure your mind that you are near
To the one who is so dear.
In unrequited love, I meet, I kiss, I love my love
When I wish,when I want where I claim
For I can dream when i wish, where I want.
I need no music, no sight, no fragrance, no touch
For I can dream what I want and how I want
For I am the love of unrequited love .
Yet I wish for the crown of thorns

Auto-Rickshaws

First of all I got a confession to make as to why I am writing a post that is neither a review of the latest movie I had seen, the last novel I read or one of my infinitely long cribbing about my lack of any luck with the opposite gender. I never intended to write this post, all morning I was thinking of the title to my blog on the ray of hope called Salman Rushdie. Since, it does not seem remotely possible that any girl will fall for me in the near future and my firm resolve to not be the only person in my generation in my immediate family to indulge in arranged marriage, it seems I will get a girl only when I am fifty and rich and famous. The positives about such wishful thinking is that at least I will try to be rich and famous till I am fifty. It is another matter whether I get a Padma Lakshmi or not. Actually I am just trying to imitate an ostrich when I say it is another matter for my only two crushes crushed some of my best friendships I had cultivated. Of course wisdom prevailed in round two and I salvaged the wreckage to some extent.
Now that I have accomplished drawing tangents around the topic of the post, I guess its time to draw the diameter, I did not want another round of curses as I forced my net savvy friends and juniors to publicize my post and post comments.

With the confession settled I guess its time to fill the dots. For those of us who does not own a vehicle, public transport is a story of everyday life. For bachelors like me, invariably it is the auto. Having left kgp sometime back, I am now more or less settled in Hyderabad. I usually commute to and from work in an auto. My life has seen me settle down temporarily in many places from the idyllic village called rohmoria in Assam, which has since been swallowed by the Brahmaputra to the concrete jungles of Delhi, Kolkata and the island called Kharagpur. Besides, my frequent battles with my health sees me traveling to Chennai pretty frequently. All these experiences have inculcated in me a pathological suspicion towards the person who drives the rickshaw or taxi or auto. Here in Hyderabad, most autos ply by the government approved rates unlike other parts of India. But every now and then someone hikes up the price, it has the immediate effect of waking up my hibernating bargaining skills. I now usually drive a hard bargain,scream over a few rupees. Amongst all these, there is one particular auto driver who usually takes me to office when I am late, he always charges the right amount. Yesterday he was asking how much I earn and in which building I work. I felt kind of awkward, and replied I earn enough to more than comfortably feed myself. He then ask do I earn around twenty thousand. I said I earn a bit more. The conversation ended therein.

Today morning again I took an auto to my house , the auto demanded 30, I finally got it settled for 25. Probably, I will indulge in the same again. The thing is who is overpaid and who is not. What is the right price for the trip, I dont know. Till then my pathological suspicion will continue to rule my head.