I wish

I wish I could be cheerful every moment, smile, giggle and reciprocate others. I wish I could ask my father his health while making a home-call. I wish I could say "happy birthday" to my boss. I wish I could say "fuck off" at every blunder committed by the elements surrounding me. I wish I could get lust to revive myself. I wish I could submit resignation at slightest urge and create a benchmark. I wish I could go on switching jobs and shifting cities like we change our shocks. I wish I could cause a caeserian of the PSU culture. I wish I could bed with some bombshell to create another masterpiece. I wish I could stop masturbating once and for all. I wish I could commit suicide. I wish I could go on a horse-ride, play with sands, walk the mountain and have an open-sky sex. I wish I could become a fashion photographer, a bohemian professor and an elite sadhu. I wish I could redefine "cynicism" and prove how it propels to be positive in life. I wish I could purchase a firm house, create a beautiful lawn and picturise V S Naipaul in me. I wish I could receive memento from others. I wish I could do all non-sense and turn the collective verdict in my favour. I wish I could die young. I wish my "would-be" could tolerate me. I wish she could understand the semiotics of (my) silence. I wish I could keep her as the most cherished trophie in the world. I wish I could have been matured little earlier. I wish I could be what I am not, in taste, in nature, in career, in physical and meta-physical. I wish I could create a movement. I wish I could be a flier. I wish I could post in my Blog everyday. I wish all my posts remain virgin to prove themselves one day. I wish I could feel writing. I wish I could be more humorous. I wish I could have the power to decode the language I wanted to when I was in school. I wish I could have born in place of Abhishek Bachhan. (For God's sake, I could be a better actor and a better Man.) I wish I could "ctr+z" my life. I wish I could have fallen in love. I wish I didn't delete my collections. I wish my home could trigger a sense of belongingness in me. I wish I would not be a hypocrite. I wish I would not be a selective lier. I wish I could have a gun. I wish I could hobnob with some B-grade actresses. I wish I could give a damn to any "what others will think". I wish I could be an even better student, more logical in approach, having more mental strength, a better son, a better writer, a good speaker, a better performer, a dreamer and a better human being, with lot of virtues and vices. I wish I could not even detered by any moral advice. I wish I could have a better body and mind. I wish I could play golf at my backyard, romance in the pool and back in front of the shutterbugs. I wish I could be the best bra-designer in the world. And the editor of some celebrity porn magazine, with equal ease. I wish I could be the India's prominent nude painter. I wish I could sing. I wish I could befriend Shreya Goshal. I wish I could police the moral police. I wish I could bomb and dispose off the entire political rot. I wish I could build a road to my village and motivate the communities. I wish I could retreat into some unknown zone. And I wish I didn't wish anymore...

On Being Confused

For me, when you feel it, internalise your feeling and then express it in words true to your wisdom, you become a philosopher. Believe me, I don't know the 'P' of Philosophy. But I do believe that I am a philosopher, considering the fact that I do observe, feel, analyse, internalise and finally come out with observations. To be precise, one who feels can be a philosopher. How big or small, not an issue.

Thanks I still have the book, Sophie's World, on my shelf that I hizacked from my erstwhile roomie in Powai days. Still unread. I used to be little greedy for books. On leaving university, I had left my books and diaries far behind. I can purchase those brand new books. But at times I do miss those diaries of my college and varsity days. I wish they were still with me.

An old pal reminded me of the moment when I also disregarded his suggestion to keep those rare manuscripts with me. I can't blame anybody, nor myself. The fellow understands. Most of us have gone through a very similar phase. You love to throw your diaries, withdraw from your emotions, forget your classmates, and be a recluse. All for the sake of justifying your sweet-little existence in this universe. The preamble of that Existence written by somebody and defined by yet another somebody.

Today, suddenly I feel sad for my love poems, my emotional journey, the oriya translation of Eliot's Wasteland and beautiful lines of Strindberg and Prouste. I was a romantic lover, always in love with the idea called Romanticism. May be that's why I never felt the desire to be in a
relationship to write. But we all imagine. We all are rapists in our imagination. We all hook to some kind of alternative to get some quick-fix and proclaim to be achievers.

When I first watched porn, it was so refreshing that I realised what a big blunder I did by not watching porn all those days. When I first made my 1 minute documentary, it was so suggestive that I had to be cautioned by my TV Production madam to avoid such "confusing" themes.
But I had a teacher who used to say, the best teacher is he who confuses others. That teacher, who happens to be a Tamilian, used to throw some questions at random in class before making you realise that the class was over. I used to enjoy him very much. You need not read books to answer his papers, just grasp the definition and then keep confusing, a la Thiru style!! (Hats off to Mr Thirumal of my HCU days for teaching all of us the art of confusing the elites.)

Every good philosopher, I believe, must be great at confusing others. I also love to be confused. And I am. But I hate philosophy as a subject and students of that subject. Because, for me, you need not study philosophy to understand the thinkers and their ideas.

As an individual, I love success in its purest physical form. I love to love the love of the love. I love to have all the fun. After a break, I love to quickly address the responsibilities to my near and dear ones and then retreat into the Beautiful World of Confusion. All alone, but no loneliness.

At this juncture, a few lines I read in Class VI History book comes to my mind. I realise that I always admire the philosophy of Buddha. There is no confusion here. The truth in simplest language. You may not reach the final destination, but you can be a happy soul and be in driver's seat throughout your life.

I have ingrained one good thing and that is I don't expect much from a relationship. We should learn the Art of Not Expecting. Of course, the philosophy that we have internalised through today's Mc-culture does mock at this idea. But, I believe, someone who have understood the thinkers of this side of the universe, will not be so crazy buying self-help books of some Canadian or Brazilian author.

When I analyse something deeply, everything looks like a circle. The end is One. That's why we should learn from our mistakes and not get confused again.

Outburst of the Faithful

It is Shivaratri and I don't feel like going to temple. As a schoolkid, I remember, I used to fight with my mom for keeping me hungry till I offer "pushpanjali" on Saraswati and Ganesh puja. Earlier, it was the "rebel" in me. Today, it is rather an impulse not to portray other than what I am. I don't know why I increasingly believe that we should be true to ourselves in every sphere our lives. I don't like the public display of our religious allegiance like we all love to hate the public display of somebody's affection. For me, each of us share a special relationship with the Heavenly Power and that's why I would love to pray alone. I love doing that from my bed like I love to weep alone. I still remember the eassay by Leo Tolstoy when I was in Class VIII.

The otherday, somebody was seeking some financial assistance for some religious programme. I found a right occasion to speak my mind. To his thinking of replacing the corrupted elements through this religious programme, I offered the teaser written in front of my school gate, "Work is Worship", and then what I have learned from years of my education : "Love your fellow-being". Then I invited him for a passionate discussion at my office next day and the man was missing.

xxxx

I also agree with the fact that there are two ways of education; one is education for job and the other is education for life. We all forget the latter and adopt the earlier. Our upbringing has a lot to blame. And we reach a stage when we act to seek devine solace from self-help books written by every Tom, Dick and Harry.

And I HATE FASHION. Not blindly.