Floating dreams
floating along
the contours of the mind
wafting, wind like
aimless and vagrant
winding shapes
weaving tales
vivid or grim
at random
at whim

Floating dreams
floating along
the contours of the world
growing wings
soaring, bird like
into the vast sky
untamed sea
stubborn mountains
and wild valley

Floating dreams
floating along
the contours of time
riding on a plank
back-and-forth, seesaw like
down murky memoirs
of the bygone
and inane incline
in the offing

Floating dreams
boarding into
the flight of fantasy
with fancied identity
novel and notional
living the moment
shattered very next
the eye opener
the thumping into
the world of reality
banal and somber

Nothing can be intensely gratifying.. the feeling of immense relief after having attended one of nature's critical calls. The emptiness suddenly filled with moments of absolute peace, the lightness of being, floating like a leaf, breaking free the flow of thoughts clogged with rapt attention a while ago. One of the crude effects of cold weather can not get more gruesome in a city which has more public transport stops stretched across a kilometer than public toilets. Sometimes and perhaps most of the times when you desperately want something, the laws of the universe dictates that a conspiracy is concocted to hide it from you mocking at your ordeal all the while. But when the frantic search triumphs and all ends well the mask of mockery gives way unveiling a benign smile shining upon your gratitude.

The weather forecasts predicted periods of rain and they turned unwittingly true. It wasnt anything like the torrential downpour back at home, the rains here were invisible. Numb with cold and silent like dead the only life of sound was that of the piercing winds chilling down to the bone marrow whistling along the lanes. Like the sound of a siren announcing a curfew thrusting people indoors. The leaves began shedding its colour slowly turning dry and dead and the trees wriggling itself free of the charred remains. The rustle of winds breaking into rhymes bidding farewell to the last of autumn and praising the dawn of winter. And people cocooned into the comforts of the jackets.

Jackets, in shades of black and brown leather and woollen varieties clinging to their bodies strolling along the rain soaked streets. Intimate relationships inched closer under the sepia-tinted evening lights in a bid to beat the cold. Hand held in hand embracing the warmth and presence of each other. Faces turned cherubic pink breathing out whiff of hot misty-white air through the cherry lips often engaged in a kiss. The city suddenly smells of love sown from the seeds of romance scattered by the winds. The fragrance of love the warmth and comfort of it present everywhere, in the many couples oblivious to the weather and the surrounding world. A few singled out, yearning for their dear ones, deeply engrossed in the intricately woven passionately engaging lives and tales of fiery and romantic characters provided by the book.

And finally left was an odd character, a lone figure with a superior sense of observation and abysmal absorption. Sucking them all the winds of seasonal change, the romantic sketches, the burning desires emanating out of the book reflecting in their eyes, unflustered by the fond fragrance. Sucking them all with a smile, Satan-like, and slurping an ice cream...

Standing in the queue staring at the departure timetable.. waiting for our next flight.. the board blinking the Turkish airlines flight to Istanbul at 04:10 AM.. scheduled. scheduled.. scheduled... delayed.. the blink of an eye and the clock sprinted three and a half hours ahead.. the blinking resumed to 07:30 AM scheduled.. The reaction was everything.. distress dismay but surprise.. the inordinate delays, as we anticipated, were an integral part of the Turkish package... The extra time now burdened on our already heavy baggage in the rain soaked Mumbai Terminal.. If there was anything that stood common among the over-crowded Mumbai airport, deserted Istanbul and the earnest land of Budapest showering words of welcome, it was the seamless rains... Things began to tread along at its own snail pace and after hovering around the clouds for an hour ( One hour in the cloud colony gave me an insight of their lives. The majority of them sacrificing their identities amassing to form something shapeless and float aimless.. like the most of us.. and the very few retaining their shapes alligator-like, willow tree-like, beetle-like free willed, intent with purpose and reciting their stories along the journey... ) we coming out of the clouds, unkempt weary but high-spirited, were ready for our descent... winding our watches back giving the notion of time travel, the very irony of it, it was time travel that was awaiting us in Budapest...

