Nostalgia's a bitch, also Linkin Park.

Dredging across the endless wastespace that is the internet, I stumbled across a song I really liked in the oasis that is Youtube. But we all know that youtube is no mere oasis, it carries within it the addictive drug, the related list. And once you are on that list, you just have to keep going. So I went down that rabbit hole, clicking from song to song until I ended up on a recently launched Linkin Park number. Naturally I clicked play to check out their music.

Now I know for most of you, that will not be the natural choice to make. After all, not all of you came through the ghetto of music, as I like to call it, that was a defense brat's life in the 90s. Allow me a moment to elaborate. I come from a time of awkward get togethers/parties held in the Officer's institute for the amusement of the bacchalog. Where shy gangly kids mingled with the opposite sex despite fear of cooties and got their first taste of asking a girl to a dance. (And then following it up with the best/worst dance solo imaginable)

Groovy baby

Regular music for me for the longest time involved either old forgotten disco (Daddy Cool made a big impression on me in an impressionable state of mind.) or the cream of the 90s pop scene. Such classics as "Alice", "Push the Feeling" and "Oh Mickey, you are so fine" jarred the sound-waves, interspersed by my personal favorites, The Backstreet Boys. Boyzone was pretty popular too, but everyone knew only girls could like that super girly band and we shall not sully this post by referencing them again.  So when I graduated to College and found this strange new band called Linkin Park, falling in love with their angsty and edgy sound was almost destiny. I adored Linkin Park. After that, every single time Linkin Park played anywhere I would sing out the rap parts, try and sing out the screaming parts (and fail miserably) and then dance like Joe Haan beating down his robotic slave machines from the future...That is what they are aren't they? My Point is, I was a big fan of Linkin Park. A friend of mine who also listened to the band got me started on more of this strange magical music called Rock. Eventually I moved onto heavier stuff like Limp Bizkit (yeah, Im gangsta like that) and Korn. Realizing soon that there was a whole world of music out there and I needed to devour it all.

Over the years as my musical binge continued, good old Linkin Park was neglected. Sure I bought a tape of Meteora, but things just weren't the same. Their music was clearly evolving into something different and my tastes had certainly changed a lot. Chester's screaming paled in front of Cobain's lyrics. Soon after I would discover Pink Floyd and forget the entire world losing myself in the Dark Side of the Moon. But karma is funny like that. Not all that is forgotten is lost. My little karma angel frustrated at my lack of respect shown to the band that started my rock that kept rolling had brought Linkin Park back into my playlist after nearly a decade. And so, after a tense moment of indecision, I pushed play. I swear I tried to keep an open mind. I tried to run through the whole song, but then Chester started to sing really high and not scream like he was born to and the melody became way too upbeat. It all just sounded awful, so I switched to another LP song. Hoping against hope that maybe I would like this one.

Nope.

The song was shit, the band was shit. Clicking through a few more songs I realized that all of them sounded nearly the same. Even worse, they sounded like one of those fancy party numbers that are popular in the clubs. Something from Avicci or Afrojack. I was mortified.  The nostalgic rock baby inside me was screaming in indignant rage. What had happened to them? What had happened to me? Were they always this terrible? Could it be my taste in music absolutely sucked back then? So I found my favorite Linkin Park album (Reanimation)and gave it a listen. Ah sweet relief, flooding my veins. No they were not always this terrible, No my music taste even in its nascent stage did not suck. If they had been this terrible they would have never become a big act in that hyper evolving era of music. As proof ladies and gentlemen , I present exhibit A.

'Chea

How does a band go from that to safe generic shitpop? "Kyur 4 th ich" embodies everything I loved about Linkin Park. A badass DJ spinning that record, a groove you can bob your head and move your body to and the feel of the future spewing out from your speakers. Granted it can be argued that Reanimation was a remixed version of Hybrid Theory and the creative space was shared by more than just LP. But dammit they inspired all those artists around enough to collaborate and create this awesome album. How could an act that had created such quality music be satisfied with the the crap they are putting out now? For shame Linkin Park, For Shame.

Then it dawned on me in a thought flash. I was no longer their target audience.

I had grown older and and was no longer the Youth of the Nation, no longer young and free and careless as careless should be. Which was apparently  the sole bracket they were aiming for. How else do you explain their blunt edgeless music. They were definitely not catering to any LP fans (If there are any). And it was clear to me that this was music tailor-made for kids, teens, preteens.  Because kids these days love this sound. Love it? Hell they worship it. It allows them to dance all fancy like and doesn't bother them with too many twists and turns in their trip. Making them look good while they groove to that extra loud bass. Linkin Park, the band I had once loved obsessively had sold out so hard that they had forgotten where their own awesome origins lay. An instant after that I had a new found respect for Limp Bizkt, which despite sucking dragonballs and having zero relevance to this time have still stuck to their original sound. No matter how terrible the result might be.

So is that the natural cycle for all art? Must we wait constantly for the artists we love to either sell out or simply lose relevance because of their inability to evolve? Is there no way to break this vicious circle? Or is there a better path? A way beyond those two choices. An evolution beyond the constraints of your own art and it's audience. A path where you constantly strive to create something new, something unheard of. Something that has never existed before.

Is it possible to walk the unknown road and all it may entail?

I don't know, why dont you tell me.

The Pedal of Awesomeness

As my close friends already know, I have recently acquired for myself a bicycle. It a very light trail bike, the Firefox Target  21 speed. Now some of you, the cycling enthusiasts to be precise will instantly decry my choice of brand. Wondering why I did not take the time to research the topic and opt for an obviously better choice in an imported brand. To you guys all I have to say is, I didn't so shut it. It was an impulsive decision and so far it does not seem to have been a terribly bad one. Also I already bought the damn thing, crying about it now wont do jack. For the rest of you here is some never heard before news.

