Sunday, June 21, 2009


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!!

1 comment:

Raghav said...

agree. corp world sucks
mano a mano it seems !


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