Walking along the lane closely guarded by tall ancient buildings on either side, flowers sprouting out of the balconies perched on the cold steel railings.. cold and bold breathing in centuries of human existence, sturdy testimonial to the transition of technology traditional whims and cultural fancies.. those railings were revealing the journey of its life through its telepathic gaze.. And the buildings are entered through signature style giant oak doors which usually are expected to be locked with heavy metal keys but, this is the first step to the strikingly contrasting features of the city, they open with keyed in numeric codes. The buildings that stood unfazed for centuries open into the world of state-of-the-art apartments, levis es, super pumas, kfcs, burger kings, guccis brandishing their brands and designs into the antique structures. Unlike many places where classic designs are rendered obsolete and brushed under the carpet.. this city has not given away antiquity to accommodate modernity thus holding its foot firm into the past and the present.

The contrast continues to bear resemblance with the people of Budapest. On one side we have the elderly perhaps as old as the buildings, classic and gentle in their disposition.. and the other one belongs to the beady-eyed, blonde-haired, scantily-cladded, FCUK-imprinted, smoking or smooching more often seeking pleasures of the tobacco, flamboyant, flirtatious new generation.. Geographically the city is divided into Buda and Pest.. Buda, steady with time preserving its heritage in its ancient buildings, royal palaces and churches.. Pest keeping pace with the wheels of time, advanced and fashionable.. The river Danube flows through the contrasts of Buda and Pest merging an inseparable connection between the time separated cities generations separated people and stringing together the cultures of yore and novelty of the present...

I cant think of a better welcome to a foreign place.. There is more to be known and revealed about this city.. Until then its Jó napot..!!

Back to square isnt it? All along its a circle I have been treading along only matter of time to wind up at the beginning.. The birth of grief.. The stabbing of the dagger right into the heart leaving it to bleed and beat.. bleed and beat.. winding dagger throwing out a new jolt of pain with every turn piercing into the heart.. the thrill of pain surpassing itself in magnitude.. how much can the body endure?? but where is endurance when I am left at the mercy of it. when pain is the only existence I can feel.. hot air heaving under the chest.. chillness seeping through the spine and eyes lost in tears..

They say time can heal anything.. but time doesnt heal.. does it?? time only let the wounds dry.. the dagger rusts and decays the chasm of pain might vacate for emptyness.. a deep resentful void.. opening up for indifference.. and ultimately turning into pallid stone.. with hope and optimism as good as an egg shell there is nothing to crack open the stone..

for now there is only room for pain...

Another day when the circumstances circling my tiny world conjured to create a chance.. an opportunity to commute in one the most frequent, despite challenging the strength of your life-line, mode of transport.. No prizes for guessing.. and this is definitely not a sequel to my previous post.. I dont have anything more to divulge though every ride is an exhilarating experience altogether.

Fastened to the auto-rickshaw in nearly the same fashion which began hustling at break-neck speed with speakers screaming out the same song over and over ... perhaps it was the noble intention of the driver to engage the fellow commuters into the subtle nuances of the song and learn it by heart.. I was astonished that the driver dint put an exit-test about the song at the end of the ride...

Amidst the focussed entertainment dizzying lights and clamourous horns my attention elevated from the mundane traffic and fell on the moon.. nearly in full round shape and ugly as ever the moon was brooding over the sky.. the dullness scattered like an aureole resembling a clear stain spread out on an immaculate piece of cloth sulking the sky in embarrassment..

