Exhaust

I woke up around 1300 hours on the 7th. I haven't slept since. And now, I just can't fall asleep. I guess it's only a matter of time before I do... I hope so... Though something tells me I'm going to be awake to welcome the hallucinations. Well, it's been an insane week. I don't want it to end. I don't want college to begin. I'd be sad, but it's such a pointless and taxing emotion, you know?

Rabbit hole

.
In twenty-four hours I shall be back in my dusty little room. Strange. These twenty days seem to have stretched on forever, but I've traveled through them at the speed of light. A week seems like a month. Three weeks of holidays can fit into 5 days.

Paharganj. Terrace. Sangeet. Wedding. Dev-D. Shoot them up. GTA. Tekken. All night long phone conversations.

So much has happened that I can't really believe that it's been just one holiday. At least the Jan-Feb break was long enough to allow for legitimate confusion. But this is just bothersome! Well, I guess it won't really matter in 24 hours.

I can't believe I've spent two years in Law School. Three more doesn't even seem all that much. (At least three anyway.) I have no plan, no aim, no goals for this trimester. I just want to see how deep the rabbit hole goes.

Now I just need to get my hands on those red and blue pills.
.

Good Morning. Good Night.

.
It wasn’t until an hour had passed since I walked into the house that I remembered the hash in my pocket. This would not be a problem if I was wearing the jeans with the said pocket. But I wasn’t. Running out of the room in a mild state of panic probably wasn’t the best idea, but vivid mental images of the shocked expressions of my poor traumatized parents as the ‘drugs’ fell out of my pocket messed with the otherwise-calm-zen-like-state of being I liked to stay in. Of course, I ran head first into my father who stared at me quizzically as I let my freshly created bangs fall over my blank, kohl-trapped eyes, hiding me behind a fragile curtain of nicotine reeking hair. I grinned at him as sanely as I could manage and darted into the small room.

Too many people. Fuck. Couldn’t risk it now. Not when I’d come this far. Hiding behind the tall translucent brown-gold curtains, I studied my family. Great. An intriguing movie. This was perfect. I could transfer the hash to a safer place when my curious parents were fast asleep. It was too dangerous at the moment. I couldn’t blow my cover now. Not when there was only so much longer to freedom. I would have to bide my time. Like a fox, waiting for the hounds to leave before I jumped out of the hollow log and ran home. Like a squirrel, waiting for a snake to slither away from the acorns he’s hidden for winter. There would have to be patience. I would have to wait.

...

But, suddenly, dawn was breaking. My brother, who I hadn’t been able to find all night, was still missing. Along with my dog. Logic told me they would be inside the house, except logic was getting fucked over with every room I peeked into. And now, as the room was slowly filling up with early morning light, I remembered the pocket. Somewhere in the middle of ice candies, colors and drugged out conversations, I had forgotten all about the hash. Fuck.

This time I ran through the connecting room. I had to get there and get the stuff out before the family woke up. This was necessary. This was ultimate. I locked myself in and threw open the cupboard, only to realize that everything smelled of stale smoke. Oh. Damn.

I pulled out the blue jeans and retrieved the hash. The next few steps were complicated and messed up as I struggled with the suitcase that had decided to get stuck between the bed and the wall. The fear was back. I couldn’t be found awake at this time. There would be too many questions. I spared a glance at the mirror. No, this had to be done now!

A few painful moments later, the hash had been stored safely, the cigarettes were in place. I could breathe again. I turned to leave the room and my eyes fell on my nicotine flavored clothes. Sigh. I sniffed at the clothes cautiously. The shirt wasn’t that bad. I could leave it on the bathroom floor and wash it later. The jeans, on the other hand, had to go. For a moment, I considered flinging them out the window. Or stuffing them in the bottom of some trunk. But then, I calmed down. So the jeans ended up rolled up and stashed away at the corner of the cupboard. Temporary, but it would have to do. Rechecking everything, I turned off the light and walked into my room, hoping the younger half of my family had magically reappeared. They hadn’t. Of course.

