choices

Either Or. This or That. Yes/No. The Lady or the Tiger. Every choice calls for sacrifice, but some also ask for suicide. “A beautiful death”, as they said in Sparta.

But there’s no romance in being an ass. There’s no worse way to drown than under a wave of righteousness. The martyr’s choice is often a fool’s one. For what looks heroic on the surface can be very lonely, filled with self doubts and a hands-tied, scrotum-scratching urge to be someone else. The support of the acolytes and well wishers rarely reaches the saint at the stakes, and the concern pounding his ears is largely the fear of smelling his own bacon, one that’s always a matchstick too late. True, a sage is revered, but largely in posterity. Or is the word ‘posthumously’?

Often a seer can be blind, and a sometimes a pawn. And that rhymes with ‘moron’.

ram cobain

shitscapades #2

this morning, i recreated Stonehenge underwater.

happy birthday

happy birthday hope

happy birthday courage

happy birthday inspiration

happy birthday old backfoot cover drives

happy birthday infant uppercuts

happy birthday goodness

happy birthday greatness

happy birthday redemption

happy birthday muscle and sinew, sweat and tears

happy birthday twinkling eyes and 16-year old smiles

happy birthday heavy bats and heavier shoulders

happy birthday little tricolour flag on the helmet

happy birthday number 10

happy birthday Shivaji Park

happy birthday heroism

happy birthday bitten nails and bruised palms

happy birthday choked breaths and runaway throats

happy birthday old memories and unborn ones

happy birthday gooseflesh

happy birthday us

happy birthday

shitscapades: fresh cobain updates to bowel you over!

22nd April 2008, 6.40 pm

now I know how mothers feel about abortions – it was a big brown bonny boy and it grieved me immensely to pull the flush.

rc

look again

when the face stares back

stained black and ugly

is it the mirror that’s dirty?

ram cobain

maybe I’m wrong

maybe I’m wrong

but how important is it to do the “right” thing?

the “right” thing is what is fair in the court of conscience, where no other person need be present for a verdict

for me, it is everything.

and no, it’s not easy at all

it’s a constant war to fight one’s baser self, to rein in the animal that says the world was a cruel place before you came in

it’s a struggle to accept one’s inabilities, to applaud louder another’s accomplishment if only to drown out the malignant soul-whisper of envy

it means obsessively checking oneself, looking at the mirror with a far more critical eye than an ageing prima-donna

it means slapping oneself to the reality that turning a blind eye is the worst kind of peek-a-boo; akin to watching one’s mother bathe

it means allowing oneself no rope to falter, no confession-box-shortcut-to-salvation, no excuses at all

it means giving the right advice when you don’t want to, giving up credit unearned by the sweat of your brow or the migraine of your intellect and never giving in to the silicon-tit of temptation

sometimes for all its earthy-scent of justice, I feel living this way is unfair to me

because it means not using people to one’s own advantage, of realizing that the other person’s shoes are often two sizes too small, of feeling scrutinized and caged by bars of free air…while being used to other people’s advantage, while stumbling alone on one’s two clumsy feet and while seeing others amble through the same bars as if the rods were made of cloud dust (which they are!)

but then I realize that I can sleep easy, walk like a prized pugilist and sing in the rain

and sound wonderful, sound just right

if only to myself.

peace, love, empathy
rc

words

words are wonderful.

they have the power to caress, uplift, embolden, dance and love.

words can make you feel like a gawky teenager all over again, like when the world was full of good people, when a stranger could offer a lollipop or a lift with no ulterior intent, when the sun felt warm and sweet and happy and never hot.

they can fill your belly with such joy that you might need to burp, such laughter that you might feel sad knowing immediately, suddenly and sadly, that the laughter will and must die.

words are like passionate lovers; free-flowing and brave and giving, as unabashed in a peck on the cheek as in a super-swallow blow job.

words are also educative; they can teach you, make you live longer by making you dwell both in the past and the future in one lifetime, by making you understand history, culture, moments of deliberation and moments of defiance.

words are immortal; they live in suspended animation, belonging as much to the listener as the speaker, breathing for centuries after the person who uttered them is excreta in an earthworm’s belly or dust in a choking world from a long-dead pyre.

words are inspiration; they are muscle in battle-weary sinews, courage in hero-starved nations, hope for the love-destitute and redemption for the condemned.

words are dreams about realities yet to happen, explanations of magic yet to be seen and truths about Santa Claus. In that way, they are also escape; lifeboats from Alactraz, tunnels in Shawshank and the gunny bag for the Count of Monte Cristo.

words are art in the alphabet form and sensibility for the noveau-literate.

but for all their beauty, words have a Hyde side too.

wielded carelessly or craftily, they can hurt, wound, gloat, pulverize and annihilate.

totally, completely and eternally.

and that’s why, kneaded with all my love for them, is a cold dollop of fear.

for what they might make me say, or make me hear.

they really are two-faced sons-of-bitches.

and there’s no other word for them.

peace, love, empathy

ram cobain

the truth in black or white

the best coffee is not about the freshest beans or the milk or the sugar.

it’s about who you have it with.

ram cobain

sounds funny...