Cycling is Awesome.

I dont think I am capable of describing exactly how awesome cycling truly is, but in this post I intend to try. It is a vast experience filled with lasting pain and cramps and sweat and rainbows. And a little bit of Unicorn magic for good measure. I have been cycling everyday about 10 Kms and I cannot stop gushing about it. Everywhere I go, I go on my bike. Riding around like a boss, dodging those mean boulders (pebbles) and blazing my own trail where none existed. Every time I open my mouth, the cycle slips into my conversations somehow, followed by a manic glint in my eye. Every night I go to bed, with my legs aching and my back hurting and my body relishing in the bliss of muscular reconfiguration, I smile a little. My brain relaxes a little, pats my monkey head and reassures me.

"There there fat monkey, you did a good thing. Rest easy."

"Dont you dare touch that banana"

And I sleep the sleep of Kings and Conquerors, eager to wake up the next day and step on my loyal steed for another round of questing around Gurgaon at 5: 30 AM.  Dont get me wrong here, Im not saying cycling is all fun and games (although it mostly is). There is pain. Loads of pain. Like any physical exercise that involves me not occupying the same spot until I sprout fungus, My body vehemently opposes the concept. Every morning as I rise out of bed I can literally hear my muscles creak, groan and moan in tiny anguished whispers. They crowd around my ears screaming in their indignant tiny voices.

"We deserve to be heard "

"We are the 99%."

"Just sleep it off you moron."

And it's not just the muscle pain. Being a cyclist in Gurgaon is kinda like being a Cowboy in the Wild West of movie lore. But without the guns, or the cool hats. The cows are there of course, as are an angry horde of motorists who apparently cannot cross the meter length of my bicycle without completely losing their shit. I assume the thought of sharing space on the road is so alien to Gurgaon motorists that their minds spiral out in a horn blaring ragecoma. Unable to comprehend and thus accept this strange creature on two wheels who is able to circumvent all traffic jams.

Just me against the world.

That coupled with the fact that we have enough dust floating around Gurgaon to create many a mini dust Taj Mahal, means that every time a "Fast Jat" in a fast car zooms by they kick up a thick cloud of dust for me to breathe my way through. Then there are moments when after a long stretch, as you are pedaling up an incline and just about ready to give up, the sun comes out and basks you in all it's glory.  Pouring down waves of heat and bright light onto you. Making you wish you were sitting inside an AC car with cool water running over your head.

But then there are the good times. Moments when that sheen of perspiration licking my skin suddenly dries off as the wind picks up. And I feel myself cool down a degree or two as my natural AC kicks in. Moments when fat clouds roll lazily over the sun, granting me cool merciful shade. Moments when you turn onto a stretch of empty road the sky puts on it's song and dance with the Sun and the Clouds playing hide and seek for an audience of one. All because I am there out on my cycle, pedaling on to bear witness. Moments when I hear the thunder on my back and race home a coming storm. Times when I zoom through a bad stretch of road only to pass by the Mercedes that had coughed up a dust cloud in my face. The driver too scared of scratching his super expensive chassis.

And I laugh. I laugh at the Sun in my face, the wind in my hair. I laugh at the lounging low clouds grinning down at me from the sky. I laugh because when I cycle, I tap into something primal. A feeling old and possibly lost. I tap into a spirit of adventure. A feeling of excitement many of us might have forgotten. A feeling probably shared by the earliest of our explorers and pioneers when they set out from their little clusters of comfort and braved the elements, alone, unhindered, free to go where they may choose. The pathfinders of our civilization.

This isnt just a cycle, this is my magic carpet, my chetak, my steed noble and true. This is my freedom that can take me anywhere I want to go, anytime I want to. This here is my ride, and when I do ride..I live.

Another tryst with destiny

The next year is going to be big. Not in terms of big budget blockbusters bouncing out from Bollywood. Not big in terms of how much the Rupee climbs or falls, or big in terms of how many new scams see the light of day. It will be big, because it will decide a lot about where we are headed. 2014 is election year. And gearing up for election year already you can hear Congress go on and on on the radio about how much they have improved your standard of living(and mine) in this last term. Im sure all of you have heard one of these ads at some point or the other, it inevitably triggers a landslide conversation about the state of the nation. About how royally the Congress has fucked up and how bad things are today. Everyone solemnly agrees on Congress's incompetence. The fact that Congress has to go is almost a universal sentiment. I discount from this sentiment the Congress's army of fanatical loyalists of course, who probably go to bed with a photo of Sonia ji between the sheets(citation needed). But to the rest of us, at least now a clear picture is emerging that our Netas are not who they claim to be.

Unfortunately that is precisely where things start to get murky. To elaborate how things have been for the past few months in our internet minds, I will take an analogy and run with it. Consider a group if you will of five people (for simplicity's sake) sitting together and discussing the state of the nation. The first elaborates the state of the nation and all five unanimously agree that Congress has to go. Suddenly one of them gets up and starts shouting out about how the only person who can save this country is the great and illustrious savior of the Hindu race, Sodium Molybdenum... or NaMo as he is popularly known. He goes to great lengths to describe a golden age of India that existed once long ago. A time of Ram Rajya, when corruption was something unimaginable and each man lived  and died by the noble principals of Hindutva. He secretly hopes that age will one day return, and the mighty NaMo will become the Rama of this Dark Age. He hastily clarifies that even if you do not believe in Hinduism life will be better for you. Because there will be pious living and spiritual enlightenment for all to be had.

The others mumble among themselves and wonder if the poor chap lost a marble or two, but none question his sanity in front of him. Because if someone is seriously trying to recreate a mythical ideal that even if existed, did so in a time beyond reckoning. You dont jeopardize your own safety by openly questioning their sanity. The third guy comes out and says, that hey...this NaMo guy might have some good press but the fact remains that he was involved directly/indirectly in the massacre of hundreds. A massacre based on the mirage of religion, but actually set in the principals of caste and creed. The others agree and whisper about this among each other, setting off the NaMo fan. Who insists that you cannot blame someone for something just because it occurred during his tenure as chief minister(you totally can). He points out to countless speeches given by NaMo in which his eloquence and sharp mind come to the fore. The rest again mumble among each other and agree on the face of things. But each decides in his heart that if that's the way it is, then he might as well vote for his own community leader and be done with it. The fourth speaks out that we now have a third option, the Aam Admi Party or AAP. Which talks of Swaraj and empowerment of the people. But the NaMo fan will argue with bluster and in the noise the talk of AAP will be dismissed, the others two take scant notice of AAP simply because it is a new player in the game and thus lacks experience. The fifth meanwhile decides, fuck all this noise. He wont vote. Besides he has better things to do then stand in line only to choose between a thief and a fascist.

The five disperse, the only common ground found between them is that Congress has to go. They are united on the surface but every bit as divided as they have always been underneath. This is the state of the internet, that part of our country that stakes its claim on the important things. Things like education, willpower, spending money, regular food on the table. This is the state of our enlightened elite(bottom rung, but close enough). And the hard reality is, we the enlightened elite are not the ones who will be swinging this election. As always the election lies in the hand of the second India that bubbles underneath the bootheels of our Seth Jis, Netas and Maliks. Beneath us, yearning to be free...truly free, burns the the spirit of this nation. They are the ones who will decide the election. The hungry, poor, struggling millions for whom getting a voter card is a matter of identity and necessity. Who have no choice but to vote. And they are the easiest led astray. While we panic and debate on the downhill slide of the Rupee a Neta will come from Congress/BJP and offer them the usual. Cases of liquor for distribution to the local leader and boxes of cash. Free booze and cash to spare will be paraded about and the local leaders will give out the order to vote depending on who ponied up the most goodies.

Congress or BJP, both follow the same beaten path. Both follow the same systems put in place. While we argue among ourselves over who is right and who is wrong. Over where morals end and action begins, our glorious Netas will slyly slide back into power. And for five more years we will disintegrate bit by bit as we are taken apart from within. Chipped down by the ones we let into power again. But it does not have to be that way. There is still time, what little power you give to yourself is a power that can change this Nation. AAP the third option is the only viable option. Even if you know nothing of their policies and realize they are inexperienced they are still the only clear choice. Simply by virtue of providing us a third choice between the devil and the deep sea. So fight for your rights. Go talk around, use those valued communication skills that got you a raise last season. Talk to the Rickshaw Pullers, Auto wallahs, Chat Papdi walas, Phuchka wallas, Your Kaam Wali, your Dhobi, your Taxi driver. Talk to people from all walks of life. Ask them what they think of the state of the nation, ask them what they think of the Congress, of the BJP. And then ask them who will they vote for? Convince them if you can to vote for AAP. Convince them if you can to vote for change.

And swear a simple oath today, to get yourself registered as a voter. Yes, you the one who can afford to sit back in his home and read this in luxury. Become an active force for change in this land. Vote and tell your friends to vote and spread the vibe already. Voting is not just your right it is your goddamned duty. It is our duty as educated citizens of India. And if we do not exercise it, we lose our one chance at positive change. Consider the chance that AAP comes into power even if in Delhi and NCR or the Metros only. Consider the immense possibilities for change, a change for better. And now consider the alternative. Rahul Gandhi with his smug default program speech lording over a pile of money, or NaMo with his clever jibes executing a final solution to the Muslim menace. We stand now at the brink of another tryst with Destiny. A unique chance to choose a new era. A chance at true self governance and the chance at empowerment of the right people.The past is gone by and the present we waste in arguments but our future, is still in our own hands.

And if we want to it be, it can be as bright as the Sun.

Or as dark as the night.

Snake Eyes

This one is a religious sermon.

Death is dancing through this land. Walking hand in hand with cleansing rain, to cleanse away the pain. The Earth is reeling under the weight of a hundred million billion souls mewing and crying and screaming and kicking. But the Mountains do not fret. They do not worry that they are infested by scores of humans. Humans who journey out here in this delicate environment in the hundreds and thousands to crowd these narrow walkways in an effort to be closer to Shiva. Who huddle together like so much cattle and pretend to be brave. Hoping to walk in the footsteps of their God.

Not knowing that Shiva always came alone.

He did not need the support of the rest of his broken race at his back to talk to Mountains. He did not need to beg the Gods for deliverance. Did not need the constant reassurance of an imagined deity to keep himself whole. But we do. And so we crowd to the shrines stacking up like sardines choking the valleys with our filth and cast off plastics. We suck up the thin air breathing it all in, and the land echoes with calls of Shiva and Bhole. While the devotees pile refuse upon nature in metric tonnes all in the name of protecting our thin mask of civilization.

Mountain's are fickle Gods at best, and Monsoons even more prone to changing their minds. How many years have we enjoyed grace and protection while our leaders bungled through their lives? How many years did we manage to get through without a serious mishap. It has to be the grace of Shiva that protected us for so long. It certainly cannot be due to any preventive measures taken by the government, there were none. We enjoyed our period of peace and prosperity only to have our leaders turn it into a time of oppression. And now our peace has ended. The Mountains and the Monsoon have seen us squander the grace that was given to us. They have seen us spit in the eye of the very Gods we worship. And now they will not tolerate our intrusions anymore.

