She calls me an emo writer.She asks me to write love notes for her lover.

I plead with her that I am no writer,I write only when I am sad or overwhelmed. I cannot write on cue, I can only write when I absolutely need to.Its not a very comfortable thing for me.

The thing is that ever since I was a child, I have believed that there is an invisible force that reads every word that is written with heart. It reads every deleted word, every broken message that you type in your phone, every thing that you scribble and throw away in crumpled papers.It reads the words yo u trace out with your finger on a foggy glass or on your torn jeans on a bus ride.The things you trace out when you play with your food.Words you inscribe in sands and snow.The doodles in places that no one knows.

Its doesn't have to be a word,or a perfect shape.It doesn't have to mean something.This force understands what you meant and how you felt.You float messages in a bottle out to the sea of life, and this force is what is there at the other end, intercepting every kind of language every kind of code.I have no idea what it does with all these messages.Whether it judges us or not, whether it acts on our pleas of help, our desperate wishes.All I know is that it is my oldest most loyal friend, it helps me hold on the illusion that I am not alone.

There is a threshold for how much we can feel and keep within us.Most of the times it remains within us,but at times it oozes out of our fingers,dripping off us in spaces we occupy.It doesn't matter how it is written,all that matters is how purely it is you.

She has been listening with her eyebrows raised. I have realized that my rant is not working. She responds to it saying that it is bullshit.I tell her what she wants to hear.

"How do I write for your lover, when my heart has recently been blasted and lies plastered across the walls of my existence."

She says," Tell me when your feeling better, lets give Valentines day a pass. Its his birthday in March."

"You are cruel you know"

She smiles and says,"I know."

Dairy Entry

Some days I go out to the office just to find a reason to quit...and then i think, shouldn't this fact alone suffice my need for a reason to quit.

I'll tell you about my work today.I work as an alarm monitoring engineer in a leading telecom and networks company.
There  are sites from where your phone receives network.Commonly they can be identified as towers on which round and rectangular antennas are mounted.Among other equipment on these sites there is equipment that tracks the proper working of the site.When something is even slightly off than usual this equipment generates alarms.These alarms are transmitted to a central location where they are continuously monitored.I monitor these alarms in that central location.When I see something is not okay I inform the site engineers and tell them to go check if everything is okay at the actual site.We keep up the network so that your phone always has a good signal.So that you can always connect.So that people can always connect with you.So that you are never alone.
There are a lot of others things that I do as well but the rest of it is just process to make this alarm monitoring thing very efficient and well documented.

I work in eight hour shifts,almost continuously.I cannot let my terminal unmanned so taking even a five minute break is a problem sometimes.I was promised a five days a week schedule but till now all my weeks have been six days.My office looks and operates like a call center except they don't give us the earphone cum mike devices and the recognition that it is actually a typical calling center.
The work is repetitive and beyond a point there is nothing to learn off it.But then I guess it is like that with most of the jobs.

Some days I feel like a life saver but most days I feel nothing but a telecom coolie.(we come after IT coolies coz they don't do night shifts you see).Everyday I find new reasons and underlying meaning to what they make me do.Try and make sense of it but lately all the sense of it has started not to make sense to me and the first cracks have begun to show
Writing this down is one of the many things I'm doing to hold it together.

She can see herself…she can see her running shoes…feel her shoes bouncing off the metaled road that runs through the woods …the road..curving…rising…falling….the deodar trees that seem to be disappearing in the sky…the orange morning sunshine scattering through the branches and the needles…the sky changing its shade every minute….the still thin cold mountain air…she’s running fast now…and she can hear the pounding of her heart above the music through her headphones....and then suddenly she’s back…
The air is cold because the Boss just turned up the cooling…
She’s in the office…a place where everyday her necrophobic dreams plead her to runaway and never come back.
People work here…People keep calling people for work and numbers are dialed on speaker phones…the phones keep ringing….most days the caller tunes make the office sound like some trash radio station..

