Thursday, April 21, 2011

Mihir's Climb - A Story

Everybody loves you when you are at the bottom rung of the ladder. But the moment you start making moves, oh no. No, no, no. You are competition, you are a threat. Immediate elimination. Action needs to be taken against you.

Everyone loves a nobody. An anonymous everyman who is their best friend; their support system, their shoulder to cry on. Do you know why they say that it’s lonely at the top? They say that because if someone else is up there with you, sooner or later you are bound to be tempted to push them off.

Such is the competitive edge in humans; we cannot stand the thought of someone getting the bigger piece of pie. We are stuck in an endless rat-race and everybody wants to come first. Run or you’ll be trodden upon. Competition, may it be in any form, is fierce and cut-throat and the sense of survival is instilled in us from child birth itself. Heck, even the process of being born is a huge race. Congratulations, the winner wins the right to have an existence and back to oblivion it is for the losers.

What can one expect of a race whose very existence depends on “coming first”?

It is a race. Whether you like it or not, you my dear, are running. No time to stop and smell the flowers, sorry Mister Writer, they have been crushed underneath the ribbed soles of the runners. Deep down inside, we’re wearing a pair of sports shoes and jogging shorts.

Don’t we all wish we could turn back time somehow?

Rewind the clock and alter our past. After all, there have always been those moments that we look upon and go “Man, I wish this would have gone differently” or “Ohh… I would give an arm and a leg for this to have not happened”

You can always smooth over your mistakes, try to hide from the past, but it is kinda like trying to paint black roses white. The stuff beneath the surface always shows.

Mihir was a person with many regrets. Being the most popular kid at a flourishing school came for a price. Sacrifices had to be made; old ties had to be severed. Like, who would call you cool if they knew that you were friends with a nerd? Or would anyone idolize you if you were still
talking to the over-achieving pain in the ass chick? Nope.

Being king of the castle had its responsibilities. The crowd would love you as long as the front you put up stayed perfect. Did they really care that you were taking piano lessons since fourth grade? No. No one looked up to a sissy piano player. The sports captain, the head boy… Now THAT was something worth bragging about, however, in the ninth grade, Mihir still had a long way to go if he were to claim those sought after titles. But being captain of the basketball team was as good a start as any.

“Hey Mihir! ‘Sup?” Nikhil and Mihir bumped fists as Mihir walked into the class, bag slung over one shoulder, hair painstakingly set to give off the appearance if a casual style and uniform just a bit askew, very fashionably of course.
Mihir took his seat and sat down. “So… let’s talk homework. You got any done yet?”

“Naah man, I was too busy watching a movie last night, I totally forgot” Nikhil replied.

“Aaaww man, are you kidding me? Shruti ma’am is totally gonna kill us if we don’t submit ALL the homework by today and definitely don’t feel like missing another games period to complete that hag’s work”

“Okay, okay, chill. We can just copy from someone else dude, no tension. Why don’t we ask Sukshiti? God knows, she of all people will definitely have done it.”

Mihir shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but thankfully no one noticed. “Umm… I dunno man, let’s just ask someone else… She probably won’t even give it to us”

The sad fact was, this could not have been further from the truth. You see, what no one knew was, when at the tender age of six a certain shy little boy by the name of Mihir Bhatia took admission in Rose Valley School, a bubbly girl in pig-tails by the name of Sukshiti Verma was his first and only friend. When all the other kids made fun of him for being the new one around, it was Sukshiti who came to his defense. Slowly but surely, the two became inseparable friends. The loud opinionated, full of life little girl and her quiet, shy companion. The teachers used to look at the pair of them and smile at this epitome of childhood innocence. Then came fifth grade and Mihir gradually began coming out of his shell. His early recognition of his talent at the basketball court began to get him noticed among his peers and he started spending more time with them.

Then one day, while walking around with his new found buddies, Sukshiti spotted them and waved an enthusiastic “Hi” to Mihir. A boy on his left smirked “Ew, look at that stupid girl. Does any one of you know her?”

The gears of Mihir’s adolescent mind began to whirr in top speed. Somehow, he knew that by being true to his friendship with Sukshiti, he would once again become the target of much dreaded ridicule. So, voice dripping with scorn, he too joined in the chorus of “No, no” and walked off, ignoring a bewildered Sukshiti.

