Archive | lost RSS feed for this section

You talking to me

16 May

Silence.

A choice.

Or a compulsion.

I don’t like to talk.

Or maybe I have nothing to say.

Advertisements

Issued in your interest

9 May

Copy: Fictitioustruth
Art: Fictitioustruth

Routine

26 Apr

I sit on my seat. Opposite through the half opened blinds two arms rising peeping above the prisoned closeted cubicle trying to escape the confinement, eyes peering possibly into a lit screen, two men walking by in an alley between the spaces, engrossed in a chat, discussing a moment, co-conspirators of that moment, a chair showing its back disdainfully as if hurt by some unsaid words, sulking, angry, muttering unheard words, a bag bulging contouring an early morning, hiding aromas of afternoon meal, door open like welcoming arms of a lover or a hell’s angel inviting, scaring, luring, overhead engraved in the false ceiling incandescent lights lighting up the gloom that descends on the souls, voluntary imprisonment, at a distance beyond the green grass, behind the shrubbery cars slowing down and undulate like a camels hump over a swelling on the road like life ceased by fate, empty mug with slush at the bottom in a corner with a marker for company, a silent phone awaiting to hear that someone remembers its existence, bin full of lost battles, forgotten thoughts, gloating in failure, half scribbled words, sentences in hiatus on way to destination, unevenly placed chairs evoking memories, clues of visitations, now vacant like stations after the train has left leaving the platform empty yet with smell and sounds still hanging in its stale air of recent past, a clock ticking in an unending cycle trying to match the beat of the heart, a thirsty flower begging for relief, searching for sun, unopened forgotten books decorating a bland colorless shelf, board decorated with stolen thoughts proclaiming false ownership. I sit in my office.

40 year old advertising man

25 Mar

I was watching this ad featuring Sachin Tendulkar, don’t ask me the brand, who can remember all the brands the man promotes, it has tendulkar facing a black menacing looking bowler with a hockey stick.

And as I saw the ad it was obvious that the TVCommercial has been thought by a guy between 35-45 age bracket atleast.

What gave it away?

The black fast bowler.

Obviously the guy was a cricket watcher in somewhere between 1975-1990 when westindies dominated the cricket world. And we had legends like Andy Roberts, Joel Garner, Malcolm Marshall and the works scaring the shit out of Indian batsmen.

The cricketing world of today hasn’t seen the big scary bowlers of that kind for decades now.

It was obvious that adman as he sat with his scribbling pad, said tendulkar facing a fast bowler with hockey stick and Michael Holding with the ball.

Dude I agree, those were the days, Taits and Lees and Akhtars and Bonds and Johnsons might have the pace but where is the character.

Asses in Corporateland

23 Mar

“My company does not respect performance”
“That guy got such an underserving promotion”
“Woh chaat chaat kar….”
“Let’s see how far he goes without talent and through favoritism”
“So fucking unfair”

Today morning I was driving to office with a colleague and the conversation veered towards the above mentioned sentiment. He started sharing with me his corporate sob story of how he has worked so hard and for so many years yet another guy who is so very underserving is rising up and the usual associated shit, which I am sure you can easily hear in your head. We all in our course of work life have said and heard these refrains and laments in the past.

How can people be so dumb?

What do they think corporate world is?

Some fucking NGO??

Ram Rajya??

Some idealistic society???

For some reason people tend to consider the corporate world to be a perfect society. There are two mistakes in it, one is to think it has a parallel with the society and it is a miniature of the outside world they live in, the so called society.

I don’t have much of patience on this issue and will put my views succinctly and please don’t think the argument is a censure of the capitalism in any manner. And just my views.

Three points-

1. It is not a mirror of the society. It has rules which are independent of the society justice system. Do not mistake it as a perfect world where all things that happen are just and right.

2. The world does not operate as a barter system in its relation with its customers. It’s only smoke and mirror. In a way it is closer to the crime and criminal world in construct. The things it offers it tries to extract a price as high as possible in comparison to its actual cost of manufacturing. It in a way is a con game. And the ones that bluff the best are the winners. It requires a different kind of mindset to succeed, if I can think of an appropriate world, it will illusion.

3. If illusion is the reality of the corporate world outside the same will also hold true inside. The guys who can create the best illusions inside will succeed. What goes outside must happen inside. And it is best for the organization to succeed. It needs such people only. It doesn’t need honest, hardworking, committed people; it needs con artists who know their trade the best because dear friend, that is the business.

