Is death the end of everything, or the beginning of a new journey, one away from the path trodden by the gullible yo yo's, into spaces that show up neither under the morning sun nor the midnight stars? I don't know. In fact, when I retreat into my occasional reveries, I realize I don't know a lot of things. But it's okay, I guess. With you gone, I'm surprised something's okay.
I miss the girl who journeyed mud roads on a scooter ridden by the greatest grandfather in the entire universe.
I miss the girl who hogged innumerbale ice creams with every second buck this grandpa guy made.
I miss the girl who snapped one of her first photographs since birth, with him.
I miss the girl who wouldn't save a moment's peace for this guy until he got her the big balloon packet and bubbles she pestered him for.
It's an incredibly short time I spent with you. Sixteen years. God was clearly not in a mood to let the good times stay. It's so easy to be with someone you love, not realizing those moments will not last. That's exactly what I was, carefree and naive, completely shut from the reality that would soon dawn upon me. But that is how it works, isn't it? Time to wake up, do your thing, jest and stay jolly, blow a fuse, curse the fates, and get back home. Somehow, it seems different when someone isn't back in his place the next day. I cannot believe the tears four years after you left.
The green scooter
The goddamned accident
The sickening ICU
The twisted tubes and the swollen head. A man resting peacefully, ignorant of the anguished spectator, deep in slumber.
The darkest picture I ever set my eyes upon.
Death
Numbness.
Mohan Naidu, rest in peace. I hope heaven's treating you right. I miss you, terribly so.

Look at yourself, your shiny veneer

Rubbing off a guise that isn't yours

Your true lies and false smiles

Reaping harvests yet to rot and rust

Blanked out words that shall pass

Through the murky sluice, the burp of the underdog

Your wretched parallels, the colours of a race

Yet to surface from the darkness within

PaSt, BaCk aNd GoNE....

They say there's a world beyond what we perceive, and what we understand. It's dark, and is concealed by a veil of mystery that doesn't allow silly, stupid and selfish humans into it's profound recesses. Well, obviously I don't know what's in it, because of those cobwebs of egotistical thoughts that have combobulated themselves into this puzzling conundrum I call life. Three years down the lane, I can recall a million moments I'd want to relive. Each minute ticks on, leaving behind vestiges of the past; the good, the bad and the ugly. I find myself delving into the ocean of memories my existence reminds me of, the people I met and left behind. But they don't exist anymore, and I wonder why. Time, people and places lilt incoungruously over the patina of my life woven around a myriad of relationships, acquaintances, rendezvous and conversations that have come, gone and faded away. Some of those memories are bright, fresh and vivid, like they happened yesterday. I can recall some others in snatches, the mangled remains of all the happenings. While some others have been distorted out of shape, completely wrecked out of my memory. What's left of everything is a handful of memoirs I'd always preserve carefully within those deep alcoves of my mind, the ones that remind me of what I was, and what I have become post the unforgettable experiences I owe the people I have known. Yeah, that's my visa to the past. There's a point at which I find the confluence of past and the present culminating into a wild, bizzare and outrageously colourful canvas of my life. Nothing lasts forever, that's a cliche. The guy who said that must've been joking. Memories do.

Will it ever be the same, I ask myself
Oh yes, the things are done
They have come and gone
Leaving behind darkness and despair
There's no escape, while the shadows are here
You don't say no to them, they seldom listen
Engulfed in bleakness and mindless torment
And blinded in rage and fury that will burn fr eternity
Will everything be all right, I ask myself
Let the rains wash my tears away
Into puddles of sorrows that were once mine
Though they can scarce extinguish the fires within
The burning rage that flares and fumes
Rekindling the wounds carved out in excruciating torment
When the clouds hush in darkness
And the winds bear mournful premonitions
They look down upon the lonely traveler
Bearin the brunt of a trouble too many
Steps measured in pain and etched in anguish
Tracing tearful alleys on green Earth
Cloaked in the stains of pain and agony
Banished into a world of nightmares and distress
Will it ever end, I ask myself..

HoPes fOr a NeW bEgInNiG...