The day that proved to be quite tumultuous for Mihir and Sukshiti’s friendship was actually quite a beautiful one. The sun was shining in the sky and a cool breeze was blowing. It prompted everyone to go outside during the lunch break and spend it in the canteen. Mihir and his friends were hanging out in a corner when Sukshiti, tired of being looked over, boldly stepped up to Mihir. “Hey Mihir, you wanna play a game of tag?” she asked, eyes full of confident hope that of course Mihir would say yes, after all, he had known her for five whole years. Before Mihir could think up a reply, a particularly zealous boy in his group sprang up and roughly shoved Sukshiti to the side. “Are you dumb? Mihir doesn’t wanna play with you, look at your face ugly!” he leered. Mihir knew that this was the moment of reckoning. He could not afford to lose face in front of his peer group. Not now. Calmly, he got up, pretending to ignore whatever had taken place, and walked off, burning with shame. Tears came to Sukshiti’s eyes as she realized the brutality of it all. Of how her friend had chosen to forget her, snub her, after all she had done for him. Silently, she picked herself up and walked off, tears streaming down her face.

From that day on Mihir never really had the courage to look Sukshiti in the face. Too broken by that incident, Sukshiti became a shell of her former self. The bubbly, happy girl transformed into a quiet nobody who never really spoke, never really had any friends, for the simple reason that her faith in all people had been smashed.

Now, with thick glasses and a small face hidden perpetually hidden behind books, Sukshiti was always unnoticed.

Mihir felt a tap on his shoulder. “Hey Mihir?”

He turned around. The one who asked the question was Sukshiti. Even at that moment, Mihir’s breath got caught in this throat. “Uhh… yeah, Su-Sukshiti…?”

“Oh, I just overheard Nikhil and your convo, and if you really need to copy the homework, you can borrow my notebook”

Nikhil eargerly jumped forward. “Gee, thanks Sukshiti! That’s awesome!”

Still looking at Mihir, Sukshiti said “No problems, that’s what fr-“ she paused. “That’s what classmates are for after all.” She looked at Mihir straight in the eyes and gave a sad little smile, and returned to her seat.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Night Time Diaries Part 2



Blink blink blink goes the cursor. What an enigmatic existence I lead after the lights out :D Music blasts through my ears at full volume and I subtly continue to bob my head along to the beat. Once I start writing, it's hard to stop. Its an addictive drug.


Nerd glasses?

-Check

Comfy pillow?

-Check

Covers to keep me toasty

-Check


Well, it looks like we're all set. Lets delve into the mystic world of black and grey shall we?


Sometimes soltitude in silence is not enough. Sometimes I feel the need to escape further from the noisy noisy world.

Which is why this time, instead of a ramble, I shall write a poem.

Now, I'm just gonna wing it, so I warn you, it may not make much sense :D

But read on any ways... Tap tappity tap tap


Purple moonlight and silvery grey stars

The wind beneath my sails,

A whisper from Mars

Sweet and sublime, an ocean of dreams

No boundaries no limits

As vast as it seems

Curiouser and curiouser, Alice's world down the hole

Birds soar the azure

Monkeys swing from the pole

We dance in the rain, we walk to the light

We revel in the glow

Of velvet so bright

We search and we seek, our purpose on earth

Why are we here?

On Gaia our hearth

The pale blue ocean and the swell of the seas

The misty grey sky

Atomic green trees

God has a plan, a plan for us all

Are we just pawns

Waiting for a call?

Or are we the masters of free will enchained

Purple moonlight and grey

Plus silver maintained


So there you have it! :D

I'm done.

Sooo my question is,

What is our purpose here on Earth?

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Night Time Diaries Part 1


My neck is messed up and my head hurts.
But tonight, I don't feel like sinking into silence. Tonight, I feel like typing away. My room is pitch dark, patches of it illuminated by the white glare coming off the screen of my laptop. A small section of my blue and white stripy wall; (that I jokingly refer to as Obelix's pyjamma) is all that is visible of my own little sanctuary from the world.