The moon always brandished an ominous capacity to turn good innocent people into werewolves.. An unsettling sight where a vacant sky or a star lit night could have been more fulfilling... I wonder why I am so disturbed by the very sight of the moon?? Perhaps there is a werewolf lurking in me???? I hope someday I would bring myself to sing praises about the moon.. Until then I dedicate the song I have learnt today!!!

po ve.. po raa.. po ve.. po raaa.. (song from mallana)

A Priest dies and is awaiting his turn in line at the Heaven's Gate. Ahead of him is a guy, fashionably dressed, in dark sun glasses, a loud shirt, leather jacket and jeans. God asks him: Please tell me who are you, so that I may know whether to admit you into the kingdom of Heaven or not?
The guy replies: I am Pandi, Auto driver from Chennai! God consults his ledger, smiles and says to Pandi: Please take this silken robe and gold scarf and enter the Kingdom of Heaven ...
Now it is the priest's turn. He stands erect and speaks out in a booming voice: I am Pope's Assistant so and so, Head Priest of the so and so Church for the last 40 years. God consults his ledger and says to the Priest: Please take this cotton robe and enter the Kingdom of Heaven ...
'Just a minute,' says the agonized Priest. 'How is it that a foul mouthed, rash driving Auto Driver is given a Silken robe and a Golden scarf and me, a Priest, who's spent his whole life preaching your Name and goodness has to make do with a Cotton robe?'
'Results my friend, results,' shrugs God. 'While you preached, people SLEPT; but when he drove his Auto, people PRAYED'

Dangling precariously with a part of the body resting on one end of the butt carefully mounted on the driver's seat albeit the scramble of bottoms fidgeting for space, where the slightest movement of muscle could be absolutely fatal.. and the major chunk of the body, recklessly thrown open to the mercy of the ongoing traffic, garnering support from the grip of the arm.. Anchored in such an arresting position, the auto-rickshaw hurtles forward with three people in the front and three at the back.. The fellowship of auto-rickshaw have an unwritten rule or a code of conduct which explicitly states that once the kick rod is pulled and the engine ignited, there is no stopping the rotating wheels, traffic or no traffic, highway or the driver's way, like the incessant rush of the stream circumventing at every barrier on course or taking the barrier along... Keeping to the rule, the jet-focused rider is suddenly diverted with the sound of a fancy ringtone...
"Anthe na!!!!!!!! (Is that all???? )
"Inkem kaavali... (What else do you want?? ) " The irony of it....
He frantically begins to dig into his pocket nearly putting an end to my journey throwing me off board.. He finds a missed call on his cellphone.. Who could that be at this hour of duty??? It could be the president of China waiting for his command to launch an attack on India.!!! Those sinister hands, a puppeteer to the fate of fellow commuters, executes the command typing a message in response thereby extending his reign of power over the entire nation. That was the peak of what my dwindling optimism could take and I finally resorted to remembering God and His divine intervention to help me get to the destination without losing either of my buttocks.
Now I am here, alive butt-safe and kicking, sharing this adventurous anecdote of my auto-rickshaw ride from Hitech city to JNTU.
Perhaps its God's menacing but benign ways, through the noble auto-driver, to steers us into the path of divinity and fond remembrance..
God Bless!!

where is the sun??
where has he gone?
resting after the break of day
under the blanket of cloud
or simply fooling around
with a desire to play

where is the sun??
why has he gone?
he has his night
to rest or to play
his shine so bright
brings joy and gay
dare he not think right
to keep it away

where is the sun??
how can he go?
taking the merriment along
leaving me dim and glum
like the odes of a sad song
echoed in a monotonous hum

where is the sun??

3 MONTHS AND 6 SIX DAYS since I have updated this Blog.. but not very long since my futile attempts to post something have been drained in vain.. Plethora of thoughts fluttering restlessly finding no solace in the unending drought of words.. The words have gone for a vacation and the titillating thoughts are left to rot.. 'I am at a loss of words!!' 'Oh Gosh! I have lost my writing spark!!" I complained, which received sharp responses like 'When did you ever have a spark???'
Friendly advice or smack of reality, this is not helping my situation... A writer's block, scribbler fear or whatsoever.. I needed some way to circumvent this ordeal of mine.. Therefore I have decided to throw the gates open.. let the flood of thoughts rush through.. picking words at will.. So my dear readers, this is more of a cleanliness exercise than the randomest post that I have ever written; to regain my lost 'spark' (I am still convinced I had one!!) and henceforth continue to entertain and enlighten my audience with my posts as ever before.. Brace yourselves and enjoy the ride!!