So stop cribbing and go find the best artist in the trade and become his or her apprentice if you have desire and ambition to succeed in this parallel, alternate reality universe.

And this argument is a con trick.

I dare you to find the flaw.

I am God

15 Feb

How many ones does 1 have? Is 1 a solitary number, complete in its identity? Not needing anything, not wanting anything more?

Have you ever noticed 1 and I look so similar to each other, like identical twins, like two sides of a coin, mirror images of each other, part of different worlds yet connoting the same meaning.

Is that the ultimate challenge of life to reach a complete isolation?

But is 1 actually alone?

Let’s try to find out empirically.

I take a pen, a white sheet, a pair of scissors and then I write one big 1 on the paper running from top to bottom. After that I proceed to cut the one in two parts, eureka I now have two 1s in my hand. And if my scissors have the capacity to cut up to sub-atom level, I have within each one infinite and I can keep cutting and snipping each one till pigs would fly and even after that could keep cutting till infinite time this infinite activity.

So suddenly we find that one in reality wasn’t alone, it was just an optical illusion. If I have five paper pieces and I asked a passerby to tell me the number there, howsoever he answers there would be a 5 there, five 1s or 5 depending on the perspective.

Aha, I have made an interesting discovery.

Now I quickly write down 2 and try to find more 2s with my scissor but whichever way I try there seems to be only one 2, then I proceed to 3, then to 4, and then go on to numbers running to infinity but each number seem to have only one of it within it physically, while one seems to be have all of them within it.
Nothing new there, isn’t the principle of unit, the foundation of mathematics. Everything comes from it. Each number is just a multiple of a unit.

That’s theoretical right, but the physical nature of each number is different. In physical form, I have the power to change the character of each number except 1. With 9, I can cut the head and place in front of the stem, magically we have a 10 in front of us, or take 3, I cut it in the middle, I have two semi-circles or maybe 2c alphabets, a complete mutation into a new race, language, and so and so forth.
It’s only with 1 I face a problem, whichever way I cut I just keep on getting more ones.

Its form so unchangeable.

And nothing else makes it.

It makes itself.

No creator.

No beginning

No end.

It can make anything.

Everything is made of it.

It was within all that was.

It is within all that exists.

It will be within all that would be.

It can never be destroyed.

All powerful.

All knowing.

1 is God.

That’s grammatically wrong.

I am God.

QED.

Sock the monster

22 Dec

I’m scared. There resides in some dark unseen corner, or maybe in my drawer, though the most likely place is the washing machine a monster. And he eats socks, actually just one sock from a pair. I have now in  around fifteen single socks, with their spouses lost to the greed of a hungry monster.

Ah, I still remember the day, those divine couples, a marriage made in heaven, when I welcomed them to my drawer, they looked so much in love, clinging to each other, together for life, promise of eternal togetherness on their lips as they slept together. Next morning, I looked at the beautiful perfect couple, picked them up with tenderness and  wore them, came back in the evening and put them in for an erotic spin in the washing machine. They were looking at me with such tenderness and affection. I whispered through the glass window, see you soon. Enjoy the ride. 

But a week later when I looked for them again, to my horror there was only one of them, lost, sad, lying alone in a corner in midst of other couples, pining and wallowing for the partner. Then one by one all couples started losing their partners, it was a carnage, one of the foulest, vicious and voracious gobbling of my beautiful socks.

 I had no idea what  to do, so one day with a heavy heart I took out the widowed sock and threw it out. But to my horror when I opened the drawer next morning it was lying on top and staring at me. I was lost now, was it the part of the pair that I threw or the gobbled one, who somehow had managed to fight and brave the monster and is back now, seeking his partner. I went through the whole house looking for the other one. But alas it was not to be found. So again I repeated the act and said goodbye to the sock.

But the same thing happened next morning. Today I am an absolute nervous wreck, I tremble at the prospect of opening my drawer every morning, my hands go all sweaty and shake, I can feel my heart pounding,  pulse throbbing in my head, the suspense and terror is beyond human endurance, sheer will and a desire to solve the mystery is sustaining me. 

So someone please save me, either kill the sock demon or tame my mean sense of humor socks, which ever is the case.