A new journey? Ah, well...


EPILOGUE:

A new journey? Well, I am calm now. I know they’ll be back. I probably missed a room or something. And I really really need to sleep. I just wish I’d get that and pass out already. Anyhow, it’s been an interesting six hours. A little more taxing than usual, but in a good way. Now, before the world awakens, I need to find a place to hide. Good morning and good night.

Too long

Nothing is really going on. Wedding stuff shall begin in two days. For two days. I suppose I should divide the week up in my head or something. Two days till the wedding. Two days for it. And around three days after that, I shall be on my way back to Bangalore.

Another year is done with. Unless I fail all three subjects and get three carries, I am now in third year. I know a lot of people in Law School who loathe the place. Everyone seems to be *dying* to get out of there and get as far away as possible. Honestly, I don't get it. Maybe it's the venom that is circulated around campus. Gossip and slime oozes from between the closest of friends and lovers. Sigh.

I don't know if I really like Law School, but I know that I love being there. I guess that counts for something. I guess getting horribly sick of projects, exams and classes isn't really likely when you hardly notice them swirling by. (Except the last last days. Fuck, never again! I mean it) This reminds me: the results of only one paper have been released. I need to know how many repeats I have. I must try and get some fly work done these hols. Because I really don't know what the heck has been happening in that class this trimester. She almost always took the first two hours. And the first two hours are for observing the blades of ceiling fans and watching the light change the colors of trees. So, yes, I don't have a clue when it comes to Family Law 2.

This post is almost tedious. I can't write anymore. I've become terribly inarticulate. Words like "Font" and songs like Comptine d'un autre été have begun eluding me. Fuck, elude almost eluded me right now! Woah. Effect.

Anyhow, it saddens me that Second Year is over. It's supposed to be the funnest part of the five years. It has been lots of fun. I won't deny that. But, seriously, it's a scary thought. Isn't college supposed to be the funnest time of your life? And if the funnest time of the funnest time is done with... well, it's just a sad feeling...

2nd year has been a blast. The third trimester has been one pleasantly cloudy month. 1st year was about settling in, exploring and getting to know people. 2nd year has been about calming down, re-prioritizing, long conversations and chilling... Ah! See? You never count the hangovers and unpleasant mornings when reminiscing! But yes, I have had more than my fair share of issues this year... I don't think I have ever been in so much trouble ever before. The problem with this last year lies in the consistent and chaotic nature of everything. And complicated. There wasn't even so much drama in high school!!!

But yes, I should stop rambling. Second year was insane. Like an early morning jam sandwich. Like, when you're in such a hurry that you just slam the jam on one slice of bread and run out the door? If you've ever been in college, this is usually the only breakfast you manage in a week. In fact, it's reached such proportions, that half the college actually wakes up on Sunday mornings just for breakfast. Sunday breakfast is like an event in Law School. After that, most people go back to sleep. That's how breakfast-deprived we are! Anyhow, getting back to the sandwich... When you are trying to take giant bites of hard, toasted bread (usually burned too) and wondering why you bothered in the first place, suddenly you're attacked by a giant mouthful of sweet, cold jelly-like jam. I hate the Marmalade days...

The point is, I could have spread out the "events" and "incidences" from this one year over a decade! It's been an intense, overwhelming, fast ride. And I can't say I've loved every minute... But yeah, one long empty stretch done at a 100 can make an entire trip awesome. And along with the hairpin bends and the crazy roller-coaster loops, there have been many of the straight roads. It hasn't been all smooth sailing. But it's been fun. And in the end, what else is important?

At some point of time, I would have answered that last question with "Memories". But you know what? Memories can't be trusted. We're in the beginning of the Computer age and a crashed RAM or hard disk still implies no hope of retrieval. Perhaps someday, things will be different, and our technologically superior descendants will laugh at their perfect memories of our times. Or maybe we'll all just die in an early ice age within the next ten years. Or in World War III. But that's all besides the point.

