He sat down, scragged and disgruntled from weighing one deliberation after another. He could feel the vague patch of thought in his mind ever so slightly becoming less obscure. It was the umpteenth time he sadly realised the insane level of passivity with which he'd been watching from the sidelines his life drift.
Again, the urge to shirk it all off and get back to 'take it as it comes' eclipsed him.
But time was running out and he feared the worst. This made him doubt the credibility of the comforting time-is-the-healer doctrine.

He knew he had lost a lot of time. It dawned on him, as ablative and absolute, that every high degree of caution he'd taken in making inferences and every skeptical tendency he was muzzled in had constituted a hitherto undermined danger to life.
He realised how he quietly affirmed rather than suspend judgements, assented rather than negate them and invariably waited rather than attempt and err.
These traits had now been bred to the point where they'd become unbelievably strong.
More often than not, he seemed overwhelmed by the suddenness with which many effects stood out...which reflected how uncomfortable he was with change. He'd wholly repudiated the concept of cause and effect which in turn brought about all the passivity.
He'd rejoiced about the triumph of renouncing belief in his ego and become so misled by it that he found himself wallowing in self-pity a lot.

But now, it was time to act. Success which had been so elusive in the recent past had begun to offer itself in the smallest of packages. He had now clambered up to the revered generic space. It was all upto him now to discover, to innovate.
LIFE...that he once knew as paradoxically coincidental to the ironical tyrrany applicable to the unparalleled definition of reverse entropy now just seemed a euphemism for fun...chaotic fun even!
And then, amazed at his mental construct immigrating to such a highly dynamic dissociation matrix, he thought it best to confide in his Irish comrade, Bud.
Yes, he thought aloud, life is looking up!

Angie turned one month old today.
As if its not silly enough for me to remember my bike's tender age, I actually went out and bought a couple of pals some egg-puffs....ugh, this is one of those things that I will eternally remain ashamed to reminisce upon.

As much as having your own bike rocks, there are things associated with it by which you can feel pretty hard done by.
Like....at the petrol bunk, you're waiting in the queue to get her all refuelled ,when at the back of your head there's this void of sadness.
It being a void, you think like crazy to figure out reasons for its existence and as to why it is sad.
The bike's now refuelled and ordinarily, with the thirty bucks you got back as change you'd scoot to the nearest Sweet Chariot and treat yourself to a whole cup of Strawberry Mousse and revel four inches above the ground enroute to the bottom of the cup.
But now, feeling bitter to the bone about all the petrol price bitching, you decide to tuck into a SLV idli vade sambar, some kaapi and a pim-pom...saving the rest for more pim-poms.
Eureka, the void is a direct consequence of a loss of goodness quotient!

On a less cerebral level too, there are things I miss from the pre-Angie era.
Dad's scooter, Ram Shakal (lol) springs to mind.
Sitting behind Gau in pure awe of those dozens of high-speed manouvers, sharing rock gyan and other Thoreau-ridden rants thats possible only sitting pillion with Hem and of course the hilarious early-morning shower of expletives on fellow-trafficers that Adi professed in will all be sorely missed.
So will the daily stop with Adi at the pan-shop before college...where the power of my abstinence from ciggies was put to test!
I'm glad I came through it...although I'll miss the fag-ridden jokes!
The one thing I won't miss though is the silliness I had to contend with of popping Chlormint even after only he'd done all the faggin'!

Anyway, I just thought I'll put a nice friendly message across to all of those who've been there for me helping me spacetruck my way through life so far, for keeping me moving!
(my blog, my sap....shove it)
Thanks for all the phish, magas!

Phew!

No really...I was on a cosmic purging process of sorts...really!

Its the kind of personality disturbance that occurs after you very foolishly decide you're missing the comfort in being sad. Yes, sometimes life does that annoying bit of slightly altering the refrain of a happy Jim Morrison song and come up with a fuckably sad tune which goes "Mr Mojo fallin...fallin fallin.."