The night is silent. That silence is only broken by the low hum of my fan as it goes about its business. And of course by my tapping :D

Distant memories of a delicious cheesecake and insignificantly tasty dinner do come to mind but it feels like they are from a different slice of the universe. Once the door to my room closes, I am in my own space time quantum.
The land of the lonely ones. I believe that it is in isolation that we truly understand ourselves, because it is in absolute isolation that the voice inside our head asks all those questions.

Night time is beautiful. I don't understand why humans are such puny, photo-dependent creatures. Being nocturnal is MUCH more fun.

I take pictures with my crappy low quality iPod camera and then I laugh at my own pretentiousness. Even by the faint emissions of my screen, I feel the need to whip out my cam and click away.

I feel like a caveman from the days of yore, sitting in his dark cave, basking in the dim glow of his crude (albeit in my case it is 'exceptionally advanced') light source, telling tales to emptiness. I recall I remember the bygones and then I ponder some more upon what is still to come.
Whoever said that we teenagers are mindless things???

There is far too much on our minds, so sometimes we forfeit the present in favor of what WAS and what COULD have been. I heartily enjoy doing this, rambling like an old timer with all the time in the world at his disposal; after all, did I not mention the space time continuum?

I can barely bend my head now, it hurts far too much. But I am very much in favor of making suchlike nightly rambles a daily thing. What say fellow denizens of netspace?

Friday, March 18, 2011

God Complex

On the first day there was silence
The second day, there was God
The third day came the humans
But by the fourth, we forgot.
On the fifth day came the Holy Ones
We crucified Adam and Eve
The first born son on the sixth
We buried our prestige
Deities came and went, and on the seventh we remained
We erected the temples
Our bibles maintained
We worshiped the wind
We worshiped ourselves
We worshiped outsiders
Wrote books for the shelves
We forged our own chains
We dug our own graves
Locked the sheep in their cages
We were the slaves


God.
The Almighty One.

It is comforting, is it not, to believe that someone else is in-charge of your destiny? That a mystic force up there can wave a magic wand and miraculously make it all right?

God is dead, said Nietzsche. God remains dead, and we have killed him.

Weren't we the ones who created God in the first place? Hasn't the concept God since time immemorial always been to comfort our own selves that we could rely on something bigger than our puny bodies?

We are specks of light in this dark abyss and sometimes, hope falters. The weak ones need a cushion for their broken dreams and a comforter for their desires when their efforts weren't enough. We are too full of ourselves to even CONSIDER taking full blame for out actions.

"It was luck. It was ill-fated. Maybe GOD meant it to be"

What sort of a God would let his son be crucified on the cross?
Yes, faith shatters. After all, wasn't Christ the biggest scapegoat in existence?
What sort of a God would take away your loved ones?

Where was God during the Tsunami? Where was God during the destruction of Japan?
Did he feel that perhaps his children were being too naughty, so they had to be rebuked?
What kind of a God deems it fit for child molesters and rapists to breathe the same air as the innocents?

God is in the T.V. God, is in our head. We created him, we appease him, and we killed him. It is the end of times, grab your prayer books everybody because you're in for a rough ride. Narcissistic and broke, our mirror images become reflecting deities. Subconsciously, we loathe our hedonistic traits, since slavery was a trait drilled into our heads.
So we punish ourselves, and dear old Dad in heaven gets the blame.

How many of us can truly confess to seeking God WITHOUT some demand in mind?
How many of us can honestly say that the last time we prayed, it was unselfishly?

As humans, most of us are flimsy excuses for mankind. Devoid of emotion and empathy, clutching rosaries made of the skin and bone of others toil.
The true believers are the ones so deluded in their search for this higher Power that they isolate themselves from us doubters.

And of course we have the preachers, the propagators, who make God their business, making a pretty penny while manufacturing brainwashed sheep at this factory of fanaticism.

God is a crutch for the weak. A beggar, who comes up to your car, will always ask for a donation in "God's name" He doesn't care for the blessings of your "God", all he wants is some money.

So, do I believe in God?
No.
But I am not opposed to the idea of a true force that unites us all, coz after all, I am only Human, and Hypocrisy is injected in my blood. I admit, the idea of being all alone in this vast universe, is terrifying. So I seek answers, so I question and offend people. All in the hope; that maybe someday, I may be able to answer the questions that keep me awake at night.





But then, it is never polite to shove religion down the throats of unwilling masses is it?