Taking stock of the situation and retrospecting the past 3 months, the ordeal found its roots in Germany. My first overseas trip which apart from letting my ordeal grow forced me come to terms with some discarded, forgotten and mostly unknown practices like punctuality ( I had to refer to get the correct spelling!!). A completely ridiculous practice where a couple (two precisely..) of minutes off track immediately makes you 20 minutes ahead of schedule. If punctuality is one sickening thing.. there is Traffic which could not get any worse.. surprisingly Germans take traffic and discipline in the same breath (and they are not profoundly fond of antonyms) .. chaos, the rule of our roads is something you immediately begin to crave for once you call it truce with punctuality and commute along with the public transportation... and where are the potholes and speed-breakers hiding?? why are they ashamed to be on the roads.. As a pedestrian accustomed to living on the edge, the least you can conveniently expect is a vehicle or two zip past by oblivious to your existence.. but in this looney land when a pedestrian accidently treads on to the road on a wrong signal, the commuter along with the rest of the country comes to an abrupt halt.. everything comes to a standstill and the clock would only resume ticking once the alien now startled pedestrian plays along all the notes of the striped piano-like crossing...

If this could be termed Utopian, then the people of Germany, their delightful wooden homes with pleasing lawns, the scenic pathways and vibrant colors throwed everywhere with the finesse of an artist, look like the characters and stories jumping right out of a fairytale... Beauty so placid yet overwhelming to the extent of pissing you off.. because such beauty can only be imagined or dreamt of and its hard to believe such imaginations taking tangible forms and playing in front of your eyes.. As and when your senses get acquainted to such staggering beauty, Germany pulls another rabbit out of the hat dwarfing the senses with dazzling display of wonders..

Exciting the senses, pumping vigour became the order of the day.. day in, day out, weekday, weekends and on one such lively weekend I crossed borders into the land of cultures.. city of history and romance.......
watch this space for more...

1. I am an Aquarian with a strong influence of another sunsign, which I am really not sure of..
2. I was born lefty, forced to mend my ways 'right' and now I end up hanging in between
3. I am not fond of babies and I am sure they reciprocate the same feeling..
4. I love music, the kind varies depending on my mood and AR Rahman is God..
5. Small acts of kindness, unexpected sacrifices, complete trust and affection.. this is how I define God.. nothing beyond that..
6. I always wanted to be a VJ (not for aditya music!!)
7. I have seen myself as a navy captain and sometimes as a pirate.. i wasnt sure what i really wanted to be.. pirate for the likes of me!!
8. sprinter (when I unexpectedly came first in a 100m race), fast bowler (this lingered on till i completed my schooling), wrestler (only to represent India in wwf, now wwe)
9. Also dreamt of being an actor and at least do a negative role in movies...
10. I have only played the role of lady characters (Portia from merchant of Venice and some illiterate's suffering daughter in a play about 'save the girl') and flowers (a blossoming sunflower!!) in my school.
11. There is no teacher in my school who has not punished me.. I was even flogged on my bottom in front of the class by the principal!!
11. I want to write a book and if things go right be a famous author and open a bookstore when I reach retirement
12. I want to own a chopper and keep it as a treasure.. but I dont think I have the personality to carry off riding a chopper.
13. No movie in a theatre or missing a mouthful of delicious chicken biryani for a week can make me go restless..
14. I want to grow a moustache, a shorter version of handlebar moustache coupled with properly groomed short hair..
15. I hate six packs, but I certainly want to take a picture with 'well toned' my muscular self posing in the middle of a gang of beautiful gals in their bikinis..
16. I was short and dark when I was a kid and had erect hair like a porcupine adding to my short frame.. now only the porcupine seems to be resting..
17. I like cockroaches.. perhaps for their agility and survival capability..
18. I dont like teddy bears and any soft toy in general.. they are cute and soft and make me jealous..
19. One movie that freaked me out was 'The ring' and it scared the ghost out of me for one whole week.. since then I got impervious to horror movies
20. Must see places.. Grand canyon, Egypt, Japan and if possible the moon..
21. I dont like the moon, its dull and ugly look only makes it worse..
22. I hate to be distrusted much more than be disliked
23. I will have twin daughters (Trishna and Tamanna) and I will call them chinky and pinky.. :)
24. I hate sitting idle or lazying around.. I'd rather be dissecting a mosquito..
25. And I am Deepu, Mr. Deepu.. thats my full name..

