Time Dilation

I am currently witnessing a time dilation. It's extremely odd. Period so of time seem longer than they are. The weekend seems like more time than it is. It seems like days since I've been to office. When I sign in for a locker in the gym, it seems like a week since I last did it, even though its only been a couple of days. Earlier it seemed like time flew by, especially on weekends... and it still does... yet, now, it feels so drawn out.

It's raining outside. God, it feels like its been raining forever. It must be this weather that's having this effect on me. Or is it something else?

I'm listening to this song ("What I've Done") again. And the words are more true than they have ever been. A song from several monsoons ago and it makes more sense than ever now.

I made my mistakes, that is true. But I paid my debts. And now that's over. I can't keep accepting punishment for things I did long ago. I've done my time. Now its done. I get to start over. A clean slate. Tabula rasa.

How much longer can I chastise myself? How much longer should I carry this cross? How much longer must I sail Purgatory alone? My time is up. I have earned my release.

So I'm learning to let go. And one day I'll be over you. And that will be it. No more sorrow, just a new chit and a second chance. And then the clouds will clear and I'll be able to see again.

It's weird though, this stretching of time. It's not something that bothers me though. I'm feeling kind of numbed to it. It's almost kind of pleasant. Like I've almost re-found that old magic of the monsoons.

I start again
And whatever pain may come
Today this ends
Forgiving what I've done...

Random Rant-3 : Tangled Earphone Wires

I want to listen to music. NOW. The iPod is in the bag, which I extricate with ease. The earphones are somewhere in there too, let me just... yeah, I think I got it... nope, that's it there... eureka, and here we go... WHAT THE FUCK.

It is a veritable mesh of rubber casing, and somewhere in the jungle I can see a 3.5mm jack poking out, struggling for breath, imploring me to save it. And thus begins the epic (quite literally) quest of untangling the friggin' mess.

And it's never easy, no. You can see one end of the wire entering an abomination that would put a seaman's knot to shame, but you cannot for the life of you find where it comes out from the other side. Okay, so finally you do and manage to squeeze it through only to land yourself in the same predicament again. And rubber does not slide easily on rubber (especially with iPod earphones, what the fuck is up with that?), so you can't pull it out easy. Repeat this procedure about 12 times till you finally get it untangled.

I'm so angry that I just want to rip it apart, that fucking wad of irritating tangled bullshit, but I can't, because they are so fucking delicate. And decent replacements will cost, what, 800 bucks? Fuck that!

And it's not only earphone wires. All wires. We all carry a lot of gadgets these days, with a lot of accessories. Chargers for mobiles and laptops, mice (or mouses?), lan cables, etc. etc. And yeah, sure, they are bound to get tangled, I get that. But then how the fuck do they end up in this apocalyptic knot to end all knots? It's like, you bound them up properly and put them carefully in your bag, but how THE FUCK did it manage to get like this, how was it even physically possible for it to get so intricately intertwined, as though a thousand tiny fingers were working overtime to get it done? Because if you sat down to actually do that, you would never get it done. It would take you hours, maybe days even to complete such a work of art.

Pardon me for being knotty, but Murphy's Law can only hold so many times. This is fucking Chaos Theory. Oh, what a tangled web we weave.

Random Rant-2 : The Public Stereo

The Fresh Prince is not amused.

It's happened to all of us. And it can happen anywhere, at any time. We all have seen someone like that.

Say you're enjoying a nice game of pool with your buddies. Hey, you're even playing pretty good for a change. Or you're in a really slow line to buy movie tickets for that summer blockbuster you've been waiting ages for. Maybe trying to have a snack in the cafeteria. Any public place.

That's when some cool dude, who's far cooler than you are, whips out his iPod, iPhone, or otherwise musically enabled electronic device, selects the most bombastic track he can find, and presses play. On speaker. So that everyone in the room is treated to his most refined and excellent taste in music.

Himesh Reshamia. Soundtracks from Ajab Prem ki Ghazab Kahani or Dabaang. Hip gyrating item numbers or Anu Malik's latest. Justin Beiber or that old Backstreet Boys album.

You look over at him and are all like, "'the fuck?"

As time passes, your anger bubbles more and more.

Why? Why do people do this? Why the fuck do they think we want to listen to their music? I just don't understand this. It's like they think they are doing everyone a favor bu playing music very much at their own expense. Trust me, assholes, its more at our expense.

It's as if every one of them believes he is a great aficionado of music. That their taste is unparalleled and ground breaking. Everyone must hear my awesome playlist, says they. Not only am I providing myself this pleasure, but I am trying to infuse culture into these flea bitten mongrels that call themselves "people". Do you really want everyone to know you listen to that retarded club thumping drivel?

Seriously? Akon? He's the Himesh of the west. Lil' Wayne? Yeah nigga, you's from the ghetto. Pull your pants the fuck up and turn it down. Rap is bullshit (god bless, Mr. Smith, you are a far better actor). Don't even get me started on Beliebers. Oh, and metal heads. The cocks who think that no one else knows what real music is, and if you listen to anything else, you are simply of subpar intelligence. It's 10 minutes of growling and disoriented guitars, jackass, don't cleanse humanity of us lesser mortals just yet.