Monday, March 7, 2011

Original Individual - A Poem



Originality, in my view, should be a religion in itself. The religion of the free thinkers, where everyone is a star. Why do we allow ourselves to be labelled and put in boxes?
Are we soup cans?

We have the potential to reach for the stars we look up to, hell, even BECOME those very stars, emulated by millions.
It's all about recognizing yourself and finding your true potential. Be what you wanna be, the only opinion that matters is your own. Don't disgrace yourself in your own eyes in a futile effort to be something you aren't.

We're all fallen angels, molded by the hands of our Father.


Anyways, on to the poem -

I see the beautiful clones
Their rusted hands
The landscape is all but one
Blank and grey, everything's the same
I scream at the sheep
Grab the masses by the throat
Original, individual, I say
Give me something new
Let the spectrum shine through this washed out palette
Break free of your bonds of uniformity
Conform, but only to yourself
Show some color, ignite the spark
Of your overworked soul
Give me a diamond, in a mountain of stones
Original individual, be yourself forever
Narcissus awake from your enraptured slumber
See how unique you really are
Unlock your potential with a skeleton key
Of Moonshine and Goodwill
Original individual, starstruck now or never

Till next time,
Ciao,
Taksh

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

I Feel Sorry For Your Scapegoat



We are the Lambs of God, sent to slaughter. Society and WE as humans, are never ready to face consequences for our own actions. I sincerely suspect that the concept of God was brought about so that a "divine force" could be blamed every time a human died of his companion's fault. We don't want to take the blame, so we find others to dump our follies on. The creation of scapegoats is just as fast as the blinking images on T.V. and the media turns us into a bloodthirsty mob in the blink of an uninformed eye.
We are sheep in the skin of humans, we demand to be led. Led over the precipice, over the horizon.
Mob mentality.
It is scary. The force of a thousand people, scream for blood in unison. I was very much inspired by Shakespeare to come up with the concept for this poem, which is somewhat of a continuation of my song Mob Mentality. (more of that on Facebook)
Read on!

Gothic angels seek to kill
Burning crosses seeking thrill
Murder and aborticide
Spread your wings and spread them wide
Vengeance seeking sheep so loud
Throw the scapegoat in the crowd
Puppets moved out by the master
Revenge is sweet when death comes faster
Blinded by their arrogance
Masses in a cryptic trance
Mobscene when we voice our thoughts
Brains in space like astronauts
The head count's more intellect is less
Such a manic, moody mess
Piper please play for the rats
Your sound will guide these sightless bats
Then the strings are pulled by Father
Bring the axes Mr. Logger
Peasants bound by King's decree
And anarchy shall set them free

So yeah, these were my thoughts, be sure to check back next week for a totally unrelated post thingee =D
Ciao,
Taksh

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Love - A poem and a short ramble



Cracked faces
Burnt places
Crooked smiles
On crocodiles
A spectrum, one sided
A fate, undecided
And we look for love thats lost
Stone cold water
A drowning daughter
A broken heart
That's played its part
A maiden forlorn
A young lad who's gone
And their story forever covered in frost
When cupid had lost its faith
Then shall appear a potent wraith
Freeing love
Nurturing the dove
With a crooked smile
Like a crocodile
And alive will be their faust



Love. What a fickle emotion. It comes and goes, and on the rare occasion that our heart DOES settle for someone, disaster seems inevitable. Keeping a relationship alive and breathing takes WORK and cupid is never there with his handy arrow when needed.
Love is an emotion which stands tall on the delicate porcelain base of trust. All in all, it is a poorly balanced equation, leaving me wondering as to how it has stood the test of time and is still standing.
How do people not see through the rosy facade?
Fairytales don't always come true. Most of the times, Beauty is met by an actual beast and she becomes a grisly reminder of how easy trust cracks.
But still, Love is an amazing idea that I never tire obsessing over =D

By the way, "faust" is Latin for Luck
Till next time
Ciao
Taksh

Beauty, Gouge out the glass eyes



Beauty.
It's a very subjective topic.
Beauty, as they say, is in the eye of the beholder. Looking beautiful has a different meaning for everyone. However, we the people, are stuck in this never ending quest to find beauty.
To capture the elusive aura that is perfection. It is one thing to be concerned about your looks, however it is a totally separate matter to obsess over the opinions of other people.

