From then to now

I have always wondered if all the things we learn, we practice and we consume are following a mysterious cycle, where the retro kicks back in and modern takes the backseat, and are they interchangeable?

I would have no clue as to how it is in the fashion world, though my insignificant efforts to keep up to the norms set by the supreme bible, most would agree to our friend here, GQ.

Like the boot-cuts and skinny fits that were big in the 80s(Or, what era was it?) are back and them lose baggies are thought to be clumsy. I cant know if they’ll make a comeback – would we still take it up?

The same way, I felt about moving to Coimbatore, where most natives arguably consider that this is the best little place on earth that is unmatched by whatever urbanisation and advancement elsewhere. Resorting to the old ways, ‘Sometimes only the old ways work’ – Bond. James, Bond had once taught us at somewhere in the wilderness of bitter-beautiful Scotland.

Not that the rural outskirts of Coimbatore have anything to compare with rural Scotland, and most definitely not the pristine glacier melt water.

The mindset of most people in rural surrounding is that of simple means. They are all content with their TVs and cable networks, not that they can’t watch CNN-IBN or TV5, but would resort to watching their local folk dancing in Sun, Jaya, Raj and (add digital, plus and news to everything) kind of channels. And would never ever dare to explore outside their comfort zone. Not all but for a few exceptions who I am proud of.

But surprisingly, they are not uncomfortable discussing new things and learning from the people who’ve lived in the cities and know their way around most technical day to day things. This could almost welcome and spur the change from people to leave their busy lifes living through congestion and chaos of the city and move to calm and serene surroundings, where life moves slow and you know everyday that you live through. Who’d know the next big thing would be to live in a village and grow wheat.

Starting in a new place, Coimbatore.

Picking up everything, from where I had planned to be for the next 5 years.
But situation demands that I move from Chennai to Coimbatore.

It feels like its possibly living in 2006 of Chennai, was it Madras then? Oh, Madras. How they massacred a beautiful name that ringed bells in the ears of the charmers and Victorians.
How Madras was a beautiful word to mention anything south in India. Like, “Oh, you’re from Madras aa…” would always make you feel safe, because they knew exactly where you came from.

Coimbatore is not bad, its early in its element, more like a toddler learning to toddle – if that were a right term to use.

Its often what make of these things, not of what we assume of them. My boss’ favorite words are from this Nic Cage movie, what’s that? “Con-something”, oh yes! “Con-Air”. Don’t ask me if I’ve watched it, I have NOT, and am willing to do it without any popcorn or meat. Yes, he says, “Waseem, Assumption is the mother of all fuckups”, haha!
I most certainly don’t refuse to accept it, because it is the truth. Well, coming from a Cardiac surgeon who everyday holds peoples life like a flickering candle, we cannot not choose to believe him.

So, my journey in Coimbatore starts.

Why you should wake up early on a Sunday?

 

What’s a better way to start a Sunday morning.

In slow motion

Everything around, pacing at the speed of metropolitan. Just like people’s lives were running out of time. Deadlines, Last dates, countdowns – Its like, of all the thing we’re short of. Time isn’t your companion anymore. Time teaches you, will tell, ga-ga is for grandpa and his associates.

As we’re speeding by, there’s this sudden deceleration, sudden gush of emotion, sudden urge to hold something, sudden want – the minute you listen the track ‘Life in Technicolor’.

That’s something about Coldplay. They have a tendency to play with your mind. From ecstatic to content calm; from drowsy to thumping.

Someone once liked me, because I invoked all emotions in ’em. Probably, that’s exactly how things work. The more you give, the more you’re wanted. But, then you decide to absent yourself, and deal with solitude, and you almost always have a substitute.

This phenomenon of being at that place, space, time, person and enjoying it to the most. Till it lasts. Ah, intoxication. Yes, the giggle isn’t there in your life. But, then how often do you know that he/she even thinks about it.

…and in the end, we lie awake and dream of our escape.

I don’t know, if all of you never did feel this before. Its not good in the beginning, interesting soon, a way of life; later.

There could be Sitars and Harmoniums playing in the background, and cotton candy in the air. But, only if you’re absorbed in the moment, only will you decipher. Caught up in slow motion, that is.

Longing Beyond Twilight

Between the skies of the day, and the light of the night
Behind every deceptive smile, and behind every unfeigned plight,
Between the confusion and crystal clear,
Behind every wrong, Behind every sincere right,
Between the martyr’s courage and the traitor’s fear,
Beyond every fight, and every sight,
In the times of a dreary night,
In the times of the whispering wind’s delight,
In the times of cold, and fright,
In the night, and my plight,

I wished to see light.

Life goes slow

I go nowhere,

Slowing down, watching everyone pasting by,

Is this a curse, or a divine sigh?

Is this he, or is that just me?

Am I making sense or is it that insatiable plee.

Thoughts, I refrain to fathom,

Events, I neglect to confer,

Notions, I ignore to infer,

This plight of pain, seeking a touch of delight,

Losing the sense of time,

Waiting for the wind to mime,

Thinking about things when I walk around,

With all that memories and talks surround,

With tears of joy and fears so coy:

If I had the slightest intuition;

A gut feeling. A foresight. The faintest idea.

