The compared.

In my mind, I am disputed. It's three days to deadline and I am still at a quarter of where I should have been. this post comes at a juncture where I decide the distance from which I shall compare henceforth.

In school, there were prefects and there were perfects. I was neither. This day comes to me as a rather disconnect from my visions of a comparative past. They led lives of discipline and their intelligence dictated their course of events. My life sought solace and richness, I wanted the colours to mean something and today, strangely enough, I feel satisfied.

They aced their skimming tests and were induced into a system of tailored finishes. I on the other hand was left looking beyond my reach and a melancholic tune overwhelmed me everytime. Today, I am confident that I have made a life valuable to my quest, I am not a poet nor a painter. I am what was made of me.

I did not grant myself an option of strict achievement, I only led a belief of appreciation towards the gift of life. I may have been terribly wrong, or I may have tailored a smile for the years to come.

A man should look for what is, not for what he thinks should be. - Albert Einstein.

Endless, atleast that's what I just saw.

Call it my share of the follow the mass movement, or call it my share of being a late adopter, a cautious observer of firm positive reaction before risking being wrong. As long as a cynic lives in me, I may never be that optimist who made changes, for my own and for the ones around me. I have stopped living in the here and now, my snap judgements are at a loss and a living neuroticism has emerged, that I am willing to finally understand and end it.

I gave up confidence, because I knew it did not matter, fame sufficed and it flowed naturally. Here and now, I am a stranger to this life, I am not the creme and neither have I strived for such an honor, although 'uncool' in this country, I'd say spiritual enlightenment is long forgotten and misunderstood here. I guess bad apples are everywhere, and beauty is somehow skin deep for most of it. But the nice people here feel the need to be patrons of the world's problems, they like the all 'superior' beings are confident of their stance, and know it to be the greatest functioning system of people and society. Guess what, We'd take our chances and fail, that way we'd learn.

The idea of success and responsibility are both unsettling to balance, I am stuck between two worlds, distinct, and I guess I have to take the best step forward. Not hope for friends, not hope for happiness and somehow although I would never hope for it, it would come. I guess I'll leave it to fate again, but making an interesting stance with the header of the write-up, One is never satisfied, and runs through making changes and life steps, never once realising that it was always looking forward to it, never waiting for the past to catch up. I sign off, renewed. A deep sense of gratitude for what films can do, all of the above was the effect of cinema, which i never quite understood the first time, but the second time, bought it hook, line and sinker.

England: Phase I

Seated at the couch of acceptance, I share a life with my Uncle & Aunt while the rest of the university lives in Halls of residence, I humbly accept my fate, here on this couch. They are admirable human beings for their persistence, their perseverance, and their balance. life away from home is not withstood with happiness or first world joy, it is a tender acceptance of betterment, even though it may not be. I save half of what it would have cost my folks.

My heart still cries out to the dust, the humidity, the sheer brilliance that chaos instilled in daily life. Home is where you want it to be, this is not the usual rant, it is a silent cause for maturity and through these words I want to grow up, not for anyone else but rather for myself. I began writing to ratify my stance, to make my peace with my own. It may be terribly psychological that I self-reflect everyday as if it were to accentuate my addiction for nostalgia, or rather a measure of myself. I cannot find happiness at ease but laughter i find, I cannot find tranquility but calm i find, I cannot find freedom, but free I am.

instant messaging, one of the boons of 21st century takes me to their lives, the ones who write. she says she climbed a mountain, found peace and understood a book finally. I on the other hand, with the hope of finding something new, lost something so precious that i feel apologetic almost. I want my place, I want my pace. for now, this confused mind of mine is lost in postgraduate qualms of existence.

The Update.

Its 2:30am, and I passed on another night of 'baby baby' with my angelic sweetums, my goodoloo, and all and every other little mush-term. shes that, my girlfriend. To quote a friend, On good days I feel like Ibn Batuta, on bad days I don't. Today was more of a mixed bag of sorts. It is a phenomenal day (If you are Bong, i. e.) of the Annual Durga-Puja festival, Mother has been awake since 7 am, the clings and clangs of the kitchen utensils have a shrill resonating place in my mid-sleep-mid-mindfucked period which is to be 9am. Last night's toxins have still not passed through that well, they remind me of the last of such nights that are to happen. I bid goodbye to a friend, spent time considerably pondering on 'life goes on'. My age of uncertainty is upon me, this time though I am certain to encounter it.

All that aside, the clings and clangs of this morning also bring another shattering clunk on my modest intellect. I shall be surrounded by family all day, cousins, their children, other cousins, their children-ness, Is that a lamp? Can i touch it? Why is this music a song?, fucker, if you'd have known, you would have known why this music is a song. I also made him believe that man did not land on the moon, good luck passing history, ass. The cooking begins, the aroma thickens, things move too quick too fast. I delay bathing imagining 'daily home' and thwack again, here I stand making niceties in boxers and a half slimed face (almost, thank you pillow!) in my own room, with Mother leading the pack marching in her beloved regiment of guests. This is family I agree but slow down a little! This urgency in tidyness does not go down well with my self-respect, I shower and present myself all shaved and ready. Puja exuberates the season of togetherness, a sense of belonging, a culture not lost, but found, every single second of it. It is hard to miss really, if one is a resident of the epicentre of such an intensive extravaganza. Cars double as snails, motorcyclists are in a trance-like god mode where alcoholic swerves are like the next shot of jack. It is pretty much what a city does when it goes to party, together. Alas, I sit at the bar hoping for the next song to be better than the last one.