We destroy ourselves in an innate effort to look good, to be perfect.
Layers on top of layers - Mascara, blush, eyeliner, eyeshadow, lipstick, lip balm... it goes on and on.
Vanity is not found only on the runway.
No.
Vanity is the guy standing in front of a mirror, taking hours to fix his tie, telling himself it is perfect.
Vanity is the teen, spending an eternity on his hair, telling himself it is perfect.
Vanity manifests in our reflection, after all, self depreciation is an art form rarely practiced.


Tears, giggles, blood sweat and ink. The pictures say it all. Our world is truly a dark one. Nothing ever actually fades away, nor does it leave a mark permanent enough. We burn all the good things to warm ourselves on the embers.

Asphyxiation.

Silent suffocation under layers and layers of false promise while anguished souls try to clamber out. THAT is society in a nutshell. Mechanical humans who love you when the limelight is shining. The moment it turns to someone else, "poof" go your dreams.
You are an untouchable.

Being different is like signing your own death warrant. We are young and we love it. We contort our limbs, twist and turn to be able to fit into the box society wants us in. It is the era of irony. We humans proudly wear the labels our peers assign to us, all the while chanting "I'm unique, I'm unique"

It's a funny world. Funnier so, when placed on a paper platter to be dissected by millions of people per day, who laugh it off and shrug, "That can't be me, I'm unique, I'm unique"

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Niko Von Monroe - A Biography Of Sorts


Being a Gemini, alters to my personality come pretty easily to me. It is pretty simple to separate my thoughts and feelings from one mode and switch into third person view, to see my situation objectively... To be able to write as an outsider. This entry, previously on Facebook, came from a darker time, almost as if Jekyll wrote about Hyde.
Enjoy!


Sshh!

Shut up.

Can you hear it? This is the sound of the walls coming down. Taptap tapping away on a keyboard.

Isolation is a guilty pleasure. He types from a different perspective so that he can distance himself from the pain.

A thousand voices.

A thousand faces.

He feels it you know. He isn't made of Teflon. An empty carcass, bloated and lacerated. Drained of vitality.

Devoid of emotions.


Shell shock


Lived by the book. Pinpricks across the skin. Razor sharp kisses across his heart.

We understand. You are not to blame, even as you pushed him towards the precipice while he lay there broken.

It was clearly his fault.


Provocation


Red nightmares of a blinding white insanity. He writes while the world around him crumbles and falls and he is buried in the chasm created by the relentless taptaptap of the keyboard. It takes one to know one.

A bullet in the brain. Aching to escape. Mumblings through a wired jaw.

Speak up or the crowd won't hear you.

They need answers and you are the one scapegoat.

He hides his flaws.

Overkills.

Overcompensates.

He hates himself for being unique.


Masochist


Acid green fetish doll. Painted up nice and pretty on the guillotine. The blade drops and there is silence.

The roaring mass got what it wanted.

Blood.

Demons feast till the end of time and martyrs are created by unfortunate accidents. The brave ones fall and their remains are the gruesome trophies of a time gone by. A battle well fought.

Blood and guts for the winners and the losers lick their wounds with salt. Shallow opinions thrown at survivors while the corpses of the fallen draw admirers like flies.


Irony


Plastic blue suffocation till the everlasting Christ bleeds dry on the cross. The sin grows back and he screams for temporary solace. Smooth porcelain talent like flawless marble.

But an esteem easier to crack than candied glass.

Silver streaks in the thunderous clouds, because he rains on his parade.

Confidence like butterflies, it comes and goes.


He is an incubus, for gods that haven't quite left us yet. Raised in a putrid womb of metal so sterile, air so toxic that he gave up and decimated his desire to survive.


"Singled out in a hateful crowd, over and over again"

He screams while the desecration of matters holy and pure commences. The harness can only support him for so long. After that, it becomes his undoing. The leather bites into the skin while the metal sears his soul.

A broken toy, with artificial intelligence and a taste for self-destruction. Incarcerated. Evacuated. Left to die. He picks himself up and brushes it off;


Only to resume the taptaptap on the keyboard, till the eternal flame consumes him on the cross.