She works in a telecom company…and she hates phones. It wasn’t like that from the start..but today..don’t know why , she doesn’t like them anymore.
May be she’s been waiting too long for a phone call that she knows is never going to come…may be the phone just reminds her too much of him….his voice…her laughter ...the bad singing in the mornings ..and the sounds of his breathing while he fell asleep talking to her sometimes..
She hates it all today…the messages have replaced letters …and conversations have reduced to sms chat’s…she wishes she had been born in an earlier time, a time before the phones and the internet.
The mails, the messages, the six hour long phone conversations were nothing short of real art ….and today nothing remains of them.
May be if they had been something more tangible…if they had been on paper…if they had been more real…in flesh and sound …more life in them…may be then she would still remember them more vividly…may then she could feel them even when they are gone…may be then deleting them wouldn’t have be so easy and permanent as a click of a mouse or a compression on the keypad or touch on the screen of a phone..
Love and art..neither had survived. ..what disturbs her is that she feels bad for the lost art…not the lost love…may be she is a terrible human being …may be love and art is the same for her.
May be she should change her phone…but there’s no point …she already feels like throwing it away or running it under a wheel….and buying a new one won’t change the way she feels…and just in case if someday she actually flings it away…she’d rather be flinging a cheaper model…she laughs at herself…okay half a smile…but that’s not bad to start with.

Roses

When i was little I'd go out and play almost everyday.
I wouldn't play with toys or board games or video games much.
Mostly I'd play all by myself.Mostly i would just look everywhere.Observe everything...touch whatever i could.
Pick up everything..rocks,grass,leaves,wild flowers,feathers,seeds...anything and everything was treasure...just stayed away from the bird shit and dog poo...i rummaged through everything in the radius I was allowed to play in.
Where i live has a lot of Deodar(Himalayan cedar) and pine trees...and I'd find pine cones and cedar roses.
I'd bring these gluey woody things home and keep them where i hid all the important things.They were usually thrown out during the spring cleaning (Maa used to hate them)...but i never got enough of them...they made me happy.
Girls love flowers and roses...i love cedar roses...coz if you take care of them they can last...forever.

ME...Dissillusioned since 1989

And one day when you are sitting alone, you will realize how disillusioned you have been about everything…
And you feel lost, you will realize how alone you really are,
You will see how wrong you’ve been all the way long
You will feel cheated and violated…with no one else to blame but yourself,
You will see yourself, and how pathetic you are and how you keep making the same mistakes again and again…you will start seeing patterns in your own behavior and behavior of other people
The child in you stops buying the lies you tell her to keep her happy and amused
The woman in you gets tired of cleaning up the mess the girl in you keeps making
You will see the ugly truths of life naked and you won’t be able to look.
Nothing will console you or soothe you..
And you won’t be able to identify with who you are..
Someone else will stare back when you look in the mirror
And for a while you will lose who you are..coz you hate the person you’ve been and the things you’ve done
And so you try and lose the whole of you in hope of being something a little wiser and older…more at peace with the world and yourself..
and you wish yourself..
Happy birthday..

i love..

I love reading in bed…I love reading something written personally by someone,
Anything honest, anything original, anything true, anything human…will do beautifully for me.
From articles and blog posts of total strangers, lyrics of living and dead songwriters, novels known and unknown…this is the art I love the most.


I love talking on the phone with people about things which are not important…


I love the smell of coffee..

I love the touch of wood…and grass…and rock

I love watching trees change with seasons of the year

I love the mountains because they make me feel God


I love shoe prints on the sand…


I love the touch of peanut shells…

I love my curly morning hair…

I love midnight conversations…

I love watching birds..animals…and babies

I love reading classified and matrimonial ads that I have no concern to

I love drama..so I love watching movies and t.v sitcoms

I love cartoons.

I love looking in to the eyes of strangers on the road

I love looking at the sky , during the day or at night



I love snow, I hate the rain, I love sunny bright blue skies

I love rickshaw rides when the the sun is setting


I love chocolate cake and Chinese food

I love my glasses,especially the nerdy ones

I love good music,any genre,it just has to be good.

I love my blue denim jeans.

I love some people and hate them at the same time…but at the end of it all I love them more than I hate them..