"Begone"

Roared the voice, though the mountain only whispered. With a gentle shrug twenty thousand devotees were stranded without anywhere to go. We call it a landslide and talk about how enough trees were not planted. Talk of how the laws were not followed. The Government ducks and hides under its desk and mumbles incoherently about "Nature's wrath". Nature's Wrath? This is nature's love song. We wont be able to take Nature's wrath. This is a blessing. A warning. Maybe the last warning, maybe a few more are to come. But it is a warning never the less. A wise man once said

"Check yo'self before you wreck yo'self" 

Its time we realized that we cannot keep treating our land as personal backyard. We cant keep developing anything and everything that comes to our mind, or follow the whims of any big industry that fills our wallet. We need to start treating Nature with the respect she deserves. We need to start following the environmental laws put in place specifically prevent mishaps like this to the letter and beyond. And we need to open our eyes and see. See how the political parties, those we have entrusted to lead us through this crisis are even now bickering among themselves as to who is to blame. As long as they can find someone to blame to satisfy us. Like a pack of hungry wolves circling its wounded prey, snapping and biting at each other as they decide who gets the king's portion and who gets to sleep hungry. They have cut us up into religions, castes, creeds, regions. They have divided us up over the years all in the promise that we need to be afraid of this big bad world and they will protect us when the time is right. They will guide us when the time comes,  We will need them when the time is upon us.

Now the time has come, and they are not up to the task. Too weak, too corrupt, too incompetent to even realize the depth of their mistakes. Now the time has come and our politicians respond by even now embracing their inner corrupt Indian. With Netas putting pressure on rescue workers to rescue their own kin first, with stories of them filling up refugee camps and distributing food in return for promises of vote. Wake up and smell the shit that is raining down on us all. Wake up to realize that we never really needed them at all. That our imagined differences are exactly that, imagined. That it is they who need us. Need us to vote them in power again. So that they can continue the loot and plunder unchecked. Its time to wake up and take charge of our destiny, before it seriously is too late.

Our leaders have failed us. And now Shiva's grace has ended. We are in the final stages of the game and both die just came up with ones.

Snake eyes all the way.

The Chase Part 1

We have been chasing these pirates so long, it seems a lifetime.  Years spent in the black depths of Space. Nothing to do except stare endlessly out the viewscreen, seeing the ship through the changing colours from red to green and on and on as it goes through the entire visual spectrum. Nothing to do but think on the chase. Nothing to do but focus on the hunt. Nothing to do but die of boredom.

"Any change?"

sigh, No Captain. No change.

"Alright let me know when we hit our coordinates. Ill go mark our trajectory and correct our course."

Yeah you do that. You lead the ship after all. This ship, The Predator, pride of the Europan Navy.  She isnt the fastest ship around but back in the day she was the only one equipped with a Gravlectron Turbine. The engine that takes its power from the hundred million ampere strong Trans Jovian current. The turbine powers most of the ship's advanced features. Including the planetoid busting Gravelectron Gun. Of course by now they would have equipped all Europan ships with the revolutionary design. It has been thirteen years after all. Thirteen years on the hunt.

"Sheila come to my cabin, I need to check this with you."

Of course he would call Sheila, the harlot has been fucking the Captain for the past ten years. Look at her saunter across all ready to assist the captain. Who knows what the two of them will conspire at. Best check it out.

"These readings stopped making sense a long time ago. But lately things have just gotten insane. We have been stuck on this current loop for thirteen years and every time it seems like we are entering normal space we land up in these pockets of space. How many ships have we taken out?"

Sheila made a pretense of flipping through the records, she had an annoying habit of pretending to be dumber than she actually was. Probably so that she could show off her smarts at some precise occasion or the other.

"6765...that is a lot of ships."

"Exactly, where the hell are all these ships coming from? Even through we are displaced from normal space we should still be in the Jupiter region. We are still after all traveling on the Trans Jovian Current loop. Who keeps looking after these ships?"

"The...Pirates?"

"Oh bullshit, Six thousand seven hundred and sixty five pirates Sheila? Really? You know how that sounds? Crazy. That is exactly how it sounds...shit Im beginning to lose my mind in this boat. Its just been the two of us for so long."

"But we are an effective team Raj, we work well together."

"Yes yes Im sorry...Its just"

Captain, apologies for interrupting but we have arrived at our destination. The space pocket appears to be following normal space rules. We are still surrounded by the wall of the current. But we can recharge the turbine here.

"Very well...keep a lookout on long range scanners. Going by our past record we wont stay unmolested for long...and stop eavesdropping on me all the time."

Never even dream of it Captain. Deploying chargecaptors.

The Captain was not a patient man. But then Captain Raj K Rudrakumaran had never felt the need to inculcate patience. Gifted with the same farsight that got the first pioneers going on their voyages across oceans he was always one to look heavenward. It was clear from a very early age he was meant for Space. His mind absorbed all the requisite knowledge like a sponge, soaking it all in again without patience. When he came of age he passed out of the Academy with the Blade of Honor. And the abject hatred of every single one of his peers and many of his superiors. Was it any doubt then that he had been selected for his mission? A mission to endlessly chase ghosts in a shifted part of space time. Perhaps it was a lesson from chance. A chance to learn what he had chosen not to learn. Patience.

"Stopped making sense a long time ago."

Alert, Ship entering pocket, alert. Raising shields, arming torpedoes.

"Hold fire, get me a complete scan of that vessel."

Captain?

"The ship I want to scan it. A full scan, schematics, the works...was I stuttering?"

No Captain. Apologies. Scanning. Unable to comply, they are jamming us.

"Sonovab...fine open fire, cant take any chances. Set up an L glide down to the 89 on the Z. Launch interval of 3."

