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!