In Search of

A hint of irony, a flash of recognition. Truly willing to bring him back , I labor on. A memory here, a deja vu there. Surely he cant be that lost. I will find him, bring him, and with him whatever is mine. Come on, I urge myself to push harder , to scratch beyond the surface. After a while , I stop, am tired and failures aren't good motivators. Shoulders drooping, I trudge back home, to the comforts of sleep and its friends, anonymity and absence of consciousness. Tomorrow, I promise to myself, tomorrow for sure. I will find him, should. The me I lost long back.

A Beautiful Battle

As kids ,we used to play in a ground. Straight behind the bowler , there looms a wall. The WALL. It signified everything to us. The impregnable. The undefeated. The limits of our skill, our stamina and our strength. As a batsman , you looked to hit the ball atleast to reach the wall . That in itself was an achievement, a moment of pride and a token of grudging respect from your friends. The story was the same for a few years, till one fateful day. That day, a beautiful swing of the willow, met with the teasing trajectory of the ball to send it sailing. We looked on, with heartbeats slowing down to barest minimum, as it sailed, sailed and sailed. In a perfect arc that would please a Greek mathematician it went above and over the wall. The WALL. It was a moment of victory, pride,glory and yes, nostalgia. Suddenly the wall looked much smaller, too nearer and too docile . The team that batted second hit three more balls over the wall as it looked abject and smaller in submission. The wall was never the same again. Boundaries are, but an illusion.

The Lion that never was...

A few months back, I saw a lion perform. To a bemused audience, it jumped through a ring of fire, caught a few hoops with its neck and pawed its thanks.It left me wondering, how could a creature so wild and majestic ,so proud and grand, stoop down to appease beings that didnt matter. How could a beast that ruled its jungle shame itself just to live on? What made this animal a king amongst its folks seek for retribution from strangers? I pitied it for losing its pride , derided it for succumbing so easily, abhored it for losing its values and hated it for seeking acceptance in an alien group. Suddenly the lion looked up and our eyes met for more than a second. I hung my head in shame . He knew I was in as bad a state as he...

Boys in Blue

India crashed out of World Cup .But why the hue and cry? India was not ousted due to drug abuse , nor was it due to on field behavior. India was ousted because we were outplayed , totally.
Period. In a game of sport , excepting the odd blip of a tie in the radar, a team always has to lose .That is the order of things .By saying Zaheer bowled badly, will be grossly undermining the knock of the Bangladeshi youngster. By saying Dhoni played a rash shot is questioning the magic of Murali's doosra.We lost.Period.Were outplayed.Period. Have we for mentioned atleast once when we talk about Indias glorious 1983 world cup victory that West Indies played pathetic cricket?
But why the hue and cry.Is sport bigger than life. Have we asked for the PM and FM to be thrown out when India doesnt make it to the Group 8( Worlds Top economic powers ) countries list year after year? we are much more accountable there .We vote them to power.
Indian team was outplayed.No second thoughts .But they are still the Indian team right.Arent we supposed to support them and ask them to move on.Ninety nine percent of us wont even know who the opponent was when West indies won the World Cup in 1975.Just goes on to say how only the winner is remembered.And this world cup is also going to have only one winner .Does it amount to say that all the other teams dont deserve a place?
Indians are hurt the way the boys played .Understandable .But does that in any way take away the pride we had when Rahul and Laxam stoop up against the Australians in one sunny day in Kolkatta .Does it take away the unbridled joy when Sachin single handedly demolished Pakistan last world cup.Dos it take away the elation of fulfilment when Kumble took a perfect ten wicket haul. Or the unabashed laughter seeing Sreesanth dance to Nel.No . Never .
These guys gave us a lot .Now we owe it to them .To stand by them .Sports gives them the freedom to be Boys at an age all others are men.Boys they are .Let them be .
Sports is much more than winning and losing . I liked the ecstasy and bliss on a 115 kg Dwayne Leverock's face on taking Uthappas catch than Symonds war cry on taking a stunner.To me that summarizes what sports is all about .