As the world as it could be.

All around me, wishing it would snow,

Singing a song, with a heavy heart, pleading for Life to go slow.

In a state of rage

Why is there an urge to crush some neck and toss them off the window from 113th floor or even the Empire state building, just to see them fall.

Why is anger so vicious and dangerous? Yes, everyone faces disappointment, but does everyone has murderous tendencies or is it just me?

I don’t know if my methods to calm down anger have failed miserably this time, but have they ever helped me sort out the extra-unnecessary gush of emotions, oh yes – tainted destructive ones.

Is it righteous anger or is there some sort of monster sprawling from within, and I fail to control it and let it take all over me, and behave in the worst ever man, in the history of humanity. I had no idea, I would ever behave this ugly. Yes, no matter there are certain levels of justification I can plead, I have nothing in my defence for such poor conduct.

Its not like I enjoy being angry or it is some sort of sadistic pleasure, that I exude yelling at people in disgusted tones with huffs and puffs. It does point out, how little I am, or I could always break my record over it.

Yes, coming to replay it, and as everything falls into place, I feel timid, sad and foolish. My anger was so uncalled for. Yes, people do really get pissed off, get mad but its rather it is kept tucked in, under layers of etiquette and social looking-good.

You scumbag, want to shut up, or I’ll have to drunk-box you with Limpbizkit in mind?

Check out, what happened to this poor little pack of Apple juice.

Yes, it can get pretty ugly. Hopefully it doesn’t stay for long, and I find ways to went my anger, and get rid of this fleeting emotion that takes over me and ruins my reality.

Painting a moment…

I’m not a nice person, to begin with. Like my Blog title says Irrational Chauvinist, which I am. But some people do make a mark in me, and it is not so easy to see a long face, spread wide across.

So, why the ‘I don’t care a thing?!‘ even takes a wild guess to do something here? I’m not bloating my ego, or matching up to a ‘Compassionate Soul’ part. If only somebody stood there in silence and noticed me, and not said – ‘Lad, you’re complicated’. No, I’m not even close to the Avril Lavigne’s definition of ‘Complicated’.

I took a wild guess, and then settled to crack jokes. If only the person has an extraordinary sense of humour to appreciate my jokes, that is. It pretty much is mostly screwed.

I took another wild guess, and talking-to-someone I thought. If only, words just expressed everything, it’d help – I exclaimed.

Lets not depend on other people, lets settle for some ‘melody’, I thought. Played some Music, some romantic lullabies, irking rock and unpalatable hip-hop as well. It still remained the same. What here occurred to me is that, it is just not Music that affects the way one feels, it depends on the listener and it adds to the ambiance, most of the time. Unless he/she is a worshipper of Jimi Hendrix, and exclaims Music a religion. Well, that did not resort to my need.

Crosswords, I winked. The first word across, landed me in shit load of unpalatable emotions. So wild, that I tore the newspaper, and stabbed it again and again with the weapon mightier than the sword, The Pen.

Sleep, Chocolates, Biscuits, Wrigley’s Spearmint, Michael Flately’s Riverdance, Jessica Alba’s dances, Beyonce’s bikini, Jogging, and evening Sleeping had no positive effect, but seemed to escalate it.

I then declared, I was inefficient to be happy. Happiness isn’t my thing, it just isn’t. “Nothing is going to help you,dude!”, is exactly what I told myself.

…I was just loafing around the Internet(The Lord, bless it!), and I landed in YouTube. Watched this . God bless this man, who came up with this. He deserves something, an honour something like the Nobel Peace Prize, maybe?

This video, didn’t put a smile on my face. It did something to me, I jumped off my chair, like a drunk stallion on a hurdle. Tears broke down like an overflowing dam, and a cry that coughed my lungs out!

Then, I analyzed my easiest target, my domestic reptilian monster – my sister(She’s someone who can throw a tantrum, wreck a potential havoc, and still wear a mask of innocence) Hours earlier, I had yelled at her for scribbling on my door and the cycle of blaming myself occurred.

The moment, I felt those little arms wrapped around me in encomium, I knew this is one of that moments – I’d remember before a last few breaths I’d take before, I depart home.

Why in the world did, Waseem of all the people get a Blog?

…not that I’ve a fanbase waiting for me to ink what’s happening in my head, but to do justice to myself. I’m a strict believer of expressing one’s opinion, so I am exercising it?

Crawling like a cockroach, gloating like a goat, and praying like a mantis is nothing that I am. I do not occur in the bandwidth extending from Gothicness or to Oh-so-cool spectrum.

I don’t require a formal introduction, for people who need to know, who this is – already do. I wouldn’t necessarily match to the title of this Blog so-very-often.

— Now, that you’re crossing this line, I’d extend my heartfelt warm hospitality —

Welcome to my Blog, where I express what I see, what I fathom. If you’ve got anything to say, you should do it right away, I appreciate both positive and negative feedback (Usual, ga ga!)

Hope you enjoy yourself, reading this. If not, don’t sue me – I’m a horrible entertainer.