slums and the sumptuous
live under the sun
rags and ritz
share the moon
and the star lit glitz;
poor and power
breathe in air
bleed out blood red;
abandoned and abundant
all so similar
yet so different...

A bird builds its nest
it takes no loan..
seize no property
on this planet
which belongs to it
as much as
any living being;
why do humans
deny and divide
that worldly right??

Perhaps life is a vicious cycle, where death is only a transition from one form of life to the other.. Death upon our planet might lead to, on a religious note, heaven or hell of the newer form of life.. On that hypothesis, our life here might also have been the heaven or hell of a previous version of our life.. Taking cue from religions and confining only to our planet, heaven or hell would be judged based on the deeds in that particular form of life.. If you are bad or at least proved to be so, you are cursed to live your life in hell and dumped in the slums.. If you have done good all your life or claimed to be so, you are gifted a silver spoon and placed in a cradle...

The cursed ones are aware that their life is far more rotten than the slimy surroundings they come to terms with, as for the blessed ones they are loved, cared and live a healthy life...
A singing talent might bring out stage performances, Indian Idols accompanied by applause out of the blessed ones and the same talent can make the other kind blinded, (with chilly powder stuffed into their eyes or the whole eye ball taken out with a spoon like taking a cherry out of the cake) and sing to a larger audience on the roads in the company of horns, swears and loathsome faces...
Blessed ones are always adept with waging wars, racing bikes and cars, building empires and treasuring their toy guns.. The wretched ones struggle to cope with fighting for food, running for their lives, finding shelter and wielding a real gun..

Heaven and Hell is on the same planet, living and surviving in the same place... Born here, they equally have the right to the resources of this planet.. but one is denied of that right and the other enjoys the privilege..

The fortunate ones are few
wretched ones many
the gap is widening
and the difference growing..
I, by sheer luck, am
one among the few...

Inspired from the movie Slumdog Millionaire

one of the most sparkling forms of conventions marked by humans in this world is time..
time, for a precise definition, is an indefinite progress of continued existence.. it has been known to exist since the very existence of nearly anything out in this universe.. this continued form of existence of the present, past and the future has been quantified in many forms like seconds, hours, days, months, years, decades, centuries so on...
time in all its forms measuring the progress of events has served us in a multitude of ways..

we have experienced time fly past by.. we have even trudged through the depth of every aching second.. we made time stop for us, stroll back into the past, jump ahead into the future.. sometimes even a fraction of the second was of utmost value and otherwise countless hours went past ignored.. and sometimes the tick-tock simply synced with the rhythmic thrums of the heart..

we had time teach us patience, we had time heal us.. time instilled fear in us, made us insecure and we also have looked for hope through time.. we called time with various names.. we had mornings and mixed feelings for that.. we all loved Sundays, waited for weekends, hated Mondays, cursed Tuesdays.. we had good times, auspicious times, new years.. new beginning to life, new resolutions every year, every week.. sometimes the same ones all the years..

we wait for time.. but time waits for none..
we had time recorded in books, histories, photos, videos, etched in our memories, planned in our organizers, carved on our palms.. but time found no prudence in taking a step back or peeping into the future...

The callous clock has only ticked second by second through mornings, nights, Sundays, weekends, Januaries, Decembers, centuries.. shaping the world personally and globally with every passing moment..