For Want Of A Better World

[Pubby's Note: This post is mostly fiction, and very mildly fact. Please do not take it seriously] A long, long time ago, in the land of Rajputana , there was a small, peaceful kingdom in the region of Gaumukh . The kingdom was called Dosamgarh , and it was a fast-growing realm of businessmen; people who liked to speak, to negotiate, to cut deals, and to gather goods and money. This money they gathered wasn’t for their own personal needs, although the drinks they got they generally kept to themselves. The money was used to hold the three big festivals, held every year in the honour of Tukdeydev , the lord of culture, innovation and sports. The festivals were the most important affair in Gaumukh ; so important that the king of Dosamgarh used to spend his entire life working for them, and his scions were the high priests of the festivals. After a few years, though, it became apparent that Gaumukh had become a very desolate place. Most people who used to live there had either emigrate...

For more months than I can care to count now, life’s been a series of hard, unrewarding toils, trials and tribulations. An extended spate of failed endeavours, half measures, backstabbing, exhaustion, the occasional exhilaration, jugaad , meetings, rage, hopelessness, helplessness and what all. Recently there’s been this obsession with the idea of all these efforts culminating into one giant release at Waves, which, apart from being the most kick-ass thing we could hope to organise in less than half the time an annual cultural festival should be done in, shall also be a confluence of bedraggled coordinators finally letting it ALL out, enjoying to their wits’ end, staying perhaps buzzed, drunk, stoned or just energetic at the festival where they helped bring about so much. Whatever had happened in the months previous, let it slide; these three days will be the stuff to tell your children when they enter college, if not their children in turn. Until a couple of days ago, my plans were th...

So this was a nice Sunday evening on the 20th of March, 2005; and I was at a Barista in Ansal’s Crown Plaza, Faridabad, waiting for my friends to show up for my birthday treat. I was in class 10th at the time, and had been listening to modern western music for over a year and a half, and rock music for about 6 months (the modern western music consisted mainly of the exploits of a certain Marshall Mathers and the like). [Ramble: The first rock band that I had heard, properly, was Nirvana in their album Unplugged In New York , which gave me an entirely different idea of "proper" rock music; my exposure to Linkin’ Park and The Offspring telling me it was quite the contrary. I hadn’t heard even one classic rock band at the time (I had heard discrete songs of these bands, but never an album or any such thing), and the genre, as is quite clear, was new to me.] So anyway, the friends I expected to show up came along, 4 out of my circle of about 5, and we basically had a merry time. ...

For some reason, I feel extremely reminiscent today. What with my recent decision to always think in the narrative made on a trip to Vaishno Devi, I guess this post had to come sooner or later (given the number of buses I travel in every day), although the topic that I write about today came as a surprise even to myself. It’s been about two years since I collected my passing certificate from My Schoo l , and in those two years, I have visited that most hallowed of places only once. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t want to visit it, but there always was something that kept me from going back. If I have to put a name to it, I would say it’s an insecurity that I’ve had ever since I passed out. School always, and especially in my last two years, was a place where I went to have fun, meet my friends, roam about aimlessly in the middle of Chemistry or English class with one classmate or several. It was a time when I was both an extreme recluse and part of the most active friend circles at t...

It all started with a gust of cold wind and the rain. The rain was a sign. It was a true sign of things that had been and things as they would be; soon. The rain had barely ceased when a series of spikes starting running the length of the land, over and over again; as if Atlas himself was trying to find a soft spot in order to impale the very globe he had been carrying for years now. All this time the Berber was circling the area, searching for the right spot to begin his evil operation. An unknowing descendant of the North African tribe, this man was more a ZooZoo than a Zizou. Finding the spot in the rear, he started with a cursory inspection, gauging the length of the stalk. It is time I mention where he was. The story is set in a lush field somewhere far, far away. In the field lie millions of tall plants. Make no mistake, these aren’t any redwoods, but they’re longer than your average sapling. This land of beautiful, black fauna was meticulously grown by the Farmer, who spent day ...

I'm back. Blogger's way better than wordpress.

My Blog has been shifted to: http://longsentences.wordpress.com/ this includes the last post, so please leave any comments there :) till then, farewell blogspot!

There were just the two of us there that night, singing us songs of love and loneliness, songs we had never sung before, songs that probably no one had heard either. We didn’t know, it was all just there in the air, somewhere. Maybe between the sullen bartender and the glass of pink champagne, which looked more golden than pink. Maybe it was because her hair kept brushing past its surface, or maybe it was my face, I really couldn’t tell. All I could think to myself was that she was here today and that I had another blunt in my raincoat, right where I kept my wallet. And then they kicked us out, and the blunt was gone, and the wallet was gone, and it started raining and I found out that they had taken my raincoat. I remember I was cursing them and trying to break down their door and that was when I heard her laughing. I think she was also shouting something about us being on the other street but then why would I go and try to break down a door I didn’t want to break down and so I went t...