Quick update

Okay, so for who ever is reading this, my ONE reader out there, I am pleased to say that I am ready to start updating my blog weekly :D
Yeah, and I'm gonna be promoting it like crap on all the social networking sites too! :D
Plus, I am shifting all the notes I wrote on Fb, to here :D

Cyber-Generation



So my blog entries come to me at the oddest of all times. Most of the times, the reason my poor little blog gets this neglected is because I tend to use the pen more often than the keyboard.
I guess, even for all my self proclaimed love of technology, the harsh coldness the cyber world creeps me out a bit too.

Where thoughts and emotions are just data, typed out and ready to send; where feelings become lost in the constant updates of other's lives; where invasion of privacy is just a calculated click away. This is the reality we live in. The cyber generation. Wires and signals replacing our bloodstream and our hearts are like a higher power, a few keystrokes from us.

Netspeak. Texting. Chatting. Instant messaging.
Gone are those days where you came to the playground to show off your new toys or eagerly looked forward to meeting old friends catch up.
Gone are the days where your personality mattered.
Now we just create a new one, sitting behind the screen. A personality reflected by flashy graphics, cheap glittery images and the same generic sayings repeated over and over.
We are unique, just like EVERYBODY else.
We are the Cyber Generation. If you aren't like us, you must obviously be a nobody.
OF COURSE you are different, OF COURSE you are something new.
So is everybody else, join the queue buster.

This attitude scares me. How ready we are to forgo our emotions in exchange of this digital fortress we build around ourselves. E-Thugs. Everyone is tough online. Everybody has an opinion and it is the ONLY right one. Mob mentality, connected by millions of servers across the world. We are sheep with no leader, walking on the same path over and over till our heads spin.
Headed in no direction, millions of people connected to a God Module called the internet.

Connected in this web of information spun over decades yet disjointed as ever.
ThisIsUsNow.
Pen on paper, I compose my feelings, I gather my thoughts and begin CREATING something that is wholeheartedly ME, in it's essence, not something mass produced and repetitive designed to keep the trolls at bay while I construct barriers.
This is the world we live in and it is ironical how we snap at others to "Get a life" whereas our own lives are mere moments in time controlled by the flashing, blinking screens of the computers WE built.
Slaves to our own creations.
ThisIsUsNow.

Till next time.
Ciao!
T

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Change (and evil waitresses)


Change is a very major issue in most people's lives. Change, as we all know, may be good, like when instead of spilling hot coffee on you, the waitress actually brings it to you safe and sound. Or it may be bad, like when said waitress ALSO drops your Spanish omlette into your lap. So what I am basically trying to say is,
A) Change comes in different forms
and B) You should probably find a new diner coz the waitress at your regular place hates you.

2010 was a year that brought a LOT of changes for me, and I am still coping with most of them. I feel that change is like a mean bully, who will punch you in the balls when you least expect it and will proceed to kick mud in your face while you are splayed on the ground in agony. Charming really.
But then, I am of the school of thought that every silver lining has a cloud, and I will immediately look for negatives in the most innocuous situations, so don't take my word for it.
I would love to be a happy person, but I just don't have the time for it. I'm far too busy being negative, sorry.
But getting back to the topic, Change, is a necessary evil, and even when it seems like too much is changing, we should always accept it, instead of fighting against it.
Just imagine what would have happened if the earlier cavemen had refused to be susceptible to change?
We'd still be sitting in a damp hole somewhere, without electricity, and I love my electronics too much to even CONSIDER that alternative. (I don't care if the radiation is frying my brain, as long as I can tell my 500 virtual "friends" how I am upgrading my virtual "farm", I'm happy.)
I have always believed that the journey itself plays a big part how much you enjoy your destination. So even if we have to withstand some hardships, it is all forgiven if it makes us a better person at the end of the day.
Unless you have a mental breakdown and try to drink toilet cleaner
-_-
In which case you are better off in a damp cave with no electronics because you were too fragile to handle the new v2.5 of Farmville anyways.

I apologize, I tend to stray off topic. To sum everything up, change is neither good nor bad. It is like a fly that drops into your food and ruins everything. It never MEANT to, either ways the food IS ruined. Change should be embraced and faced head on, because with change comes the promise of better things to come
Ciao,
Taksh