Literal prejudice or Prejudiced literature

There always was an intense urge deep inside to ramble on the omnipresent bias towards the more intense hues of the color spectrum . Is it because of the malanian ratio of the race that invented language . Dont go along with my perceptions ? Never noticed the subtle hints that stare at your face when you go through a text of harmless nothings.
Still undecided? Well ... Think aloud why the nefarious shades are referred to as Dark shades of man . Or why the offender is always called Black sheep? Cant it be a white or brown one . Hell.. it can be a violet one for all I care ..
And why for God sake is a terrible disastrous day called the Black day ? A day of blood shed can be a Red day , literally speaking but why a Black day? More poignantly, an outside contender is a Dark horse. Symbolism at its best ?Or should we say the blackest? But things that stump you real bad come way down .
How about a "black mark " for example ?Or a Black out when you are unconscious? Or getting beaten black and blue. Now , as the clod departs and I clear my daze , I cant stop myself from thinking . Is this bias transmuted from language to the person or the other way round? Before you put your thinking caps on , Ill sign of with the biggest joke in this colored literature scam .Calling the most fatal of our species as fairer Sex , when there is nothing fair to them . Now I know you ll agree , cos its one argument that stares at your face everyday. Well folks , we can atleast think in black and white .

Odd Man In

Ever felt like a dog in midst of cats , then imagine how it wud be to be a dog in midst of wolves . That wud sum up how I feel everyday at office. Not that I am a dog and am dogged by a pack of wolves , but work plays a part thats against the wishes of God. Work destroys something that God took eras to accomplish.. Work takes away individuality . Work takes in lions , tigers , rats and snakes , packages them beautifully and delivers them back all in the same mode devoid of their individualities , shorn off their originality. That hurts . Not that i am a dog in midst of wolves . But to someother good dog Ill be a wolf too.And it pains . To be the Odd man In.

I wish , want , need to be back in a place where I say Hi only when i want to , Bye only when i feel like , where I can pee without a CC to my superior , where I am ME . And thats what everyone wants to . I want to be back in a place where people laugh when they are happy and smile when they are sad, a place where anybody who is somebody is known by everybody, a place without pretensions , where you wear your heart on sleeve, show hate in your face and love in your eyes.Where you are happy when people laugh at you , where the sum is always greater than the parts ,where everyday is surprsingly similar but distinctly different , where each day is a surprise and sunrise is a boon .

Utopia , you may say . Heaven you might call it . But i call it college , the only kingdom where the kings sit at the last .

Veni , Vidi ,Vici

I , the ninth of alphabets , has so etched itself into my system that I cant think, write , smile without using the same , I so hate the "I" for enslaving me , so much for the First person singular pronoun to become greater that the first person itself . So to lead a revolt of sorts against the tyrant, I proceed to essay out a few words , notably bereft of the dreaded pronoun and the alphabet.

As dawn progresses to day to dusk , and slowly treads back to dawn , my muddled head slowly clears up , through the hazy clouds , a wee spark of truth stares back . The me , proudly humble, has an obsessed pull towards the hated alphabet. More so for reasons best known personal than others . Maybe because the aphabet means more to the me , than my name. Because anybody can call the me by my name , but only the me can mean and own me by the dreaded alphabet. The alphabet is a property of all,owns everyone , but owned by none.Maybe thats why , maybe thats not why . But now the me deep down , slowly accepts , I, period.

The me in me clearly loses out to the I in me . The me in me is just another me in a sea of faceless me s. The I ,is different. It represents the me in me to the world of mes. Confronting a multitude of monotonously similar , depressingly boring me s all over , The I in me asserts and constantly reasserts the me in me that the real me is original , likeable and above all different.the I in me is my crutch , when the me in me is hobbling along the rickety roads of life , a sword when the me in me is conquering the demons of the mind, my pen when I scribble my ramblings when at my narcissist best , or worst . Summing up , I love the I , for it means more to me than what me means to me .