Acknowledged.  Trajectory assigned. Please brace. Setting up spread. Firing.

"On screen."

He would barely be able to see the ship. It was a black speck against the blue of the current wall. A keen eye could pick it out. Their target had already begun moving in an evasive pattern. A black dot against an ocean of electric blue fire. The first of the torpedoes hit the current wall. One has to see to be able to believe what happens when a nuclear warhead blasts into a wall of a hundred and twenty million amperes of cosmic electricity.  An array of brilliant black blossoms began to flower along the wall  as our torpedoes missed their mark. One after the other. They ballooned outwards before collapsing in on itself as the current filled up the gaps. Every single torpedo missed and they lost target for a second.

"Set up gattling laser. Spread pattern alpha, run it three times."

Acknowledged. Enemy vessel is powering up weapons.

The gattling laser should have gotten them. It usually did the trick. But lately the pirates had been getting quite clever at this game. And the first two spreads missed, splashing a trail of red laser fire in the wake of the dark ship. But the third hit the mark.

"So they have shields too eh? See this is what Im talking about Sheila these guys are armed to the teeth. Somebody as to be supplying them all of this military grade equipment. There has to be a conspiracy in high command."

Enemy is firing...this signature it is off the charts...I know this energy signature...Brace for impact, Brace for impact, Brace for impact.

But the warning would not be enough. The blast that came through was too powerful. It ripped clean through the shields and the ship's hull. In a matter of moments it was over. One second the Captain was shouting orders and the next all was oblivion in the white heat and light. I do remember his last words though.

"They have a Gravelectron Gun..."

The black ship came to rest as the wreckage glided past it . Nothing identifiable remained of their enemy. Only space dust and powdered blood, floating this impossible pocket of space time.

"Alright good job on the evasive action Sonu. Deploy the chargecaptors . So this brings our total to what?"

"4181 Captain."

"Four thousand oner hundred and eighty one. This is insane Sheila. These numbers make no sense. Im telling you we cannot still be fighting pirates. What if we have been blowing up other Europan ships...we cant just go on like this..."

It has been eight long years on the hunt. Eight long years killing Pirate after Pirate hoping this one would be the last. Eight years stuck in a box with a girl and an AI would wear down any man's patience. And Captain Raj K Rudrakumaran was not a patient man to begin with.

Crouching phoenix in the the ashes

Oh shit just got real now! Isnt that the honest truth. Flip on a TV channel and you can see the fire and the brimstone. The righteous wrath bubbling up in those who hold the front lines. Our presswalas cry hoarse and cry blood in this high noon. Like shit wasn't real enough when the last girl died and they shipped her corpse overseas just so those in power would not be blamed. As if shit wasn't real enough when they were blaming maggi for rape. Hell shit has been real for a long time. How long has it been? Can any of you truly remember a time when you did not read such things happening in our great nation? I remember reading absolutely heinous blood chilling perversions in Indian Express. Back when I was ten and my only interest in the damn paper were the Tarzan cartoons. And even then I would wonder, what causes such an eruption of savagery in the human being? What breaks us so bad that we erupt in this disease?

Is it oppression? It could very well be the oppression. The oppression of the mind and the body, the slavery we enforce upon our fragile minds in the name of society. Oppression, both sexual and social. As we inherit the chains created by our ancestors in an ever changing world. In a world where concepts of absolute control and right of might are rendered obsolete by the rapid exchange of information. A world where the word accountability takes on brand new meanings. A world where you cannot fool the masses and soon you wont even be able to fool yourself. A world where equality, freedom, liberty ring closer and closer to the truth. And yet we toil on, telling our wives to dress modest while eyeing that hot babe in the red dress. Frowning on social releases, frowning down on immodest behavior. We press on deriving ourselves of all the pleasures of the world. While we stick to our code of morality.

We burn ourselves out bearing tyranny of invisible castes, creeds, taboos, dogmas, stigmas. Bearing the cross of many sins real and imagined until we are nothing but shadows of what was once living breathing flame.

It could be our familial systems. It could be the system of joint families. An interesting family style in an increasingly overpopulated world. Where privacy becomes a taboo and everything is encouraged to be shared with your relatives. Everything? Why yes everything. Thus forgetting how inherently negative humans are. Forgetting what happens when negativity is bottled up inside for years and years without release. Forgetting there is a beast inside every man, that stirs ever so close to the skin. Because we thought our family love would be enough...enough to stem back the black tide.

It could be our hubris for believing so long we are superior beings to these ignorant westerners and their blatant disregard for modesty and penchant for equality. Could be because we dared to think that our ancient rotting culture which has been hijacked by fanatics made us better in any way than anybody else. Could be because we are so full of ourselves that we cannot even see ourselves in the mirror when we take a good look.

Well take a good look now. See what we are, and going as we are see where we are headed. Its all going down baby. Its all going down.

See where you wanted to be, and see where you are. Isnt that how you assess life goals? So why should it be any different for a nation.  We are not where we thought we would be. We are shamed because we cannot even handle our own deviancy. India can learn a thing or two about this from Japan, not they have shit all sorted out either. But then no has their shirt sorted out. Its a sign of the times. The end times. Kal Yuga! After all what can one man do? What can one woman do? Protest a little, picket the parliament, write blogs with false hopes, and then when the dust settles down wait for the next rape to come around. Until the blood starts to boil again. Right?

Honestly I dont know. My answer which might not be your answer at all is to be a better human being. Yes, thats about it...despite how anti climatic that sounds. I wand to live my life as best I can and do whatever I am doing, the best I can. Because if I can just do that much then I think I have a chance. If I can just keep things around me sane. If I can just break out of this cycle of hatred and hopefully not let it foster around me, that will be enough. If I can just live free and breathe free along with my fellow human beings, that will be enough. If I can choose the straighter road in how I live, that will be enough. And if fate one day tosses me a chance at rendering a service to my nation, big or small, then I will know that I can truly make a difference. Big or small. I will know that I got my chance to play a part.

