Burnt out.

It has been a strange year, actually it has been a strange couple of years. It all started 9 years ago, this strange story, this tongue in cheek story. Pretty normal in the larger scheme of things, but all things considered, it has been quite a heady cocktail of things. A heady mixture of emotions, a really really sad mix for me personally. But it has been a life lived in relative pleasures, in comparable luxury.

Someone close to me once said, life is a bed of roses, but the thorns outnumber the petals, and the sting of the thorn turns the flowers ruddy, but once in a while you smell the perfume so heady that it makes life worthwhile. I guess, I am a scavenger, I live off of other people's philosophies, I tend to be inspired, I tend to imitate someone who I perceive to be better than me. But then again, that is how most people live.

But nothing, nothing I read, or heard, or even came across prepared me for life, not even close. Sure, I may have made a smart-ass comment here and there about life, and how things are getting me down, but in reality, I do not have a single moment that I did not cherish.

In these 9 years, I failed, I picked myself up, I failed again, I picked myself up again, and dusted myself off. I was thrown off-track, I tried to get back on it, only to be thrown off the second time, only more violently, I took the road that was offered. On this supposed road of desperation, I met new friends, I fell in love, I fell out of love, I fell in love again, and I fell out of love again, but I continued. Spurned as I was, I learned a valuable lesson, the harder one falls, the more dusting off they need to do.

So that is just what I did, I tried to delete the toes that bound me to my past, I tried to forget the people of yore, I tried very hard to be forgotten, to be forgiven. But little knowing, memories are a devious servant of the mind. We remember what we want to, and delete the bloody rest, and in some cases I found it easy to just erase any signs I might had left behind, but in others, my friends fought me, and made me a better person.

The more I fought, the more I learned. I picked up hobbies, I dropped hobbies, I picked up habits both good and bad, some stuck and others faded in due time. But most of all, I feel like this life of mine, as short as might have been, as great it may have been has taken so much, and given so much more, that I must be joking when I say I am burnt out, but, I feel like I am burnt out, nothing more to give, nothing more to try.

Sore in the forehead, a buzz in my ears, a tingling in my fingers and toes, I am tired, I am frustrated, I want to go to sleep, yet, I know I will go on. Burnt out or not, the wheel rolls on.

Oh yeah, that is the other thing I learned, to give up is to die, so I suppose, I am not done yet.

A retrospective....Slumdog Millionaire

More and more members of the audience go into the theatres looking for an experience to transcend the runtime of the movie. Slumdog Millionaire does succeed to leave an after-taste in your mouth, but it is refreshingly different not bitter, not sweet but more abstract and as critics would have it lacking in tangibility. Here is to the taste of a film 15 million Dollars in the making garnering 140 million in sales world wide.
This movie is unconventional in its NARRATIVE than most other Hollywood films with their preachy and sometimes “I art Holier than Thou” sermons that it almost is a breath of fresh air. But it is not much removed from the narrative of some commercial Bollywood films, this film does present some very controversial social and Human topics but remains neutral in the presentation of the same. The narration is so gripping to make one forgets the very central theme of the film which according to critics is “sort of cliched”. The film moved away from the cliché and the journey that was undertaken by the characters, the Relationships forged, and did not remain just about Questions and Answers. Many events told in a sort of a timeline. It is the juxtaposition, and at time collision of so many events that had made the narration of this film the way it is. Also the way in which these facts are presented the audience feels as helpless as protagonists in the film to change or do anything about their situation. Reality in film, Reel to real and back again has been a tough truth for many to gulp down.
As novel as the style of narration and presentation of the film is, it almost no different than a well packaged Indian commercial or mainstream film, therein rises another burning question of relevance of such a film in a international landscape and also would it have been the same if the film was produced and directed by an Indian cast and crew. The answers are as controversial as they are true. The Academy known primarily a western body of Judges catering to Western sensibilities and of western views. But the academy considers all films having an international appeal for its highly prestigious awards. So it is very unlikely that commercial potboilers will be considered. Indian Commercial Cinema, a grandiose Much ado about nothing to most foreigners- A world of unreal fantastic song and dance sequences.....but to Indians it is a very extension of our dreams People go to forget their sorrows and drown themselves in powerful emotions so as to escape their own complexities for a few hours inside the cinema hall. So it is unfair to compare commercial cinema of our country to something that might Provoke thought like the likes of Salaam Bombay. But strangely Slumdog Millioaire shares its genealogy with much of the Bollywood generic Films. It seems almost intentional on the part of the director to give it the ubiquitous Masala flavour of Indian Cinema. It is so very funny to see that many of the people who cringe at the very listen of Bollywood thus to be in praise of this movie, which according to detractors is a Parody of Bollywood, and according to the other group an Homage to Indian Filmaking.
The stark and unforgiving the surgical fashion this film has cut through the very gilded historical image and the fairly new and fragile crystallized image of a new Technocratic India. The film through its multitude of avenues that has treaded has shown the daily conflicts and collision courses between the strata of existence in India. It is a very sad but absolutely undeniable fact that many in India live in abject poverty which is showcased uninhibitedly attracting gall and Hemlock from many quarters. But then The Phantom Of this Opera is Poverty. The ghost of the Don't Haves haunt the stage for the entirety of the film.
It is strange that so much was experienced of a movie not much was expected of. It is almost miraculous the amount of controversy generated not by the movie as much by the recognition of the same. The movie as it is quite a mix of multiple talents in a sort of raw edged fashion to create a very lush and full-bodied taste on screen. The soundtrack is so very unintrusive that we seem to overlook it as a discrete part of the film. It has been the fashion of the score to compliment the emotions of the characters or the Vastness of the landscape or the speed in movement of the city. But some will also say that the score sounds very Masala and almost Bollywoodish in execution. But that the score is very instrumental in creating the audiovisual treat that captures the pungency of the Indian landscape. The only dampener and detractor from the realism and stark unforgiving nature of the narrative was the final score, but overall a very well complimented audio treat to a decidedly rich visual tour of superb contrasts great tonalities and just correct amounts of brightness.
Not without its share of doubts without its share of criticism the Slumdog Millionaire Has proved how one roots for the under-dog and finally identifies themselves with the triumph of said unlikely winner. It is strange yet somewhat fulfilling to see the amount of thought that goes into analyzing and surgically removing the layers upon layers of questions opinions and messages that is a film. A film that has Won 8 out of the 9 academy awards it was nominated for is a film that is thought provoking to say the least.

