GC


His head is weary with thoughts- cursing him to make mistakes
By the beach of pain and relief- his sand castles seem to disappear
Through the words of a smile- you words find the simplicity of pain
The notion of falling apart with the sky falling- he just seems to break and tear.

Now is not the time to panic- we told him- now is the time to forget
Jump into a new life- it’s going to happen- are you crazy enough to cry
Be resolute, my good friend; be like a rock- it’s only a week ago
I saw him happy- shouting and jumping- willing happy to try.

He feels lonely; I have felt that- A long time ago
Pity is not what I feel- I just woke up feeling eager to try a new tie
Though his words mumble- Though he goes incoherent
Though he has words of inspiration- Through his words of a cry.

Every morning he wakes up- with a dream of the night
I meet him looking in the mirror- practising and getting clearer
By the evening, the talks reach his ear- shunting him closed and hurt
With time being a fucker- try again the day another.

So many people writing- to touch you in your feat of glory
There are friends and enemies all together- “Bam Chika Bow Bow”
Dream, my friend, dream without any end- there is no harm to it
Don’t be worried by the impending storm- to be sad- the time is not now.

Was listening to "Any Color you Like" by Pink Floyd, 22/02/2013 20:20 P.M.

Listening

The scourge is over; there is a bloom inside somewhere,
I think I’m being noble, to listen and try – a thing to share.
Suffering is a passing stage; life’s just like that
Her words kept me calm and stupid; oh! What a dare!

There was a bold music in my head; I sang it loud in my silence.
I dreamt of a land beside the sea; but there was a tickle in my conscience.
No one cares now; obviously not my heart.
Done trying to help myself happy; I have learnt to live my silent sense.

Acting out of a sweet generosity; I question my approach,
Morning of boredom & night of high- a friend’s here to encroach.
Yes, I know there are friends around; weird as it sounds to me.
A month ago, I was stranger; all of a sudden I am asked to sod off.

Mr. Average- I think I’ve defeated you- I am happy but modest
You were good to me and kept me alive; with you, there was a beat in my chest.
Yes, I forgot those sessions of indie rock; you and I- a bottle of rum,
South of happiness we went together; I left you faraway in the test.

Written while sitting with a pen in a hand.........

My Dear Penny Lane, I Love You


Dear Penny Lane,
You are like the soothing morning of the coldest night...
Like the sands that stays back in your hand after the ocean eats away...
Like the tears after years of holding back
Like the course you suddenly realise was right all along...
Like the heart the mind hates to admit...
Like a song which four guys sang for a street on Liverpool...?
Like my words and my dreams...
Like my song which I sing after waking with a yawn...
Like the sound of a noise that you knew would be yours...
Like the fountain on a mountain no one ever went to...
Like the anger after a talk...like the talk after the anger...
Like the show filled with sadness...
Like the not-wanted in a sea full of people...
Like the smile in a protest...
Like the dream alike happiness in a tear of nightmare....
Like the fear of losing you...
Like me writing these lines with a wave in my heart...
Like me trying to make you happy...
Like my Penny Lane..like my deepi...

It Rains Outside


In the shade of the green outside,
I think of the light she brought in from the rain.
In spite of all the things I never thought I would say,
She listens to the ones that aches the world of her.

Beside the rain on the window panes of my room,
Her ache aches me from within and I misplace why she is that way.
She tells me the places she is going far away from me,
I try to keep it all there by trying to do something,
Her words are so far away that I despite inhaling, I feel suffocated.

Try my love a little bit, I tell her.
Try my love to be in there.
Try my love to sit on my arms of words,
Try my love to be with me.

She tells me how she can be different from who I am
She tells me the lines that brings inside me a wave of fear
I sing for her and wonder why she is saying it
I dance for her as I try to throw away her tear.

On this passing afternoon, her pregnant thought of leaving sucks the life out of me.
No one can see me from within except her
All of a sudden she seems to be abrupt there as well.
I ask her to sleep with no thought of good or bad
She sleeps and wakes with the sadness quilt on her belly.

Try my love to listen to the apologies I cry
Try my love to work it out
Try my love to be happy
Try my love...................


Was listening to: "Passing Afternoon" by Iron and Wine

Wish I could quit

A sudden rage,
A cunning sensation,
A drowning asphyxiation,
A buried inside craving,
A loud agitation,
A filter with smoke.
Unable to let it shave away,
Unable to clean the stench,
Fighting the lightning burning,
Troubling the veins in thought.
Attached to its every spell,
Lost in its myriad counts,
Flew in vain to the burning sun,
Normalcy forgotten, shyness lost.
Accused heavens,
Threw away spirituality,
Fought lords, in bored cause,
Confused eventuality.

Laughed with comrades of death,
Juggled my life for them,
Chiseling my own self,
With knives made of ash.
I wrote stories of the confusing smoke rings,
Inspiration, I seeker,
They blinded into,
Ha! They cried, I went deeper.