Big or small.

And choose accordingly.

The molting cynic.

I believe I was always destined to be a cynic. I mean look around me. Look around you. What do you see? I see the slipshod slap dash abomination of a governance surrounding us from Kashmir to Kanyakumari masquerading as a democracy. I see greed win the war of the wolves and emerge the stronger hungrier one. I see avarice rule the stars at night while darkness guides our hearts in the day. So of course who would not want to be a cynic in times like these. Being a cynic means you dont have to worry, because as bad as things are right now they could still get worst. being a cynic means you can dismiss any hope for a solution as the flailing of a drowning form. And be damned proud of the fact that you saw it coming.

Being a cynic means you are free to the charms of this world. The false idols of hope and dreams cannot touch you. As a cynic you command the mighty powers of sarcasm and true wit. And if you use them with the razor preciseness befitting your aggresive demeanor then lo and behold it is only a matter of time before you become a Samur-asshole.

Im sorry did you think I was calling you a Samurai?

The biggest cynics in this world are the biggest losers. They are the inertia to your moving wheel. The block that smugly blocks the way all the while being too proud and too oblivious to realize that it is indeed itself that is blocking the damned way. Most cynics will attest that the cynical outlook on life allows them an out of the box view of the solutions. but that is a lie. No cynic is looking for a solution. For the solution is right there innit? After all they are a part of the problem. Being as true to the world around them as true they are to themselves.

The biggest cynical assholes of the world are closet optimists begging the entire world around them to rescue their cynical ass from this quicksand of darkly despair that permeates every fiber of their being. With rants and raves they send out their shrieking calls for help, yelling at you and the world around. The world itself takes up their call. Clamoring in the hundreds as they huddle together for warmth and hope. Till you hear it on the winds, till you can catch a hint of the call slipping down  that drink you ordered. Till you can hear their muted whispers secreting away at your soul in every soulless stare you get. Until the birds and the bees and the trees and the leaves are altogether screaming for a savior.

Are you that savior?

Well gee neither am I. Its alright no need to get upset, Im sure their savior will come to them one day. On a white horse gleaming in the sunlight/starlight? with wings on her back and epic boobs. Clad in shiny armor and all. And until that day the thought of a savior will keep them alive, keep them sane. Acting as the source of hope, fueling the engines of dreaming and possibility. Keeping the optimism alive within. For the greatest trick any cynic ever did was convincing themselves of the hopelessness of the situation. Not realizing that the savior they are looking for was staring them in the mirror. They pound away at the fabric of their own reality howling at the unfairness of it all. Putting on a shroud of despair they wail. And in their desperation  they pull off the greatest trick ever, convincing themselves they have hit rock bottom.

Hit the point of no return. Crossed the line of no control, gone to the other side...etc etc. You get the picture.

Well unfortunately as is the case with most things cynical even this is a false wisdom. There is no rock bottom. No basement level. If you wanna fall, you can fall for an eternity and still not hit rock bottom. You will fall, and you will sink lower and lower and until you will be barely recognizable as a human being inside. But you wont stop ever stop falling because there is no natural end to this progression. You started this progression with your mind. And only you can end it. You can rise up whenever you want. Could soar back up there and do what you wanted to all along. But you dont really want to rise up. Hell that would mean doing something. Hell that would mean creating something. That would mean looking back at all those people you dismissed as sheep stuck in the cogs of destiny, and knowing you were wrong. That would mean actually having to care for the world around you for a change. And no self respecting cynic would ever want to care. It would break them apart.

'Cause after all being a cynic is so much better, with nothing better to do. Except to just wallow around all day, and chill here with you.

Paper Mafia Blues or how I learned to live without the Times of India

No newspaper today. Its a strange feeling to get up in the morning and get no morning paper. You feel kinda incomplete. As if the world has chosen to pass you by without as much as a kind goodbye. So I decided to investigate further as to exactly why dont we have a newspaper. To make matters worse this was not the first time this had happened. So rousing my sleeping mind from its limbo I set it to the task of discovering the culprit behind this grave sin. What was unearthed was a shocking nexus of crime and villainy throbbing and pulsing with unholy life right beneath our noses. Alright so maybe its not that bad, But humor me.

It all started when my father, the strict army man who does not tip and maintains a strict overwatch on the inflow and outflow of cash in my household noticed something strangely amiss. He noticed he was paying more for the newspaper than he was supposed to. Now all this happened a while back. And my dad being cut from the iron of our ancestors decided to dig his heels in and make a stand. Inviting a confrontation with our paperboy (a forty something dude who loves chewing pan all the time). For you see we were not just being overcharged, we were being hoodwinked.

Just to set the record straight,  My household survives on a daily dose of tabloid news from Times of India. I dont particularly like it, nor am I blind to their shameless whoring and money grabbing. But hey its news and it gets me an appropriate summary of the world that was. Allowing me to set my mind on the world that will be. Now the newspaper insists that I should only be charged 5 Rupees per paper. This price is inclusive of any and all commissions that need to be paid up to get the paper in my hands. They are very clear about that fact. According to which my monthly expenses for TOI came to about 150 bucks. However the paper boy sent a bill of 180 bucks. My initial reaction to this was "well what's another thirty bucks". Fair enough right? I mean its just thirty bucks I probably blow that much on smokes or samosas or whatever. Fortunately my father is not as foolishly apathetic as I am. To him thirty bucks meant the difference between letting the paperboy go and planting his military boot right up his ass.