Okay, this has been ...scattered. In this one year, everything has changed. In these two years, I've come back from the dead. Almost literally, my roommate would say.

I'll try and write another "Chapter ends" post when I'm a little more ...focussed. But, since I procrastinate and forget as a life-style, it may not happen. In one line: What were once vices are now habits...(FN1) Or will be soon. Good morning decaying world.

Later.



FN1 : The Doobie Brothers.

Paharganj - I

“Delhi’s den of Debauchery”
Not only does it sound cool, it fits. I must thank Sir Loon for the name. And while I’m at it, for the entire trip. I wanted to write this sooner, when everything was still fresh in my rapidly-degenerating mind, but I haven’t gotten around to being sober much. Why am I writing this today? Because today I’m exhausted, awake and clean. More or less anyhow.

Paharganj happened last Saturday. After a successful con, I got dropped off at the Metro Station at CP. My mother bought some KFC stuff for my brother and then left, albeit reluctantly, leaving Sir Loon and me to wait for the 6 other people that were supposed to show up. It’s true; lies don’t even ruffle your conscience after a point.

Anyhow, before taking the Subway, we wandered into the giant geometrical park. Actually, “wandered into” isn’t honestly what we did. We ran about crossing roads and climbing stairs until we found the deserted park. Why was it deserted? Because it was now Noon. This meant that the bright summer Sun was a straight nuke-powered arrow away from the top of our respective heads. (And it can do that because it’s the sun. Really huge, millions of miles away, etc). And we’re talking Delhi June here. For the fortunate and blissful ignorant, that means that the temperature calmly crosses 40 degrees Celsius whenever it feels like. In short, you’d have to be fucking insane to be wandering about in a park at Noon. Or in real need of a safe place to smoke some marijuana.

Once slightly stoned, we were prepared to take the next step. “The CP metro station is always crowded”, Sir Loon said, with the air of a co-conspirator, as we walked down the clean shiny slope that marked the entrance to the underground station. “That’s ‘cause it’s a main junction and every line passes through here.” How Crowded?, was all I could think of, as I told myself over and over that I had done this before. And I had quite loved the whole subway trip. But that was from another vaguely remembered life…

At first, it didn’t seem all that bad. But then, as the “train” got nearer, all these strange people materialized out of thin air. And we were carried into the shiny silver box along with the busy, harassed looking janta. Yes, I liked the whole experience better the first time around. But that’s probably only because there weren’t so many people back then. Using the Metro, I mean. Still, the journey was uneventful and quick, and next thing I knew, we were at the station with the… holy sounding name (that will be found out and mentioned. Sorry.)

To Be Continued...
That’s all for now. Part 2 (and 3?) shall take a recorded form of existence sometime later. I’m tired and sober, remember? I have to fix that. At least half of it. Later gators. :P

.

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Now playing: Emotional Attyachar (Rock Version) - ApnaMela.Com -

via FoxyTunes

Reasons

How can I feel if I can't breathe?

It's dark. And I know it's all inside my own head, but how does that make it any better? Questions, questions, questions. So many questions.

Once upon a time, curiosity killed the gray clay cat. Satisfaction brought her back. But she was never the same...

I don't like making little sense you know. But I'm not wasting words. They bleed. And I am left holding up all our shattered glass.
It's only a problem because it leaves me with no free hands with which I could try to stop all these words. And I can only watch as they escape my mind.
I would tie it all up with ribbons, but I lost them.
All of them.
Maybe it's better this way.
I don't think they were ever mine in the first place.

Why?
(Why not?)
Because I choose to.

Emotional Attyachar

.

Not one of the characters is new. Not one of them surprises you. And indeed, it's in this very familiarity that you hide, following the crumbling lives of the different characters. The reason these "people" are not strangers is because they are your friends and neighbors. Your boyfriend and room-mates. Your seniors and juniors. They may be roles you have never seen on screen, but they're all well known and familiar.

