Nicotine patched Insomnia and other thoughts.

As the pitter patter of the rain outside my windows robbed away my sleep, I’d two options. I could either get up and try to finish off that document I’ve been trying to work on or keep tossing and turning in my bed and wait for that elusive sleep.

The other option was to get up, have a drink, and think about the passage of time.

I chose the third option…

* * *

Coming of age has been a favorite expression of mine for some time now. To put things into perspective, I’ll be thirty by the end of this year.

In all the movies that I see, there is one moment, that one defining moment, when the protagonist realizes something deep, and that realization changes him. She/he understands the significance of that moment and “grows up”, and does something which is completely different to his/her philosophy of life till then.

I’m not sure if I had the moment. I’m sure there were moments which would’ve helped me be a grown up, but I never did (grow up). I keep waiting for a sign, which would tell me I’ve had a good run thus far, and now it is time to let go off my old ways and embrace the new.

But the old ways is me, if I change it, would I be a different person?

I look at myself, I know I have changed, but I cannot put pinpoint where or how or why. I’ve come very far from the day I landed in Bangalore with a backpack and a sense of adventure. The adventure is dead and the backpack trashed,along with other memories. But I keep hoping.

Hoping for what exactly, I’m not sure.

My life has been led by choosing the easiest path. It has been ruled by averting risks. I have had to rationalize most of the decisions I’ve ever taken, and the ones I couldn’t I continue regretting them. I know it’s the end of the road for change, and I know I need to change, but then how do I do it?

Every weekday I keep hoping for the weekend, that one weekend, I’ll take control of my life. Before every weekend, I make up a hazy decision on things I need to do, but by Sunday evening, I’ll be wondering if I should start them now. Thus the weekend comes and goes, and the wait continues.

I keep hoping that by ignoring problems, they’ll go away. And I’ve been lucky all my life, because it’s been going away. Now suddenly when running away is not an option, I find myself woefully unprepared to fight.

* * *

And then a lightning strikes somewhere, and the darkness is shamed into revealing its secrets outside my window, and I think nothing ever changes.

I remember the old lines by Gibran – For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?

Does it mean, death is melting into the sun, dissolving into light and becoming nothing? So is living, being a blot in the day, a prism to split the sun, and create some rainbows while at it?

* * *



And when I awoke, I was alone, this bird had flown

This is something I have been putting off for the longest time. Norwegian Woods by Murakami – I’ve had the book for a really long time, but never read it, till last friday night, partly because I have no life, and I had lots of work to put off.

Saturday noon, I had finished the book, along with all my cigarettes and alcohol, and I was deeply affected. The tragedy was fresh in my mind, and I was despondent, depressed,  and dejected. And strangely happy.

I didn’t write about it immediately, because I wanted some time to think about it, and the tragic love story was fresh in my mind for me to do any sort of analysis.

Suicide and death is one of the central themes of the book, apart from Love and possibly mental illness. Suicide is shown as the easy way out, as well as the only way out.But it also shows how death is the easy way out for one character, but which has enduring affect on the living. The lives in the novel are changed for worse with the suicide. But natural death is shown as far more peaceful and liberating, maybe the suffering of a person in deathbed makes it easier for everyone to accept the death when it finally arrives.

The central character Toru is very detached from people surrounding him, and keeps himself inside a metaphorical wall. But this hits him harder when the pain is brought by the few people he has in his life. Its the Tragic Hero Syndrome which gets me, about the man who suffers much due to the things which are completely out of his control, which he cannot figure out with a logical and rational mind. There is no real closure to any death.

We can explain most of the things in our lives – hunger passion love affection hatred etc to the Evolution. But the sense of loss from the death of someone close, how do we explain it?

Violence against bloggers!

We demand the death penalty for atheist bloggers because they use obscene language to criticize Allah, Muhammad and the Quran.’ The banner carries the pictures of atheist bloggers. Asif Mohiuddin is among them. Asif was brutally stabbed by the Islamists a month ago.


Recently I read about the attacks on Atheist bloggers in Bangladesh. Fanatical Muslims marched in thousands in the capital city of Bangladesh demanding the arrest and persecution of the bloggers. Some of the bloggers were brutally attacked.

The law and order was being broken by the group of religious zealots, protesting against blogs. And the Government acted swiftly.

The government contained the protests, arrested the attackers and upheld the rights of individual to voice their opinion. NOT!

“The telecommunications regulator ordered two leading Internet sites to remove hundreds of posts by seven bloggers whose writings it said offended Muslims, according to its assistant director Rahman Khan.”

If you have issues with words, refute them, with words.

If you have issues with blogs, start your own, and give a good rebuttal. Or add a comment with your rebuttal.

If you have issues with a speech, give a speech yourself, coherently explaining how each point made against your belief system is wrong.

Because if you can’t refute words, there is something fundamentally wrong in your belief system.