Before you realise, you find yourself falling into the phase where you actually like to think you lead a depressing life. The causes for this kind of melancholy can range from plain silly to neurologically dysfunctional.
Like in my case, having your bike run over a squirrel started it. It just snowballed from there. I then happened to speak with a wannabe surgeon of a friend who took a dekko at this thingummy growing on my hand just below the forearm. He then happened to promptly diagnose it as 'either a ganglion or a lypoma which if ignored can grow into a lyposarcoma which can be cancerous'. Now medical jargon thrown at you this way from an academically excellent student can pose quite a problem....it just can't be taken in good light...or any light for that matter.
This when coupled with a disastrous vox audition for the college rock band and the painfully disappointing ordeal of having to field for 30 overs in an inter-college match and end up only fielding and also on the losing team can be every bit of a fuckin mindsnare.

If the squirrel fiasco was murder, this was muderer! I only had to stumble upon 'murderest' now.
It is in times like these that the Burzum, Iced Earth and Amorphis concotion arrests all sensations of pain.
So here's my new tense for 'murder'....Murder Murderer Murder-arrest. whoohoo!

So yeah...I just took off for a bit. A ride on the awesomely lonely Sankey road, with Angie (my bike) humming on low-idle and me humming on Angie (the song) can be oh-so-relaxing!
So can kicking back with a beer watching videos about Manic Depressive Disorder and Post-traumatic Stress disorder....only,you need to not identify with the people in the video! Also some Bill Waterson humour, more Friends and insane amounts of caffeine are highly remedial.
Ofcourse, there is nothing that trying to tear up Schildt's Complete Reference of C++ can't heal! Its pretty much the culmination of my cerebral angst.

So, all's back to being good now.
Proof? I didn't feel one bit sad about the hazaar people around me who got placed in Perot Systems and Caritor today. But as the placement schedule really begins to kick in, I suspect Mr.Mojo will take a nosedive again!
Oh and I had a nice satisfying knock of 25-odd runs unbeaten today and helped the team win...best part was that it was laced with four delectable drives to the cover-extra cover boundary...jyeah!

Here's to all that's good...sarve jano sukhino bhavanthu.

P.S: I got rid of the extra-tissue type thing on the hand by the way....so, now that I'm wholly devoid of anything thats cancerous, let me have that hug I've been craving for.

Link-in-duced Neo-Relativity

she finally left him
had enough of her man's rage
band aids covered her scars she left him bloodied
beat his ass with a bat
face sunk in like silly putty
y'all can sit back so i could study

aaaaargh, where's it all going to!!!!

I've been forced into listening to way too much neometal for my liking of late. Its depressing to see Papa Roach being the life of rock-themed parties. I think its more to do with me hating people headbanging to synthesised rock than anything else. Also, its the overly used idea of the I-can't-take-it-anymore refrain that these songs are centred around.
The last such phony party I got invited to had me listening to Limp Bizkit in much the same way that....ummm...Indians living abroad watch a hindi movie feeling its their only connection to their country (no offence meant to either Hindi movies or Indians living abroad). The question as to what I was doing there happens to be too personal to divulge --->see how I got out of that!!

The despise is growing - bordering on holistic hatred....

bwahahaha..I'm just checking if people hate my tendancy to assume a metal purist stance sometimes..hell,I'm lovin' it!

Blah-spree-me

I was never a big fan of taking lunch to college. More than the issue with it not being 'grown-up' enough, its the way that once you've finished your lunch, you're trying to put the box back in the food bag...but you can never ever open the darned thing.
You try licking your fingers and open it at both ends..but no..it just WILL NOT open!
Its one of life's bastards.
Its about as frustrating as trying to open a pack of Ruffles Lays when your palms are all wet...but not quite because in the former, you'd have had something to eat atleast!

So anyway, you're trying insanely hard to open the pack when Ryan Giggs appears on TV.
Asked to comment on his illustrious Red career spanning over 600 games now, Giggs says,
"I think we can win whatever we want to win."
The thought of being a die-hard fan of such a dumbass coupled with the silliness associated with not being able to open a pack of potato chips drives you near mad when Giggs suddenly comes up with:
"We go out thinking we can win every game" at just the same time as you manage to finally tear the pack open. yey, its all back to being good again!

I just noticed how susceptible I am to temporal bouts of post-vacation angst.