At some point you are Dev, with his determined path of fast and furious self-destruction. Dev with his wounded pride. Dev with the tears running down his face at his father's funeral while his mother wails as she hits him weakly and repeatedly.
I am Dev's wasted life.

You are Paro, who is Ophelia (from Hamlet) when Dev tells her that his family would never allow for the inclusion of a mere "manager's daughter" in the family. Paro as she goes to meet Dev even though she's married because she is still in love with him. Paro, who, unlike poor Ophelia, moves on.
I am Paro's second chance.

You are Chanda, watching your life fall to bits because of one stupid mistake. You are Chanda as her father shoots himself in the head after promising her that everything would be okay. You are Chanda as she finally chooses to become an 'escort', getting through college in the day.
I am Chanda's shattered innocence.

I read a review about the movie that claims that one of the reasons the movie is so great is because you aren't meant to identify with the characters. Dev is supposed to be the scum-bag that he is shown to be. But the thing is, I think this country(/world?) is divided into three bits. One of which believes such a life is only liveable on screen, another that believes it exists and a third that knows of a world just as fucked up as Dev's.

You can identify with Dev. With his lack of remorse as his dying father sends him a car (the ill-fated BMW). You can identify with Paro's 'practical' decision of marriage. You can identify with Chanda's decision to run away. You know that neon blue light so well, and you understand perfectly how the threads of guilt, blame, hurt and pride get tangled up, forming knots it takes you eternities to solve.

Yeah, this movie is familiar. This movie tells me the futures of the people I know today. It tells me about their pasts. And most importantly, it tells me so much about all our presents. Sooner or later, everything will go wrong. Sooner or later, our parents will find out about the smoking and drinking. They will find out about the abuse. Sooner or later, carries will be failed, attendance shortages will be obtained, medical certificates won't be scammed in time. Sooner or later, a year will be lost. Sooner or later, everything will fall apart. It'll be time to leave. And there will be no escape from our escapes. But until then, one's gotta do what one can to deal with all the emotional atyachar...

"Ankhon ka hai dhoka
Aisa tera pyar
Tera emotional atyachar..."

.

Quit?

The seasons are changing. Unrequited love is on it's way out and quitting is in. Whether it's cigarettes, marijuana, alcohol or gambling, everyone around seems to be "taking a break". I was just talking to a couple of people I know; one is going to quit smoking weed while the other plans not to drink for the next six months.

After a particularly insane week, the only bit that worries me is that the idea isn't one I even considered. Quit? Why? And more importantly, what? Still, it's getting quite bothersome to keep up with who isn't doing what and what not to do with whom. If you know what I mean...

Oh, for the record, the two people I mentioned? Stoned and drunk respectively. (Emphasis added) Later.

A Foolish Alternate World OR The Stairway People

Imagine this:

In an alternate world, there are no stairs. There have never been any stairs. Many many years ago, while this world was still growing and changing, man-kind had just learned how to walk. There are no such things as natural stairs(and since this is true in our world and this alternate place is based on Earth, it makes sense). Humans only had slope-y hills and mountains. When they started building steps (not stairs mind you, just steps), some people got the hang of it pretty quickly, while others struggled. It became even worse when the stairways came into being. People would get stuck halfway and refuse to move in either direction, which would mean hours of screaming, cajoling, dirty laundry and, well, you get what I mean. It was awful. Society as a whole was affected. The neighbors, the friends and especially the poor disappointed ashamed parents.

Soon enough, stairs were banned. It started with one kingdom doing so on the grounds of "public safety" and "right to life". It sounded nice enough a reason, and the people who had stairs were too busy climbing higher and higher to read the news or fight for the right to use such an obvious and simple pleasure. Handy stairs.

Other kingdoms soon followed the same path. First, specific kinds of stairs were banned, which did make some sense because these were rickety and dangerous and a kingdom must protect its subjects. But then the rulers went loco. And believe it or not, there came a time in this world's history when almost all countries had banned all kinds of stairs. The pro-stairwayo people were confused. Why would their stairs be "a menace to society". The round tables even came up with reports from some royal sycophantic pretty physician who would make a grand speech that no one understood. The gist being: Don't climb stairs. They're bad.