...but does a word rhyme with itself?

ram cobain

words worth

coming from the right person, a “hi, how’re you doing” isn't a greeting.

it's a rescuing.

ram cobain

clink

hey beautiful girl on the dance floor

preying and hunted

cheers.

ram cobain

a pageful of autobiography

they look up to me

they think I’m cool

I agree

I’m a metal head

I love Slayer

my ambition is to take a loan and go to the US and watch Slaaaaaayer live

I pose with my tongue out

I wear black tees with hideous designs

I sing kishore kumar songs

I sound horrible

I haven’t used a comb in 3 years

I’m balding

I'm heterosexual

I’ve loved, lost and not learnt

I’m searching for you

I can’t dance

I like dancing

I make the same mistakes still

I have heroes

I'd love to be a martyr

I have obvious and secret admirers

I don't have a tattoo, yet

i love books

I’m a good friend

I have few enemies but they remember me

I hope I’m a good son

I’m a talented writer

I'm a passionate advertising writer

I try to be a good junior

I try harder to be a good boss

I’m an awesome poet

I’m not modest but I’m humble

I’m an optimist

I wear Levis

I wear contact lenses

I make mindblowing yellow dal

I wash my own clothes

I think too much

I've slapped a guy once, hard

I’m vegetarian but I don’t like veggies

I love dogs

I believe in God

I’m single

I have a matrimony id

I love beer

I’ve never smoked

I don't polish my shoes

I don't wear shirts but i look wow when i do

my last credit card bill was for Rs. 46000

I don’t save

I swear in hindi and smile

my favourite TV show is South Park

I had a compound skull fracture on my Enfield

I ride it still

I believe in Sachin Tendulkar

I’m a Nirvana fan

I often repeat myself

they call me ram cobain

I call me ram cobain

the biker

I have a Royal Enfield Thunderbird but this note isn’t about either of us

it’s about a guy in my office complex who rides an Enticer to work everyday

his Enticer is fitted with extra wheels on the side, like a child’s cycle

no, he’s not a wimp

he’s probably the bravest man I’ve seen

you see, the thing is that this guy doesn’t walk

he crawls

his legs are twisted and bent under him, like a tortoise coil made out of skin and sinew

like the sweet god of creation changed his mind halfway

only halfway

so everyday, he inches forward like a gravel swimmer, slowly, painfully

and proudly

I feel like rooting for him, clapping like a wound-up toy monkey

but to do so would be to acknowledge what he’s fiercely forgetting every minute of his life

so I stay quiet, avert my gaze till I hear the roar of the motorcycle

only then do I turn to see him riding away

I don’t even know his name

but I know that I’m 5 feet 8 inches tall and he that towers over me.

ram cobain

career choices

if I were not a writer, I’d be reading someone else’s blog.

:-)

ram cobain

people...

people without a passion, any passion

who don’t like music

don’t have heroes, fallen or standing tall

don’t read books, don’t re-read books

who don’t know who Stephen King is

who ask what Sachin Tendulkar has done

who’ve never ridden a bike (pillion included)

people who’ve never bunked school

who’ve never had a favourite teacher

people who’ve never written a love letter, bought flowers

people who’ve never felt like a fool (angrily or grudgingly)

who don’t cry at movies, laugh at jokes, feel scared in a dark room

people who lick ass and cover their own

who don’t stand straight when the national anthem plays

people who don’t stand straight, period

who iron their jeans

who think goodness is weakness

people who don’t like traveling

people whose beds have never been unmade

people who buy quietly at swanky stores and bargain loudly with the poor

people who don’t find their mother tongue cool

people who don’t find their mother cool

people who don’t think dad is a rock star (unless he isn't)

who say one thing and mean another (unless they’re women, joking!)

who’d love to see you go down

people who don’t reach out for their wallets quickly enough

who split the bill according to their share

who don’t love themselves (unless justified)

don’t have a best friend (or five!)