This skepticism is blank not in the least, I was supposed to be registered and induced into the British higher education system by now, and here I am gathering my eroded roots in the rootiest of the rooty ways of finding one's own, the cliche of them all. Some people start counting backwards from the last day of the festival, to mark the first day of the next time. Growing up to this sensational time of the year was always beautiful, the new toy if you wanted, all the new clothes for sure and also that ocassional something to make it feel like 'Ah, its puja now.' This one however, like I said it's not completely Ibn batuta, but Bangla Batuta is not far-fetched. I was refused entry into my Mother-nation, for colonising us that is what they deserve, some more all the time. Lol, anyway If my entry clearance officer is reading, I have provided proof that er..that my father is my father. Please let me study what I want to now. I was race-ready before the refusal, this is a setback, nonetheless but I cannot support these unfortunate chain of events, however there is that page I want to turn, I am at a status-quo with life. I expect no more, I know no more, I shall grab with both hands what is thrown at me, Come 30th I hope to depart, it would have been the 28th. BUT, MY BELOVED CITY IS AT A PARTY, the courier service is catering to the bullish needs of their brilliant beloved families, 'Lets eat there today, it's only an hour normally, so we should be there in two if we leave now, Puja you see.' Hence I was delayed another two after originally being delayed for seven. Thats about nine days of catching up in a 50 class course, guess I will have to know how re-exams are taken in the first world. No matter, as always my rant pays dividends, at the end of this blog, I feel content with life, I won nine days with my folks, some quality time with my buddy, a trusty love-labrador. Even though, I sit at the bar, I am waiting for the next song, please be me. Goodnight.

So Close, yet so far!

I promised myself that this new wave of blogs, that i plan to unleash with fury on the connected world will truly and faithfully uphold sarcasm, coldness, dark humor and desirable secrets. It has been a while since i last wrote, and the 7 i scored on the IELTS writing test asserts my fervour's demise. It isn't the edge, as much as the blade. I sharpen my fangs though, to dig in to the most exciting part of my life yet. there is joy, the ocassional outburst of emotions, anger, hatred, slyness and most of all an utter blurness in memory and disregard for punctuality.

This night was supposed to mean the beginning of the end of a reputed miser's run to save face. the night was planned amongst family, associates of this utterly upheld utopia- blood. relatives can be nice, relatives can be intrusive, exceptional though is quite another thing. I have the latter for company as I imagine how it might begin, 'so how long do you plan on staying in town?'

(i expect another invitation in another place where t-shirts are frowned upon) .*snap* i get out of it, I have to get out of it. the telephone invitation was real sly too, he called once on a weekday afternoon (i imagine how partners of a fortune 500 would react speaking to family in full ear of his peers...English is the chosen medium) So, I would like for you to join me and the rest of our cousins for a night on the town. i say okay, i can't deny when i know there is more i can milk out of him, psycotropically ofcourse. hush. When new money talks, you better listen. I ask him, where are you hosting it? He assures me with a-matter-of-fact concern the name of the most exclusive club in town, with black ties and everything. i ask him - collared shits? he sighs. i say bye.

the next moment, the phone rings again only this time, i hope hes calling to ask if we would like to go somewhere else, and he mentions quite certain with himself, i would appreciate if you co-ordinated with the others and managed to get there on time. *BAM* MotherF*cker. if i translate that in bloodlines, that pretty much means, you drive, so pick them up and get them there. i do not have spare cars nor the time.

Hurt though not, battered yes. my sister is a fuel-to-the-fire personality. ignored as well, the loss of invitation sure hit this social being hard. i knew that she would refuse, but just amused myself over a brief call to her, before finally deciding to not be a scapegoat in their we-all-cousins attitude of chauffeur recruitment. 'so heard you didn't get in?' clearly, to evoke a response of terrific adulation once she said, f*ck u, i wouldn't have gone. haha, i have you cornered now, but as it is, she is my sister. wickedness and wild are our middle names. She retorts back with a cool, so do you have to take all the rest there?

*DAMN* well, er...there it was. The 'other two' (one new addition, and the other, the oldest coldest of all of us) were the main reason for such a dinner. It was meant for the newly-weds who needed that family feel just to honour their return tickets to out-of-here. Such cruelty does not become. My younger rhetorical whimsical whacky partner-in-crime is my other sister, any social family gathering would have us in a corner with echoing giggles of ghastly gore, involving our deepest desires to fry, cut, chop, burn, or just beat to death with bare hands. hence it was cousins night, the fortune 500 fuck, the wife (similar, sweeter though somehow), their son (an act of god nonetheless), the other two, another sad pitiful thing, me and my chiller sister (counting out the black sheep already left out of the picture, the fuel-to-the-fire one). the sad cousin called to confirm his ride with the family's new found chauffeur (i still hadn't rsvp'd my dissent), i spoke to him for a while only to reassure myself of what a crime i had committed, by opening the floodgates. it would have washed medha patkar of her hunger-stricken ass. He went on and on about how he didn't get any, and that i should get him some. Wow. Pimp and Chauffeur in the same day. Mother, i think when you said i was determined for bigger things, you did not imply on which side of society's big fat line would i be on! anyway, Chiller calls me right after the sad conversation, only to confirm whether i had confirmed to say no. I say yes at the drop of this hat. My reason was a unique but a common case of common cold, with the dash of fever and the twist of weakness. Chiller took my cue and brought in her examinations. bless her. the day moved on and its 3am, I just met the eldest member of our family online. (I should have never agreed to adding family on instant messaging) He knew about us passing, and he knew about my cold. but oddly enough, he mentioned more opportunities for me, better ones! I have a crazy world that i peek into, only to have it peeking back at me. Naughty and Nefarious, i love my life.