If your belief has to be guarded and protected, if your belief is not strong enough to withstand criticism, then maybe your belief is flawed.

If you are so insecure of your faith, that you have to protest violently against any sleight against your ideas (imagined or otherwise), maybe it it time to rethink those.

Time to ask the “whys” and not be satisfied with the “whats”.

Of course its easier to take out a protest and kill free thinkers.

A Tragedy

Bhopal Gas Tragedy is one of the biggest industrial disasters. To put it in perspective – the worst disaster you can think of, lets say Chernobyl Radiation Leak killed lesser number of people. There are lots of culprits, the government, the company, the employees. But the brunt of the leak was born by the lowest strata of the society as is the norm. The Wikipedia page is here.

Bhopal Gas Victims

I was bemused by the last line in the wiki entry: The Swedish family physician (MD) Ingrid Eckerman, member of the International Medical Commission on Bhopal in 1994 and author of “The Bhopal Saga – causes and consequences of the world’s largest industrial disaster”,[90] published in 2004, is since 2008 denied visa to India.[91]

Why would Indian government prevent someone from visiting India? What is the Government wary and scared of? I’ve increasingly started feeling that the Indian Government, for all its merits in chugging along the bandwagon that is India, is also an authoritarian. I mean for all the freedom of press, lots of things go unreported.

I wonder who is at fault here – the media, the government, or we the people?

Ingrid Eckerman – Victim of Indian Apathy?



Death is weird. Its binary, one moment you are there, spreading love or hate, inspiration or pessimism, laughter or tears and the next you are not.

Today a dear friend passed away, and everything that was between us, is now just with me. I’m sad, and angry at the tears which never comes.

We had a running bet for Australian Open. He was a die hard fan of Federer and said Federer is going to win the Australian Open, while I supported Murray. And for 10 to 1 odd, he said a new player with a tennis rank lower than 3 will win, and I said No. A bottle of whiskey was at stake.

Djokovic won the championship, so neither of us won the 1st bet, and I won the second bet (Djokovic was and still is as I write ranked 1 in Tennis). The last thing he pinged me was – “I guess net net I owe you a bottle of whiskey”. Yes you owe me a whiskey, damn it, come back and give it to me, so we can drink once more, and talk about tennis, formula 1, the world, politics, all your insane ideas, about women, play risk, get stoned in the car, eat jalebis, smoke cigarettes, go to Nandi Hills or anything you want to do.

Oh RC, I miss you.


As I stared at the barrel, which was innocently staring back at my eyes, I finally realized what I was missing.

I could’ve not fallen in love. I could’ve not fallen in love with the most heartless bitch there ever was. I could’ve not promised her everything. I could’ve taught her the value of togetherness than the material things. I could’ve told her the concept of a home forever and not a momentary palace. I could’ve left her when she left me. I could’ve not wanted to have her back. I could’ve not gambled for money and lost everything. I could’ve refused to accept the heist job. I could’ve not taken the gun which was offered. I could’ve gone with my better instincts and checked the facts about the job myself. I could’ve been killed in the job. I could’ve surrendered and given the money back and asked for forgiveness. I could’ve not taken the money to her. I could’ve made her not spend the money immediately. I could’ve kept myself low and bought her the house, the car, the jewellery. I could’ve bailed. I could’ve blamed her, I could’ve told them where the money was, I could’ve called her to come with the rest of the money. I could’ve not been staring at the muzzle right now.
I could’ve but I did not. I lived my life, did my part, loved my girl, did my work, killed a few, stole a car, got jailed, did dirty work for dirty people, did even more dirtier work on cleaner people. I got stabbed, I went under the knife, I punched a cop, I got shit kicked out by my friends. There is nothing I did wrong, and I’ll die in peace.

I was missing the need to live. I did not mind dying right now.

I saw the slide move backward, I imagined the firing hammer getting ready, I imagined the bullet from the magazine sliding into the barrel, imagined rather than saw the trigger move, the hammer strike, the firing pin hit the cartridge, the explosion, and the bullet coming out of the barrel.
They say, your entire life flashes through your eyes the moment before you die. I beg to differ. It is not the entire life, its only the times when you were passionate about something that comes to your mind. The times of overt joy, the times of intense depressions, the time I was wild with anger, the time my mind was poisoned with hatred, the days of passionate love, all those moments when I saw something so beautiful that my heart ached, the cold beer after a days work, the first and the last cigarette…
Precisely then, at that instant, when I knew I was going to die, when I knew the bullet will go through my eyes hit my brains and explode inside my head, I realized I wasn’t ready. It is only pain from here on till the end. I wanted the pain to linger on, giving me some more time to experience those feelings I’ll never have, feel those emotions I will never feel, and relive those days that will never come. I would’ve happily traded more time for more pain, I don’t want it to end.

This ever so short excruciating pain, can you please linger on for some more time? There is so much mo…