who’ve never gifted more than they’ve got

people who’ve never smiled on a Monday morning, never sobbed on a Sunday afternoon

who don’t have a sense of right and wrong

people who remember insults more than compliments

people who think poetry is intellectual and not that they’re imbecilic

who think the Swastika is a symbol of pride and not shame

who think all Muslims are terrorists (and vice versa)

people who haven’t been in love with the wrong person

people who haven’t lost in love with the right person

people who cheat in love

people who haven’t blown soap bubbles

people who haven’t eaten street food

people who’ve never tried cooking

people who see the glass as half empty (even when it is spilling over)

who’ve never broken a bone or a heart

who’ve never petted a stray dog

people who aren’t proud of their roots

people who don’t like chocolate

people who haven’t asked for extra cheese

people who’ve never mismatched clothes

people who’ve never given to lesser-privileged people

people who have grown up early

people who have never burped in public

people who’ve never waited for a phone to ring

who’ve never written, deleted and re-written the same sms

who’ve never agonized over a ‘sending message’ alert

people who’ve never driven faster than the speed limit

who’ve never confused the fork and knife hand

who’ve never been thrilled during a plane takeoff

who’ve never felt depressed in a hotel room

who’ve never offered a sweaty salesman a cold glass of water

people who’ve never said thank you

people who’ve never said sorry

people who are insecure (especially if they are brilliant)

who act with their brain and not their gut

who’ve never clapped when they’ve been bested

people who’ve never been drunk (teetotalers forgiven)

people who don’t go to birthdays

people who don’t go to funerals (notwithstanding their own)

people who don’t believe in god (unless they’re atheists)

who don’t mind hurting others knowingly

all such people...

i'm happy to not know you.

ram cobain

Unidentified Funny Object

jokes are proof that aliens exist.

after all, none of us has met a single human being who can claim he’s thought of a rib-tickler and pass a polygraph while saying so.

q.e.d.

ram cobain

a for...

are there degrees of assholism?

is there a type 1 asshole, a b-asshole and the alpha asshole?

are there benign and malignant assholes?

incurable and wannabe assholes?

first-time and certified assholes?

genetic and acquired assholes?

is assholism an instinct?

is it contagious?

will it spread by touch?

by association?

is there an Assholics Anonymous and how do you get someone admitted there?

does it make you an asshole if you treat an asshole like an asshole?

can you spot an asshole by just looking at one?

do assholes have assholes?

how do you gently break the news to someone that he’s an asshole?

are there asshole doctors in the yellow pages?

can you get arrested for being an asshole?

should there be capital punishment for assholes?

can assholes plead for clemency?

how does an asshole prove his innocence?

can you sue for false arrest?

are there countries that have legalized euthanasia for assholes?

should assholes be allowed to run for government, be bosses or hold positions of authority?

is there a self-examination test to check if you’re an asshole?

have you taken one recently?

peace, love, empathy
ram cobain

(assuredly not an asshole)

hi

to you, old friend

to you, new hope and rainbow

to you, beautiful voyeur

to you, sweet lost love, holding on

to you, ancient enemy keeping tab

to you, stranger trolling by

to you, fellow Stephen King Constant Reader

to you, the cure

to you, the curse

to you, comrade in words

to you, fan

to you, critic saerching for grammer flaws

to you, happy teacher

to you, wannabe blogger

to you, passionate plagiarist

to you

yes you.

happy reading.

ram cobain

the glass and the halfway mark

it's not what you do for a living.
it's what living does for you.

ram cobain

unlearn

the last time I saw a man without a problem, he was busy inventing one.

because as life has taught us in surprisingly sneaky ways, the light at the end of the tunnel is often that of the incoming train.

and we’ve been very good pupils. Observant. Obedient. Outstanding. We’ve memorized and internalized, accepted that these shoulders were meant for drooping, the head for falling and the chest for tuberculosis.

at the cost of sounding like Ayn Rand, this is what your fellow student has learnt:

we all have our issues, our albatrosses, our skeletons, our demons. it may be a fear of rejection, of shame, of hurt, of inadequacy. of not loving enough or of loving too much. of being too fat or too thin, too ugly or too beautiful, of being too tall, too short, too poor, too rich, too this or too that.

I don’t know who your personal bogeyman is. and I’m sure as inflation not going to tell you who’s mine.

but I do know that he’s also doing the rounds at someone else’s home . What you’re feeling, others too are feeling. You may be special, but the bogeyman believes in quantity over quality. Every time.

once you realize that you’re not the only one he’s stalking, things will look up. The Law of Solace in Mass Suffering. It’s as true as that Murphy was a pessimist. it works for me, and believe me when I say it’ll work for you.

for the pup’s piddle only appears like a leviathan’s leak when you feel singled out.

so smile, my sunshine brother. you’re not alone in whatever you're facing.

the bogeyman is a sadist, don’t give him your tears when a knee to the groin is what he’s asking for.

let your hands fall but clench those knuckles. appear weak only to lull him into coming close.

and then unlearn.

even old dogs can do this successfully.

peace, love, empathy
ram cobain