I suppose you could ask him to turn it off. But, you know, life could be so much more simple. If you want to listen to music, well, there is this nifty little invention called earphones that will spare the rest of us your music that is really, in all honesty, way to cool for the rest of us that are just trying to have a good time. Try them.

Random Rant-1 : The Elevator Tango

So its Monday morning (or really, it can be any day and any time, but somehow Monday morning has a lot of scope for pissing people off). You reach the lift (say, in my case at office, but again it can be anywhere). There is no one in sight. There's no way in hell you're taking the stairs (because you woke up at 6:30 to go for a jog and want a break, or you're just a lazy bastard).

You press the button and the machinery makes that annoying bing-bong sound. Down comes the lift, nice and empty, not a soul in sight. You're quite pleased, it's never so easy. Well, of course it's not.

You enter the lift and the door closes... but just as its about to shut- bing-bong - some prick just reaches outside and presses the call button, requiring the door to reopen.

You take a moment to curse under your breath because it's not that hot girl you would kill for a moment alone with, but rather some fat, out of breath guy with a week's worth of beard growth. Prick can't even shave properly and come on Monday fucking morning. You glare at him. The elevator music is starting to piss you off.

The doors close and you regain your composure when suddenly - bing-bong - and enter two giggly, airheaded girls talking animatedly about the latest airhead Bollywood movie they saw. They see your scowl in the reflective doors and smile knowingly at each other, trying and failing miserably not to laugh. Oh yes, its a fucking riot. Ha ha. I can hardly control myself.

Which is fine, except as the door closes- bing-bong - and in walks in a hefty Punjabi, jovial and spirited, all smiles and sunshine, all on a Monday morning. I love the ol' Punjabi energy. But on a Monday fucking morning? Do I really need to face such a chipper attitude from anyone? Which would be fine, except he holds open the lift and shouts, yes shouts, "Oi, jaldi aa jao!" You roll your eyes. Sometimes I think they know one language and one volume. Of course, whoever he was shouting to does not come jaldi, they come at their own damn pace. In waltz in a handful of colorfully dressed happy-go-lucky crowd, all of them very expressively excited that they made it in time. You grind your teeth.

And so it continues. Person after person suddenly appears out of nowhere. They don't come together, oh Lord no, that would be too easy. But as though it was practiced, they all come exactly on cue just as the lift doors are about to close completely. Your back is pressed against the wall, and you are assaulted with the scent of breakfasts from around the country: poha, aloo parantha, idli sambar, chicken roll, coffee and croissant, and what seems to be an entire tandoori chicken. You look at the Punjabi again.

A minimum of 6-7 minutes later you disembark on your floor, shoulder pushing everyone you come in contact with, lips pursed into a fine smile, all the while grumbling to yourself, WHY DIDN'T I TAKE THE FUCKING STAIRS???

The Masochist

You are the great educator. As soon as you entered you began teaching me and I started to believe in things I hadn't before. You are the destroyer. It's like everything I had fell to the ground and I was back at square one.

You are something special, something different... words fail. I can't put my finger on it. Words used to describe you come off as shoddy euphemisms. You would require a new language. For your beauty is something else. Your beauty is such that I don't have to go looking for beauty anywhere else anymore, I just have to find you. Your beauty is such that it humbled me. It changed me. And you didn't even have to say a word.

Just over the hill is where you live, and I come over to see you, hopefully to talk to you. Million of ideas of science and creation whirl through my head, but when I talk the words are infantile. In front of you, I speak the words of a child. It's as if I'm in some joyous daze. When the moment is over, I can believe it's already passed.

It's enough for me just to gaze on you once. To see your smile once (a smile that's enough to move a man to tears). To hear your voice once (and I can carry it the rest of the day). And I have to come and see you. For the day is a wasted one, only half completed when I don't see you. It's a grayer day, the one when I don't talk to you.

Yet I know the harsh truth. I can never have you. You will never be mine. No matter that you entertain me when I come on one of my visits. Do you how much I look forward to them? But you couldn't. You float on a cloud where nothing mundane can touch you. But it doesn't matter to me, the moments are golden.

And I know the only way to cure myself. To cut you out. Out of sight and out of mind. If I can't see, then I can't hurt. Wouldn't that be worth it? I promise myself that today, I stop this. I won't come to see you. I won't speak to you. And then I'll be proper again.

But I'm a liar. I know I'll make that journey. And I know when we've said goodbye, it'll hurt again, and I'll just wait for the next time I get to see you.

But I don't care. I'll take all of it. And swallow it down. It's all worth it anyway, just to see you. Yes, I would do that, and you'll never know of my immense sacrifice, but that's alright. I don't even know if you'd care, but it's alright. I'd risk all that just to see your smile. I'm happily resigned to it. This is what you've done to me.