As my bus arrived at the Porur signal this morning, just like yesterday and the day before and the year before, I noticed the things that summed up a veritable Porur- markets, meat stalls, dust, drainage, flower stalls, garbage, fruit stalls, sewage, yesterday, the day before and the year before. Things never change. I can't imagine how people live there. There was an old lady selling the few flowers she had in a basket with a cloth over it. It seemed like ages since she had had a decent meal. Thin, shrivelled and wizened, her subsistence would barely suffice, I surmised. But here I was, sitting comfy in shade, worrying over the tan I'd gotten at college. I felt so insignificant and worthless. I could never bring a minute's comfort to that lady, who by all means has the rights to live in a healthy environment. What's the difference for, I wondered to myself. I hope the scent of those flowers captivates all the women crossing the signal. There was this middle aged man arranging mangoes on his cart. It was right next to the dirty and marshy areas, the ones that would consume anybody by disguist. But he has no choice, does he? That's where he earns his bread to take home to his wife and children. I'd never have lived it down if dad had raised me on that income. I hope people find his mangoes tasty. And there was this other guy sweeping the inside of a seedy building, the type that nobody would want to set foot in. But I noticed it was a narrow entrance to a larger place that probably housed many shops. I'm sure he wasn't relishing the activity, cleaning a place with the Madras sun scorching at its perennial high. I hope the dust particles just find their way to their places without his intervention. The bus took a swerve to the right, and there again I saw kids waiting at the bus stop. It was the peak hour and public transport would have to carry enormous population to different places. The kids would have to fight their way for a seat or worse, travel all the way standing. That would sap their energy, right in the morning. How were they going to concentrate on classes? They'd be tired. I'm skeptical about the kind of food they eat, if it can give them the stamina they need. I hope there are more buses for them. I never had to depend on public transport even for a day of my entire school life. And here I was, reclining comfortably in a bus that would drop me off at the place I wanted to go. I could never give them one day's comfotable journey. I felt meek. I hope they have a super metabolic rate that would never leave them tired and listless. I hope change comes, for all these people and a million others like them, for the better. I hope God answers my blog.

BoMbAy bOmBeD

I spent most of my time over the last two days glued to the television set, watchin the chaos left behind by the militant attacks in Mumbai. As I write this, I can vividly recall the horrific details sketched out by the TV channels and newspapers. Tears welled down my eyes as the accounts of deaths of brothers and sisters of my country and across the world , the innocent civilians and the special forces, were brought into light. I felt somthin heavy deep down, a loss as if somthin my own had been forcibly taken, as the newsreaders expounded on the acts of bravery put up by India's heroes, the NSG commandos, and in the process lost their lives. A bright, young and promisin major was one among them. There was this other man, supposedly a legend in his own right, the chief of the Anti Terrorism Squad. It was saddenin to see the wreck of a place left behind by the terrorists, the human element only addin to the anguish and despair. I was thinkin of the amount of pressure they would've gone through minutes before their deaths. I mean, its like you know you're gonna die now n it's a point of no return...Is this the end of everythin ?? Did I live my life to be gunned down by mindless maniacs into the bottomless pit called death ?? Did I treat evryone fair n just ?? Did I enjoy my last meal ?? When was the last time I said "I love you, mom n dad" ?? Will I get a chance to say goodbye to the ppl I love ?? Did I say thanx to God fr givin me all tat I wanted ?? Can I tell my folks back at home, "Don't worry...Everythin will be ok"?? When was the last time I enjoyed the simple pleasures of my life ?? Would they have thought about this as their their final moments on Earth ticked away ?? Or would it have been like bang...poof !!! One second n its the end !!! I saw their pictures on TV n I thought they exuded determination n guts...It sort of depressed me. I was struck by a pang of grief n sadness. They had so much to hope for n live n go on...The end need nt have been so cruel. My prayers fr them n their families. I know that I cannot do anythin to bring them back or give their loved ones a moment of reief or happiness. The pains will never ease...the tears can never caese...nt fr now...farewell...

Wil it ever be the same, I ask myself
Oh yes, the things are done
They hav com n gone
Leavin behind darkness n despair
There's no escape, while the shadows r here
U don't say no to them, they seldom listen
Engulfed in bleakness n mindless torment
N blinded in rage n fury that will burn fr eternity
Will everythin b all right, I ask myself
Let the rains wash my tears away
Into puddles of sorrows that were once mine
Though they can scarce extinguish the fires within
The burnin rage that flares n fumes
Rekindlin the wounds carved out in excruciatin torment
When the clouds hush in darkness
N the winds bear mournful premonitions
They look down upon the lonely traveler
Bearin the brunt of a trouble too many
Steps measured in pain n etched in anguish
Tracin tearful alleys on green Earth
Cloaked in the stains of pain n agony
Banished into a world of nightmares n distress
Will it ever end, I ask myself..