Ah!!bugger...

Walls. Walls. Walls. Walls.

I wish the world was a smaller place, The poles, not so distant, Boundaries, undefined. I wish the world was a smaller place, The peaks, not so unassailable, Depths, less frightful. I wish the world was a smaller place, The places, not so asunder, Distances, surmountable. I wish the world was a smaller place, The people, not so lost, Desires, realizable. I wish the world was a smaller place, for its magnitude frightens me now. Its fickle nature, haunts me. Far removed from comfort, into the concrete wilderness that we roam, stuck in a cycle of everyday grind, instilled with flickering hope and ever dwindling courage to carry on, further and further, till there is nothing left to fight for, into the darkness, where not a morsel of courage remains, but only the dying embers of the long forgotten hope, that one day, it will all be worth it. Was it worth it, is it ever worth it? Our lives, etched with sacrifice, for a glorious higher purpose, that we never realize. Mayb...

I had a corner seat to the left, three rows from the back. It was the second day of classroom training in Mysore and we were in the midst of the irritating L&D(Learning and Development) sessions. Basically, those were three days of English and communication classes that I thoroughly hated because they involved communication and people skills, both of which I lack and have no interest in acquiring. We were given a task, speak to five random people in the classroom, introducing yourself and start a conversation with them. So here I was, making no effort whatsoever to introduce myself to random strangers, when the guy who sat in the last row, directly behind me, came over. " Hi, Dhruva! Tui bangali?" That is how I first met Dhruva. We didn't have the longest conversation at that point, but I distinctly remember, the very next time we spoke, later in the evening, his first question was, "Baba fukish to?" I was like, "What the hell is 'Baba'!...

It's been a while. Hi! I've almost forgotten how it feels to write. I have trouble enough putting thoughts into words as it is, so I reckoned a few bottles of beer could put my melancholy into something more productive. Here goes. It has been a dark year which shows no promise of relenting. I could speak of my troubles, but I figured, how uncool is that. So what then? Well, it hasn't been all doom and gloom fortunately. Amidst the mass of overbearing clouds and claps of thunder, shines bright a silver lining. A sliver of joy, bright enough to help uphold a facade of sanity, even normalcy perhaps as I tread on mundane, muddy waters far removed from the comforts of home. Well, that completes the abstract introduction, now onto the story then. Sagnik was harping on about a trip for a while now, although I had my reservations. You see, it wasn't the usual, 'Let's all go get drunk at Goa over the weekend' kind of plan, which is very doable under any ...

If you're reading this, then congratulations are in order, because we all made it through another year. A feather in our cap/hat/toupee wherever you'd like it. Do I reminisce on the year gone by, or do I put forth my set of new year resolutions for the year to come ( I know, I know, those never work, but one can always hope). Maybe wander off in a whole new trajectory of abstractness? That could be fun. So here goes, If you're ever passing by the park next to the 17th and B, look up the tall maple tree. High up in the branches, you will find a story of hope. Sitting atop the branches, cradled in her nest, is little Boo. A tiny beak, a sleek coat of blue feathers with a dash of purple, and the brightest little eyes you'll ever see. Every morning, Boo awakes to the sound of music. The songs of the birds, soaring high above in the sky, gliding with the wind, singing out in joy as the morning sun erupts over the horizon. Boo gazes up through the gap in the maple lea...

Hey, I promise to keep this one sober.  There is a heaviness in the air and it is getting to me badly. Life is in a state of perpetual hangovers. Take today for example, I wake up, knowing I've grossly overslept, body aching, my head heavy, the solitary leg that managed to escape the shackles of the blanket in the dead of the night, did not get far before succumbing to the cold, and oh, the lethargy, in Bengali we have a wonderful word to describe that feeling very aptly, "Lyadh" (the phonetic spelling is debatable). But the lyadh that is taking over my life, is very irksome. There was a time, when I actually enjoyed doing absolutely nothing. Now ironically, I've spent so much of my time doing nothing, that I'm now pretty fed up of doing nothing, but my ineptitude at doing anything, leads to the hopeless feeling of being stuck to doing nothing. Did that make sense? I hope it did, I did say I'd keep this sober. So it has been six months since I ...

The soft gurgle of the brook, the water lapping up against the rocks, pristine, clear. I see the sky in it, as it is above me, blue, serene and endless. The swirl of smoke rises into the dreary darkness, my fingers trace patterns in them as I lay here. The night envelops all around me, the walls, imposing in their might, holding me, crushing me. The soft cool breeze flows like the waves along the green grass where I sit, I feel it coming to me, cradling me in a soft embrace before passing me by, it dances before my eyes, in little spiral gusts, lifting me. The road ahead is bleak, I cannot see, only the whispers echo through them, calling me out. There are monsters, monsters who reside in the dark labyrinth of my mind, they talk to me, the lead me on into the abyss, they whisper in my ear, drag me, hold me, and they'll never let me go