"Bad for who?" asked the dizzily confused pro-stairwayos (they had just run down a flight of stairs. They would be fine in a while.)
"F you," said the royal sycophantic pretty physician, with disgust "and for society"
"How?" they asked, still confused, though a few of them started to look doubtful.
"Because they're bad for your knees."
"Why?" they persisted
"Because I'm a royal physician and I said so!" he declared royally.
"Ummm... how is it bad for society, sir?" asked a young boy. "I mean, they are our knees, are they not?"
"Foolish ungrateful wretch!" he roared, "Your parents worked so hard to raise you and you send you to physician school or into a trader society and you go throw it away for some heights???"

The boy felt something the stairway people didn't very often. Not back then. It was like a little pin had stabbed him somewhere inside. It made him gasp for air, and he remembered the stairs. So, it was decided. Stairs were banned. There were a few liberal kingdoms that allowed the practice. Both of building and climbing. But they had rules. Still, it was a much fairer society.

The people who loved those stairs and climbing them too much to care about some order by some guy they had never met and couldn't care less about laughed and continued. They were hunted, found, imprisoned, punished. Sometimes, they were even executed.

Meanwhile, the rest of the world continued using slopes to reach heights. It took longer and they were tired the next morning. Their heads hurt, but it was the only way. The new world order was aiming for a flat world, but realizing that many people still wanted to see higher ground once in a while, they allowed slopes. Once again, there were rules about the inclinations and angles. which is fine because by now, cars had been invented, and you didn't want one rolling all the way down crashing and burning into a hundred different cars.

So, slopes stayed. And the stairway people had no idea why they were discriminated against. They liked watching the new sun rise over a sleeping world. They liked looking at the snaky winding river miles below. They liked being closer to the clouds.

The slopes were okay for some heights, but higher ones become dangerous. The stair people were now divided too. There were the usual "complete freedom" supporters, the ones willing to reach a compromise and of course, there were the rickety bridge people. They were bad for the stairway people's image because these kids would leave home to go live entire lives on those bridges. They hardly ever came down. And it was usually only when they wanted wood to patch up the falling dying groaning bridge. Naturally people who had never used stairs were sceptical of all stairs.

The almost-natural stairway people were not trusted either. Even the people who agreed that they were much safer than slopes thought that once someone fell in love with the art of climbing, he would want to try different stairways. And this would eventually lead him to the rickety and narrow bridges, whre lives were wasted.

The normal stairway people protested - peacefully of course - and held concerts on elevated land that had more stairs leading to it than slopes and everyone was happy. But they were slowly pushed away by society's collective guilt and fear, till all stairway members had to live in secrecy.

Most of them had underground basements that had stairs, or had collected stepping stones to climb over gates in the school. College had the most of these hidden stairs. The teachers knew they existed, especially the ones who had studied there. But being responsible, calm, brain washed grown ups, they ignored it completely. If stairs were ever found, there was hell. Extreme consequences would follow. And once again the ashamed disappointed parents would send those little pin pokes inside.

So, almost all people either lied to the ones they loved completely or at least partially ("Yes mum, I do like looking at the clouds once in a while, but chill, I'm under control. I never go too high and I only use slopes"). A lesser number would just get tired of it all and go live in lands full of stairways. Where nothing was flat and there were a million new horizons to discover. But the pins went with them. Everywhere.


Now you tell me. The Stairway people, what did they do wrong? Why was it bad? Don't people have a right to their own bodies? I know no one was promised complete freedom, but if you don't own yourself, what do you own?
They're discriminated against, looked down upon, hated and despised. They're pitied... Which is worse, because they're the ones who've seen that sun rise and they could tell you so much if you just took the time to listen. If you just stopped wasting every day trying to flatten out the world. What would you do with flat land? You'd be able to see for miles and miles, but how would you take winding roads without being able to see where you will land up?