So I guess I love my own pain. I'm a masochist, among others things, for you.

The Pacifist

'Twas not even a drop of noble blood in him. Nay, the boy was but a child of a farmer. A peasant. No more than a lowly serf, suited but for the servitude others. Yet foolish and headstrong as he were, he tooketh to arms as though he were of noble blood, and went forth searching through the land for fortune.

With a few victories under his belt and a head full of airs, he tooketh to the road in search of greater treasures. What creatures in what lairs would he find? He was confident he was sufficiently fit to faceth them all.

But alas! He faced many battles in his quest to build a kingdom and fell many a time. Defeat hung at him like a plague. His worth was made known to him. He traveled alone and long under moon and sun to no avail. Thinking he were one of burly stature and wit, he withered now with remorse.

Still he fought on! For see!, he would thinkst, See they, of all shapes and sizes, from all lands, they come and build such might castles! Oh, if only I were to have such a castle. what a just rule I would hold over my kingdom! Yet none would hear him.

And so finally he retreated, weary and beaten, into the forest. 'Twas there that he saw many beautiful things, things he had not seen before on the road. Deep in the forest, there he found a peace which he had not known before, could not know. He layeth down his arms. The peace consumeth him. He is calm. All memories of lost battles and grievous defeats fadeth away.

It chanced that one day a traveler met him. He asked, "What doth thou expect to accomplish here? How wouldst thou build a kingdom living in this wilderness?"

The peaceful warrior replied, "I am a pacifist, sire. Fight? I cannot. I do not care if I win or lose, so long as I can live in peace."

The Benchwarmer

Alright, so I've been out of the game for a while. I got sent off a long time ago for some stupid play on my part, I agree (especially after reviewing the game footage). But since, I've found it difficult to find a place on the pitch again. Perhaps The Manager has lost faith in me. Or perhaps the game has just changed and I just can't keep up with it. This is highly possible, I've always been a little old fashioned. Whatever that means.

But truly the game has changed. India has always been a tough pitch, but the times, boy are they a-changing. I blame this on the internet, MTV, Bollywood, and the extremely skewed and ever dropping sex ratio of this nation. It's making it more and more difficult for out of favor chaps like myself.

It's high time for some serious introspection. I'm going to look at this objectively as possible. What are my strengths, what are my weaknesses. And what is wrong with me? Let's start with the obvious. Now I guess I look pretty ok. I mean, I look ok for your average Maharashtrian male from one of the "village-cities". Which places me at about the 5.9 billion mark worldwide, in a ranking system where, say, Cristiano Ronaldo would be first. Incidentally, I share a birthday with Cristiano. However, that is where the similarities end. Look-wise, I'm more comparable to his Portuguese national team compatriot, Luis Nani.

Ok fine, I've had several injuries and there has been a debatable loss of form (the damn media seems to think so, and as you know, whatever the media says is right). But one learns from their mistakes. I've been training really hard since then, and it shows. And I know all the tactics. Playing it defensive, or all out attack, or even sitting deep and hitting them on the counter. I have studied the theory thoroughly. Oh my god, I have so studied the theory. I'm quite proficient with it now and just need a chance to put it in practice and prove myself. I just need that chance, and its all up to The Boss to put me in.

Yet week after week, I find myself on the bench. Just there, but not quite. I'm on the sidelines. And no one questions The Gaffer. Every time I ask him to put me in, he just looks at me like this:

No one argues with The Gaffer, bitch.

You try arguing with that.

Its hard sometimes, watching from the sidelines. I just wonder, why is The Gaffer always passing me over? I mean I see much less capable players out there making a name for themselves and scoring some real beauties. My teammates often tell me its not about build, or beauty of play, or other such technicalities. Well what then?

Come on Gaffer, put me in. Its obvious I'm not your favorite player, but that's ok. You don't want me to start, well that's quite clear, and that's fine. But go ahead and put me in as a sub! I don't mind, really I don't. A late sub if it pleases you! Just to go out and stretch my legs if nothing else! My only aim is to please. But I can't do that from the sidelines, now can I?

I know I complain about being on the bench. But don't worry, I'm not going to do a Carlos Tevez and go play for the other team. Of course I've thought of it. But, er, let's just say that I could never adapt to their style of play. I just wouldn't fit into their setup. No, I ain't switching sides. So it seems I better be quite content with the bench.

Who am I kidding. If I go out there I'll probably make some rash tackle. Then some Cristiano like figure will come over and goad me into getting sent off and then run to wink at the bench. Where I will be next week.

And then I lose my place on the team again.

Oh, this is all bollocks. Imagine what it does to the morale of a player? In my time on the bench, I've seen people get stretchered off, sent off with multiple match bans, score goals, be subbed, and even a lot of unfit players make it out there. It's a shame. And in the midst of all this, my butt has been firmly on the bench. Now I know how Owen Hargreaves feels.

Oi, Gaffer, I'm ready! Put me in the game!