You see my co-op housing has fifty flats in it. Thirty bucks extra a flat means our paperboy covers about 1500 bucks from our society itself. And considering the fact that I knew he supplied to at least three more societies with around sixty - seventy flats each makes his haul around 8 - 9 k/month. Mind you this is not money he needs to pay off to TOI. This is his profit margin beyond the profit margin already allocated to him by the newspaper. So this is his...I dunno...payoff? protection money?  paper delivery tax? Also he charges this rate per paper. So if you order two newspapers, you pay sixty bucks extra. All in all I would not be surprised if he was hustling in about 10 k a month, conservatively.

With this figure burning inside and stoking the fires of rightful retribution Dad and I decided to confront our paperboy. However we were not ready for the depths of his shamelessness. His first reaction was to vehemently deny that he was overcharging us. That worked for all of five seconds until we literally calculated the amount due right in front of him and showed him his bill. Next he assured us that he was not overcharging us and that he had to ask for that extra amount as Times of India was charging him the amount. A claim that was again disproved right in front of him as we talked to a TOI customer care operative then and there. Thus cornered our paperboy started to get creative.

"Alright saab, how about I dont overcharge you anything. And you keep your mouth shut about this eh?"

Wow. Now that really pissed me Dad off and even shook me off my apathetic throne. Until now I was just going along for the kicks. But it was clear to me this guy was desperate. And desperation usually means there is something to hide. Which he proved to us when he followed up that sweet sweet offer with a most generous threat.

"Dekh lo Saab, poorey ilakey mein koi bhi paper nahi dalega appke ghar pe. Jyada panga liya to ghar to chodo aapki society mein koi paper nahi dalega."

Aint that a bitch. For those of you who have no concept of Hindi the paperboy's trump card was to threaten us with a newspaper embargo. And not just my house, but the entire co-op housing we live in. That's right, no newspaper for anyone because we dared stir up the paper mafia hornet nest. Of course after that there was no backing down. There could be no backing down now. Usually at this stage you would be left wondering what possible action can you take. Sure you could complain to the Times of India people (we did) and hope they take care of things but that's not how the world works. If something around you is broken you fix it, ya dont wait for someone else to show up and fix it. So we got down to organizing ourselves. First our society, then the one next door and then the one next to that one. Slowly but steadily we talked our way through to the societies in the neighborhood, tracing down the paperboy's route and figuring out his customer base. Until all twelve co-op societies in the area were now finally sitting down at one table and discussing this problem. (Yeah, same paperboy, twelve societies, 1500 times twelve, shit just got real).  Since he decided to threaten us with an embargo, well we have an embargo for you Mister Paperboy. Fix your prices or you will have no customers. None.

The solution? Simple, switch paper vendors. In all twelve societies.

Essentially robbing the guy of his entire customer base and thus ending his little monopoly. Now personally I dont care of the Times of India group is involved in this whole mess. maybe they do like to overcharge their paper delivery agents. Or maybe its just a local mafia of deliverymen who banded together and decided to start raking in some healthy profits. Either way this is the symptom of our lives and times, corruption seething and bubbling about right under our noses. And most of us will choose to do absolutely nothing about it. Because shit its just an extra thirty bucks right? What are you gonna do if you save those thirty bucks right? Buy another samosa...easier just to look away and pay that extra cash right? Easier still to dont ask and dont tell right? Easiest of all to just let things be right?

But not all of us will be able to do that. Not anymore. I know I wont be able to do that anymore. I would rather not read a newspaper than contribute my money in developing a goddamned syndicate running right under my nose. I know now for sure that no matter where I go I will look more closely at the paper bill. Because this is the way we are supposed to be. We are not supposed to bow down to corruption, no matter how small or minuscule it might be. We are not supposed to take shit lying down no matter how sweetly it is dumped on us. We are not supposed to swallow bullshit, and we are supposed to ask questions. We are meant to know.

So when the odds are all stacked up against you and you are the only one thinking of not running away. Remember, you are not alone.

Because some of us will fight, no matter the odds.

And those us will change things in times to come.


edit: Fixed some loopy mathematics, thanks to Somil. Like my teacher always said "EK AUR CARELESS MISTAKE?"

Wardrums

There is Darkness on a rise. 

In both Outer and Inner minds.

A beast is finally on the loose,

Chasing lives that couldn’t choose,

A tightness in the chest,

This wrongness in our best.

All dreams have come to die,

All stories were a lie,

When twisting binds are tied,

To greed that eats inside.

This monster we have birthed,

This blighting on this earth,

This deep reptilian core,

Who is not us, but becomes

like us more and more.

Until you and I are done,

Shadows and we are one,

Finally done with fire and fuel,

the world consumed, all that is left

is bled, broken, refuse.

Now we yearn for the Sun at last.

Casting a fate from brittle glass.

Hoping for a better day,

A world that never may,

Come by in this future past.

For dreams can never last,

If the die is not cast.

The memory remains.

Once upon a time. There was an idea of an India. It existed inside not too many heads at that time. For this was a primitive time you see and men were more concerned with staying alive than with building dreams and visions. So the idea of India was a small thing. A fool's dream perhaps, shared by not more than a hundred fools. This was probably the time of Alexander when this ancient land awoke from its slumber.

Then that idea grew and for a time it grew into something stable yet free. A land where culture flourished and thrived and the arts were held divine. A land of opportunity and frontiers. Where we had not yet completely embraced the tyrants within ourselves. When we still strove for balance, inner and outer. And harmony.

Ok, so maybe it only sorta exists in my head.

I still like that idea of India better than what we got to show.