Now that you are here, so far away

Indians are not evolved enough when someone comes up with a crazy notion of driving all the way from Bangalore to Delhi and then back…for nothing. For a scrap of inviting adrenaline, for a drive and dive into the crazy lands of nowhere and everywhere, for a fast and furious fight to stay alive and never die….well, Indians will never understand. That’s the beauty of geniuses; they sort themselves from the ordinary by doing something no one has ever thought before of doing. But does genius and stupidity go hand and hand. Do they compliment each other, are they friends, or are they foes….who knows. Maybe and this I say from the wildest deduction, that Aditya is either the craziest son of a bitch alive or the genius in a vague and insensible way.

It’s been mere eight or nine months since I have met Aditya and he is not the type who will change you or effect you each time you have a resolute discussion with him. No Christmas blooms when he speaks, no firecrackers bursts out when he does something….in a summary, he is a bloke. Another brick in the Wall. One of the many, in any sense, in any world. The standing out of ordinary is a wish everyone dreams and fight to achieve. This was probably Aditya’s way to show the world, that he is no mundane person, not the regular ones, not the ones who you will introduce to your friends to like….in a line, kid just drove on his bike from Bangalore to Delhi. He is somewhere in Gujarat or Rajasthan at this point, rising away in his insane search of hope and passion.

‘Ideally’ is not a word you can use when this sort of game is fashioned. It takes balls, it takes heart and it takes a lot of concentration. Pardon me to be idiotic for blotting out my ego, because I was there in the first phase of his journey. I was with him till Pune, a city close to Bombay….a large city at that. I had reasons to take the trip though, unlike Mr. Aditya. That was the difference we possessed, he had a reason which he alone could justify to himself, whereas me being a rational, logical kid…had a solid reason, a reason to give back and prove myself right. But I question myself and sometimes find answers to them….question in the vein of “Why? Is he doing this? Who is proving himself to? Who is his mentor? Why?” Tell you the truth; I can answer them sometimes, when I use words that Aditya himself used. I can answer them when I am smoking the last cigarette of the night, a state when insanity and guilt seem to mingle and play a weird little game with your brain’s functionality. But most people, me included are ice boxes inside. Filled with regular impressions of regular ambitions and moves. Henceforth, you cant start comprehending how is Aditya’s heart going to be.

Beatles had a song called “Let it be”. Oh, how this synchronizes with the situation. Let people be as they are. Let people do, what they want to. Let people dream, what they want to. Let people have, what they deserve. Let people chase their heart, till they don’t fail. Just let it be.

Aditya, wherever you are, be safe and be awake….people are going to call you crazy, me included….but then again I am probably the biggest fan of Cobain and he was crazy enough to commit suicide to earn recognition for himself. Well, you are not far fetched; you have chosen to die on your bike.


“Now that you’ve come so far away,
All those stuck away from all the way.
All the mistakes that life can give, they finally will fade away.
You can’t forget that you’re not ashamed,
Of being the person that you are today.”

The Bike Ride Story

Drowning in the wind that hits you,
Swearing at the mudholes on the road.
The speed slowly devours you; makes you wonder,
The veins harden, your pulse weakens; your abode.


Without wings you can fly now,
Without drinking, you can be high now.
The asphalt hardness helps softening your thoughts,
It doesn’t matter ‘cos without thinking you can dream now.


Sunrise and sunsets passsby in a haze of dust,
All guilt and surprise turns into rubble of mud.
The moon’s rays and the sun’s gaze; laugh at our foolishness.
Friends, family and your love tear you down like a flood.


More I cry; give me more of fucking adrenaline,
Let me die; let me die while waiting in this fucking feeling.
Cleanse myself of past and future; be submerged in only the present.
Let me stay; in this ocean of sailing soul.



Written on my wild trip to Pune on a bike....with just Aditya on my side...

To Bangalore

A city which sleeps in the undercover of its loud noise,
Where kids like us wake and live and die and fire and jive and be high.
Every source of fulfillment, it endows in its bosom,
Chilling cold or unbearable heat never makes anyone feel all alone.
I understand its stupid methods of alarming awake.


Shadows of articulate life still run on,
But the heavy artillery of fast-moving, irrespectable people, stills hurts on.
City of lights and city of dying bulbs, the fascination builds on,
On a sea of fiery waves, the city glows on alone, blown in its windy horn.
I understand its stupid methods of show-off.

Females clad in skinny little tops and scrawny underwear,
Men dressed in ear-rings and ponytails.
Shivering cold makes they shiver in the screaming night of the city,
They don’t care; they don’t dare; to act as, even though they are half bare.
I understand the dressing sense of the city.


Beer and a little whiskey; that make the city drink and drive,
Vodka and spirit cold, that makes the city sing and jive.
As spaceships they fly till the unlimited infinite space hits them without gravity,
Even though unworthy, people suicide in the hanging maze of the city’s knife.
I understand the riddle woven by the city.