Where would you go?

The stairs will always exist. As long as man-kind does. Banning them just makes them a little more dangerous because people have to rely on shady dealers for wood and other material. Plus they can't trust the Watchers so if someone is ever sick, they'll think twice before trying to save his life. Because they could get caught, imprisoned, fined and maybe even executed. And no one wants that.

Imagine this world. Isn't it such a foolish one? Thank God we don't live in such a world. How could we? We have democracy.

Love and Drugs

Love

Valentine's day

Where's my gun?

I need to go

Away

Drugs

Awful things

Infiltrate your mind

Make everything else irrelevant

Pass?

Untitled

I follow me one by one
Hazy moon, what a tease!
Another shot, another drink
No thank you. Thank you, please.

Chasing silent swirling smoke
We live it, yeah live it our way
Free falling off the highest cliffs
Watch that spot, watch it fade away

And he said, yeah he said
"I loved you once, with all my heart"
and another shot, another shot
You just can't stop once you really start

Laugh away the misery
once it finds, yeah, finds it's way
To lose something oh-so clever
You have to darling, have to go astray

And then you hear the voices whisper
oh, you can hear them all say
"Poor darling. Poor darling"
"She's gone, gone the wrong way"

But the magic in you, it only laughs
And you hold your head up, your head up high
Coz Calvin Keith calls out to you
And you learn to walk on those clouds in the sky

Watch her as she walks out your door
Spinning, like swirling smoke spinning around
She laughs, laughs at all of your hopeless pleas
And you never see, see a single sound

Quieter than a shattering heart
Shattering glass is much quieter my dear
But once it's broken, dance in this darkness
Drink with me, there's nothing left to fear

And they'll call us all sorts of wicked names
but we'll raise our glasses, raise 'em high
We'll laugh at their ignorance
and we'll kiss that same old purple sky

Forget the ghosts, ghosts of memories
that haunt your fragmented confused mind
Watch the pieces fall away bit by broken bit
Let's just leave them, leave them all behind

And you may still cry once in a while
Here's two for the morning, two for the night
Everything will be better, much better darling
With the smoke, see them, see them all vanish out of sight.

Yeah, they'll shake their heads in practiced pity
And we'll clink, yeah clink our glasses high
I'll laugh for us. You, You bring your guitar
And we'll drown out every single strangling sigh!

They'll watch us, watch while we live
And wonder what we're really up to
Another shot, another drink
No thank you. Please, Thank you.


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Now playing: Third Eye Blind - Forget Myself
via FoxyTunes

I Feel Responsible

It's a little after six-thirty in the morning. I don't really get to be conscious at this time very often. Awake maybe, but completely in my senses? Too much to ask...

Anyhow, I woke up at 0515 and couldn't get back to sleep. Luckily I remembered that I was supposed to present some case in Crim. Usually, I couldn't care less... but with her threat of "cutting attendance" and my already dead and rotting record this trim (in attendance), I decided to read the case.

Now, my real purpose of not trying to get back to sleep was that this way I would have enough time to "prepare" myself for class... But you know what? Waking up early is strange. It made me rethink the plan... without the usual guilt-trip. I guess insomnia has a larger role to play in over-indulgence than most people realize.

Right now, I'm listening to music and watching the sky grow lighter and lighter... and it's okay. It really is. Sure, I'm not thinking about things I should be thinking about... But cut me some slack here! I'm just a beginner.

I still want to go home... though my reasons have changed. That doesn't mean I've figured out how I'm going to survive for two months without snapping at everything that moves. Nor how I'm going to make it through the day without a single drag. Of any sort. But... I'll manage. At least, I hope I will.


P.S. When I tried to look for a mood on facebook that said "responsible", this is one of the search results:







Enough said.

My horoscope for the day

Saturday, January 3
You are drawn to interesting and unusual new people right now. You may make friends with others who have musical or creative talents, or who show a high degree of interest in the spiritual arts and meditation. An old friend may confess a drug problem, though.


Ah...