Uno

I have been hoping to write about anniversaries for quite a few years now. I have penned a few entries into my private journals of equally private life, adding insignias along the way, yet feeling insignificantly miniscule to harp on about the agonies and ecstasies at every milestone. The corporate world ensures that the major milestones are somehow forgotten as just another grain of sand in the winds of time, drifting towards the infinite. Though the dust-filled air smothers you and mainly bottled water in the west of Asia pampers you to opine about one, you struggle through its heat to lay one out. But to look back at it now, a year into this highly mercurial zone of test and temperaments, of wills and wishes, of acts and astonishments, of institutions and intuitions it seems that weaving a tapestry of hope, trying to raise a castle of wisdom and seeing it teeter at the brink of complete annihilation isn’t as big a deal anymore.

Walking into this world is a struggle courtesy the recreation of anxieties and then unexpectedly watching it fade away over a period of a few months. It’s the Andalusia winds, the zephyr that cools you down and then suddenly the Spanish matador appears with the bull humping you hard at the back.

And then there are these conflicts and struggles within. And though you apparently gain experience with every passing day, your inner child tells you otherwise just like you confide into him on your birthday, telling him how the word age is meaningless for him.

The fineries dress you up and resplendent on one fine morning but sometimes the day end up dressing you up in mourning. The hours go for a spin, and the best jiggers couldn’t take it down to the dawn. The shawty isn’t around half as much as you would expect and the micro-soft skills go up by leaps, bounds and distance. The emaciated bodies on occasions needs to be fed with the unreachable (read illegal). And there are these apostates around you trying to ring into your head, with compelling barbs of twisted notions and veiled transcripts of regular reality bytes, what you would eventually learn the harder way. As Gandhi told the Brits how the chaos that the brits thought the Indians would be in would be our chaos, one would choose to have his own chaos rather than the subvert assumption of it. Under all these benedictions, the excitement persists, the ride is topsy-turvy and every passing moment is a challenge, though in it’s own way. Call it Avoidance or Acceptance. Bypass or Pass by. Prelude or Elude. Strategize or Fraternize. The lobbyists would frame it their way. The extremists would have the rage infused into the system.

The contrarians would keep the world and it’s grandmother on the brink of lameness.

The simple truth is: There sure is one way of doing it. Call it up! Only if it was not the bourgeois upbringing and the definition of middle-class version of success, how well do I see through many of the rising asteroids traipsing out on their pre-defined terms of life and things like it, in the real sense of it.

P.S: To the Best Dad of all times, Happy Father's Day Dad!!

Of New Beginnings-II

33.3 % of the Gregorian New Year completed and the passage of another “Bangla” year, this blog post had to pop up on the blog-booth of world of war-crap.

Treading my way steadily through the fall-street of this financial Cry-Big-Sis of all crises, I wanted not to be ensnared by the forces. The force beneath the wings of the meta-humans trying to snipe the life out of denizens of corp-world. And, we have been pushing it along fairly well, willy-nilly.

So taking through some milestones, on moralist lines or otherwise, of this year so far, shall be the agenda of this piece.

Raw-King into the New Year, with a completely new ring, a glimmer of hope, innate optimism and profound understanding of the dynamism that outlines the novelty of life that smacked of romanticism, dictated the first spectrum. The manning up of ideals, associations of the same ideals to the infinite, the revered expectations and learning of the past was to define the newly built lines and framework. But doesn’t it sound dystopian and minimalist to a huge extent?

Hence, the urge under the hallucinogenic affect of sex, drugs & rock n roll lifestyle, not necessarily all of it, led through the initial few stints. This was under the constant drill of a long-gone fuming Dutch Master, hanging on between the Petronas Towers now and a coeval issuance of homeland goof-ups. All this was interspersed with a couple of concerts and a total anarchic, yet pitiful, attempt at the desert wildlife. Whoever said man is a social animal would do well to find wildlife here in the desert for me and waning-into-doomsday roomie. Also went through the nadirs and acmes, which defined the conversation about venturing into International Affairs, the Musicana and of course, the sporting world.

Surviving through the frenzy came up milestones.

The whacky “Joyeux Anniversaire” had all the ingredients of being the highpoint of not just the stint here, but blurring the line between infraction and felony. Well, let’s just say the mid day was unusually unholy on a Friday and together with the night, it smacked of complete mockery of the warped perspective people have about this land. The dawn came up with its own perils, and a set of 22 or more jokes for life. Whoever said life’s dull?

This was followed by a trip to the “Whore of Arabia”, though I would rather call it “Mini-Pimp of Arabia”. The wheezy days, the visceral nights and the flashy pace of the jetsetters, was one experience that runs through the veins of anyone who remotely follows this Formula-1 for Grand (Prix) Adrenaline ride. The days were spent in the sweltering heat and the nights were spent swaying away to the music, cupping your ears towards the band and their renditions, and to the left, Absolut.. To the right, Heineken.., and now kick, (Couldn’t) Czech it out, now walk it by yourself, From Russia with Love and Rise Up, the hip style to another day of race and razzmatazz. They call it The Cupid Shuffle. What an irony, eh?

The guys with the brain flew through the GP, but it had to be based on Brawn’s brawn & brain strategy to top them all. The last time I heard was they had whizzed past the Catalonians, breathing at the neck and whispering into the ears of every other champion that ever was. Honda’s loss, is Brawn’s gain? Nah, it’s just Brawn’s magic, the past with the legendary German Schumi and the present with the suave Brit and the veteran Brazilian.

My team, the one with a Kiwi founder and based in Woking, somewhere in the English heartland, has disappeared from the top rankings like the aforementioned bird and the imperialist exploits of the aforementioned country. Though I am still rooting for my man, am sure he’s going to get a podium place soon and that too the fairer way.

Oh! After the race, you are bound to question yourself, whoever questions our fast paced existence?

Back to the land, V-Villa seems to be out of order, with dispersed members and an in-sight dispersion of another member to the Dead Sea land. The La Baguettes are leaving, the heat is coming in, the sources are drying up, and the question mark stands along the inhabitants of the villa and the summers.

Till the time we figure it out, with a master strategist at our disposal, cheers to the months gone by and the ones that lie ahead.

Here’s the song, by His Highness The Led Zeppelin, that’s been ringing in my head while I was writing this blog piece: -

In the days of my youth
I was told what it was to be a man,
Now I’ve reached the age
I’ve tried to do all those things the best I can.

No matter how I try,
I find my way to do the same old jam.

Is it me, or them, I always find a coincidence? Well, I love them, that’s for sure.

The rest of the lines that follow are also true, quite very true actually. You may find it yourself and start interpreting, if you give an eff about this blog and beyond, whose possibility is as high as Bush winning a popularity contest in Iran.

On this note, Adios fellas!

P.S: Guess what “Whoever” said: Get some vocabulary you lame (p)hooking loser!