Today there is a lot of rhetoric out there regarding Mister Guru. Regarding his hanging, the way it was all handled and the callous burial after. So lets talk of that first. There are a lot of guys going high five on this piece of news. Which is alright. I guess he was kind of a cunt in that he went to bed with Pakistan. But then he had the right idea when he wanted to clean out the Parliament. Either way, we caught him, he fessed up and then we just let him hang around for a while. And then suddenly out of the blue, surprise no more Guru.

Look at us, arent we the cool dude in the street now. Finally hanging the man we wanted. Woohoo. Yeah, we the big boys now arent we?

No.

Sorry to break the smugbubble but there aint nothing badass about hanging a lone captured man. You are ending his suffering for the apparent joy of making him live a few final moments in terror. Not much of a trade off if you ask me. And going by some accounts the man was actually had peace in his final moments...so yeah...so much for that little satisfaction.

And the way they went about it. Dont know about the rest of you, but it kinda leaves a bad taste in my mouth. We shouldn't be forgetting a few facts. Afzal Guru was an Indian, one must never forget this. This was a man who was willing to die for what he believed in. And he was every bit of an Indian as you and me. This is what this country does to its own. But more importantly his surviving family are still Indian. The people around them supporting them are all Indians. So if we truly are to believe in the concept of an India, then the Government, Yes, our great benevolent incompetent overlords...have actually got the toughest task on their hands. Which is to make Afzal Guru's surviving family believe in this Nation. To have them embrace the idea of this country and not follow in the wake of their patriarch.

Did I say hard? I meant impossible.

And how have our mighty leaders handled this? Well they started by not telling a man's wife when her husband was hanged. And they topped it off by burying his remains in his cell instead of handing them over to his family. Wow. Way to go Congress. You guys are just exuding class these days.

Pat yourself on the back for another bloodline turned forever in the service of destroying this nation.

Sometimes the illogic that governs them baffles me and other times it only amuses me. This is one of those times. But what is truly concerning is our own reaction this series of interesting events. Celebrations outside the Valley and a curfew inside. Talk about a paradox. Kashmiris are quite pissed, which I understand. Being the tribal loudmouths they are one expects them to shout loud when one of the clan is dead. But what I dont get is why the hell are the rest of us celebrating? What exactly are we celebrating? The death of one man? Against the death of what thousands of army men who die every year trying to keep Kashmir free of Pakistani influence? The death of one lone captured soul who confessed as opposed to the mastermind of terror we escorted home when they hijacked our lives? have we all gone mad? Have we all forgotten everything so damn soon.

Are we celebrating our defeats now? Have we truly fallen so low...

It would seem we have. 

Let us talk as Indians for a moment.

Good evening India. The world is turning. Time is marching on. 2013 is here. We are already more than a decade into the new millennium  Already a decade into the future. As it was promised to us. And the future looks bleak. But let us not talk of the future for the moment. Let us just talk of today.

Today this country is closer to dying that one might suspect. Today is a new day. In a new year. It is a confusing day. A time of uncertainty marks the air. A lot we took for granted is up for questioning now. And Gods there are so many questions that need to be answered. The false charges leveled by the Delhi Police on the protesters. The appointment of a man with cases filed against him as the Commissioner of Delhi. How can no one be accountable? The statement after fresh statement coming out from those who are chosen to lead us and the swift withdrawals that come soon after. Displaying their clear disconnect from the reality of this nation. Displaying clearly to everybody that nobody has a clue what is going on.

Except You and me.

So what is going on? It is clear our political system as failed us. Our leaders having so long gorged and fed on our souls have forgotten the very basics of democratic conduct.  But that is also not the entire truth. The truth is democratic conduct as it existed within our minds has been a sham. An illusion. A trick paraded onto us by our great Congress and their gifted opposition. The truth is this nation has been dancing to the tunes of our slave masters for a good thirty odd years now. Democracy died when they all decided to make deals with each other. The idea of freedom died when the Government and the Opposition became bed mates.

Leaving behind only anarchy, disguised as Democracy.

Chaos. My dear rich poor Indians. We have been living in chaos. And relishing it as freedom. And why not? I say, Let anarchy rule. But now that it is clear that the only ones who can do anything about this is we few, we happy few. Allow me to shatter another illusion of yours. This act of sexual assault that we are all now familiar with goes beyond the realm of humanity in several ways. It is bestial in nature. It is not just something done out of ignorance or due to lax laws no...it is a symptom. A clear symptom of a disease that cripples our society. The tumor of Oppression.

Far more than a rape, It is a declaration of war. A declaration of war from an India that you probably do not even know exists. An India that we count upon and depend upon to serve us. An India beneath our India. For the classes/castes never truly ended. Not just for the Khaps but even inside every one of our hearts. Our segregation and many divisions never ended. But progress marched on and we thought ourselves civilized. Pretending at humanity while breaking the back we rode on. Think for a moment on the security guard, on the maid, on the presswala, the rickshaw puller, the autowala, the bus conductor. Think on this mammoth surging wave of humanity on which we ride, thinking ourselves superior. Think of their meager earnings and shelter and think on this extreme cold. Think of a slow burning anger in a billion hearts being the only thing keeping them warm.

How many of us have looked them in the eye? Ever?

So what, you thought the information revolution was exclusively for you? You thought they would not become aware? They would not realize that more than anything else we are all born and created equal? That they would never dream? That they would never hope? And who stands between them and their dreams but the fucking Malik?

Think tonight on your sins. And pray to whichever gods you wish to. For we are clamoring for tighter laws. We are demanding for stricter penalties. We are demanding for beheadings and swift justice. No one is demanding for an end to oppression. No one is demanding for accountability. No one is demanding for an open society where classes are not so rigid and direly enforced. No one is demanding for a rich cultural society where all can live in peace and harmony. No one is demanding for education and food and the bare necessities.

So it is all surely up to me and You.