Life is a roulette with time.

No reason,
No notice,
No severance pay;
Life is just a flirt with genius-
Or a flash that blinds more than it reveals.



Blinded by precision of chance,
Dancing with the death of choice,
Not written not made not just dealt out-
The road we choose for ourselves
That is destiny that we resign ourselves to.

Nevermind the noise,
Beyond the the ambient lies the truth,
Precision of the idea machine-
Loses itself on the ideas it so produces.
We are left with just hopes and wishes.

But today I relinquish the shadow of doubt,
It is a new light that shines on the mind;
Pulverizing the diamonds of Fears,
Scaling the heights of depression
Today I am free, I am awake.

I shall go on playing roulette with life yet.......

As sepia of my life shall return.....

Vast gray expanses I percieve
Colours that have faded into inexistence,
Hours that have lost their way into days
Days that have been forgotten among years
Years that whisper about the looming Darkness.

Darkness is the refuge of my despondent soul.
A soul that bleeds inwards in a tearless grief.
A voice spitting out an invective poison,
Foiled by the Layers of apathy that lay thus,
My mind thus passes me by unpeturbed.

Apathy,Ambiguity,Doubt,Ego and Impatience-
A heady cocktail of emotions thrown in as well.
The trip has just begun, thus I tread forward,
Not trusting the first faltering steps,
Blinded by light is my soul so Cosseted in Darkness.

The Lord Giveth The Lord Taketh Away.
We question Why Must it be so;
Answers Return to say because it must.
The infallible logic of the World guides even the blind-
I do not fail to percieve,

The gray of the world is better than darkness,
The failed colours are better than the gore of failure.
'tis only the wasted time that continue to pain-
But the pain eggs me forward.
To go through the woods populated by tetchy demons.

The times that lay ahead will get worse before better,
But it is the tempering of the worse;
That makes one so fit for the stress of the better.
It was said that great things to be done are one's destiny
A destiny which now stands Forfeited

There is no fate but the one we make for ourselves
There is only a Lord to guide us through the rough,
Then there are the friends to guide me through the vanity
A destiny that takes shape much like the choppy seas
Takes me onward this journey

When the colour returns I hope that my eyes still see
When the wasted time is avenged I hope to hope no more
When no longer afraid to tread forward may I guide myself
When emotions are rid may the reason show me
The Destiny That was and the Destiny I forfeited.

A tale of Felled Hopes

The masks that I have worn for so long
The Lies that had created walls of solitude,
The pain that lay between me and my myself,
The ears that would cease to hear all but my own voice.
They have Fallen now.

A lie told long enough becomes the truth.
A tear held back long enough does not become benign,
A hate unresolved turns its ugly head as vendetta;
An action restrained becomes a study in Futility
The thoughts suffer a great fall.

The power to percieve is useless when all is grey,
It is when the mind's bearings fall prey to a darkness
When one thinks about what was and what will be
When the past comes to bite down on our vanities
Then the thinker so entranced with self falls.

Never was and never will become of truth to be concealed
Darkness will fall to light of factious truth,
Maybe the mind shall recover yet
Fates of unuttered words may someday be known....
Lost voices of revolt may finally gain sacrilege.

Till then I am fallen....

Living a Lie.

All this While I was Oblivious and blissfully ignorant. I was unaware, so gloriously unbothered about the Lie that I had been Living, It is not only a waste of emotions now that it will all come crashing down in a few moments. The dream will shatter like the House of cards just about anytime now.



A score Years ago almost I came to this world just to concoct another sub-space of reality all mixed up with my delusional perceptions and untrue realizations of Grandeur and of possibilities that could never have existed anywhere but in my Psychedelic Emotion. When a dreamer wakes up there is not a thing more painful (other than child-birth some say....Touche.)

A Barren Mind

Human beings are prisoners of their own imaginations, we are only limited by what we can imagine and what we can conjure up in our increasingly brief flights to the fantastic world of dreams and imaginations.
The world it seems is closing in on us by the day. It is just too hard to even look at the sky and imagine shapes in the clouds or to just look up at the stars and try to come up with an imaginary constellation of some mystic creature, or some such.
It seems most of the people of my generation are too busy entertaining themselves to have time left to entertain, I have forgotten the fine art of being able to hold an actual face to face conversation, feeling more at home to convey my emotions in a highly isolated,uncommunicative instant messaging windows, I seem to have grown detached seeking to actively avoid contact of most kinds that seek for me to apply myself and my emotions in real-time.

I seem to have forgotten most of the other emotions than Angst, anxiety, fear and an overall gloom. It is not very often that I feel the compulsion to smile, to laugh to just have some fun, Mind is a terrible thing to waste....But even more painful is to see it shrivel up and eventually lie in a decrepit pile of forgotten luggage