Ramblings in the Interior...

Frustration is cruel to the subject's mind
Cruelty is inbuilt into mankind
Mankind's favourite pastime is chatter
Chatter is what monkeys do, it don't really matter...

Matter is used in physical science
Science is used to clearly demarcate philosophical lines
Lines are drawn on maps to separate countries
Countries are threatened by global warming, save trees...

Trees are useless unless its Spring
Spring up to the top with a zing
Xing is a variant of the Hyundai Santro
Santoro is also the name of a Tennis Pro...

Pro or positive feelings are not things with whom I associate
Associates are the ones who you call when you're late
Lately though, they never reported it to the boss, something i hated
And now I am frustrated...

Moral of the story: When you're mindfucked, life is circular...

A Quarterly Report, The Usual Musings, and A Tribute to The Wonder Years...

And so I'm back after a long, long hiatus, come back from the dead to tell you all... I shall tell you all...
Not that you'll be interested, but if you are in the habit of reading other people's blogs, read on...

* * * * * *

Anyway, so here I am, two days short of 3 months into my first job... And its been so far, so good... I'm doing what I love most, SPORTS, and may the revelry continue... Albeit in a different medium... Nothing against mobile phones, nothing at all, but I would much rather be in front of a camera, covering sports for television... But if wishes were horses etc etc...
So the quarterly report would be rather profitable... Coz I feel it is broadening my horizons as far as progress ahead and upwards is concerned... Enough about the workplace...

* * * * * *

And so, it has been six months... Diwali is now a distant, bitter memory, and Holi is around the corner... But in here (pointing at the fuckin brain), nothing much has changed... Its weird, its funny, but I cant really find a reason for this constant fixation... I mean FINE, I loved her, SOMETIMES she loved me too, for cryin' out loud as the Americans would say... But shouldn't there be an inbuilt mechanism somewhere within the grey matter that can flush out these unwanted memories???

A couple of days ago, I had a weird dream... Dunno what Freud would've interpreted it as, but it was freaky... I saw her, and I saw her offspring, say 10 years hence... And for no rhyme or reason, there was a reunion - a flashback to those moments which still linger in the vicinity of this bloody brain... That too, just as I thought I was actually beginning to turn my thoughts towards someone else...

Bottom line - I still miss you Meiya... U r, and perhaps will remain the only one... The only one in front of whom there were no masks - the only one who ever knew Shreyas Sharma, not Big Daddy...

Or, in the words of the legendary Pablo Neruda...

Tonight I can write the saddest lines. Write, for example,'The night is shattered and the blue stars shiver in the distance.' The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. Through nights like this one I held her in my arms I kissed her again and again under the endless sky. She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too. How could one not have loved her great still eyes. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her. To hear the immense night, still more immense without her. And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture. What does it matter that my love could not keep her. The night is shattered and she is not with me. This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance. My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. My sight searches for her as though to go to her. My heart looks for her, and she is not with me. The same night whitening the same trees. We, of that time, are no longer the same. I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her. My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing. Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before. Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes. I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long. Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her.

* * * * * *

But then again, all is not dark and thorny... Nothing ever is, actually... Nothing lasts forever... Even my relentless pessimism... No, really... Although I've had a bit of outside help, over the past 3 months of my Mobile ESPN sojourn... After the fiasco(s) @ IIMC, its been great to find Rocket/Raju/GK2Junkie, Khyali, Wrik and Shreeja... What with Raju's aversion to tickling, the stupid/smart Khyalisms, which often lead to paroxysms of laughter, Wrik's smart-ass observations (Chelsea fan, after all!) and Shreeja's gang-leader act, LIFE'S GOOD, FOLKS!

Thanks for all the booze and the good times, guys... I can just appreciate it by humming something from my fave TV Show of all time, The Wonder Years...

What would you do if I sang out of tune,
Would you stand up and walk out on me?
Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song
And I'll try not to sing out of key.

Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends
Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends
Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends

What do I do when my love is away
(Does it worry you to be alone?)
How do I feel by the end of the day,
(Are you sad because you're on your own?)

No, I get by with a little help from my friends
Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends
Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends...