I had a weird dream last night. I know most won’t make any attempt to suppress their yawns, but this one can rightfully claim its position in one of the most bizarre ones I have ever had. I am not going to describe it here, mostly because, unlike other times, I do not remember the details. It involved some beautiful understanding of death and relations, of attachments and destiny. I saw myself and few others in a state that was not physical, something beyond life I guess; some sort of an afterlife. It was the same world, the people were all same, but few of those people could enter my room even if the door was locked. There were visible changes in the way I interacted with everything and everyone. A dream 2 years ago had told me that the universe held many secrets, and showed how they are intimated to people after death. The one last night seemed to be a super hit sequel to that!

Earlier this year I had made a list of things to attempt during my college life. The list seems too frivolous sometimes. Of course, the often invisible barrier between frivolity and sensibility should be allowed to surface of its own accord. But that list tries to plan for excitement, which may not be correct. Hence I am thinking of scrapping it. Just thinking, I am not sure I will actually do that. May be there’s more to life.

“What magic you used to find ‘B’ without solving the problem?”

Chennai is drenched! It’s raining since more than 24 hours and most of the hostel quadrangles are filled with water, forcibly turned muddy by the enthusiastic freshies and few others playing rugby. We were there once, doing the exact same thing. That was a time when we knew considerably less about everything. We managed to enjoy effortlessly. It was all possible few years ago, not ages ago. Sometimes I wonder how much has changed over these few years.

Ah, let me come to the present. Rains seem to have decided to rob me of the basic necessities of life. Going to the mess is difficult, finding dry clothes is all the more difficult. As if roti and kapda were not enough, now I don’t even have makaan. I just discovered water dripping from the roof of my room!

When you venture out of the hostel, you can easily make out how affluent different gumbals are by counting the number of heads under each umbrella. There are few gumbals who proudly walk with one umbrella per head. There are few less privileged ones who manage with one umbrella for three fellows. Surprisingly, you can see many guys carrying pink umbrellas! There are different shades of it: baby pink, meterosexual pink, maroon-pink and so on.

Hula was here for two days. He left few hours ago. This was his first visit to India after landing up in Singapore for his job. We celebrated his birthday yesterday, two days before his actual birthday. People come and go, most of them mature enough to lead a life alone, away from close friends. Sometimes I think being geographically close is not at all good.  When we separate, we explain to each other why we are sad. But when we meet, we forget all that and laugh. I guess guys will always be like that.

I had a weird dream last night. I saw myself smoking! It’s been 4 months since I decided not to smoke and have stuck to it. Last night when I dreamt about smoking, I was quite saddened that it all came down. But thankfully it was a dream. On another note, I do miss it sometimes.

Serious things lie ahead in life. But even all that will pass. May be I will work hard and do good. May be I won’t work and end up not doing good. Whatever it will be, I am sure of one thing: that I will get used to it, thanks to different philosophies that life is made up of.

Four years ago, in my first year in college, I had written a poem when it was raining. It has lost much feelings after so many years, still I would write the concluding stanza here:

Sitting in the corridor bustling yet quite,
The downpour thickening and then going light,
The hostel now draped in a rainy gown,
Things were different in the small town.

It feels bad when you wake up at 2am and realize that you had been sleeping since 6 in the evening. Now there’s no more sleep to be found. Worse, you would have missed dinner and there’s no food around. Fortunately, it’s a Friday-Saturday midnight, which means there won’t be any internet cut at night. In short, I am back to blogging and the first thing that comes to me is a poem that I read long time back, in school: Viplav Gaan, by Balkrishna Sharma Naveen.

कवि कुछ ऐसी तान सुनाओ जिससे उथल पुथल मच जाए!
एक हिलोर इधर से आये, एक हिलोर उधर से आये,
प्राणों के लाले पड़ जाएँ, त्राहि त्राहि स्वर नभ में छाए,
नाश और सत्यानाशों का धुँआधार जग में छा जाए,
बरसे आग जलद जल जाएँ, भस्मसात भूधर हो जाएँ,
पाप पुण्य सद्सदभावों की धूल उड़ उठे दाएं-बायें,
नभ का वक्षस्थल फट जाए, तारे टूक टूक हो जाएँ,
कवि कुछ ऐसी तान सुनाओ जिससे उथल पुथल मच जाए.

माता की छाती का अमृतमय पय काल-कूट हो जाए,
आखों का पानी सूखे, वे शोणित की घूंटे हो जाएँ,
एक ओर कायरता काँपे, गतानुगति विगलित हो जाए,
अंधे मूढ़ विचारों की वह अचल शिला विचलित हो जाए,
और दूसरी ओर कंपा देने वाला गर्जन उठ धाये,
अंतरिक्ष में एक उसी नाशक तर्जन की ध्वनि मंडराए,
कवि कुछ ऐसी तान सुनाओ जिससे उथल पुथल मच जाए.

नियम और उपनियमों के ये बंधन टूक टूक हो जाएँ,
विश्वम्भर की पोषक वीणा के सब तार मूक हो जाएँ,
शांति दंड टूटे, उस महारुद्ध का सिंहासन थर्राए,
उसकी श्वासोच्छ्वास वाहिका विश्व प्रांगन में घेहराए,
नाश! नाश! हाँ, महानाश की प्रलयंकारी आँख खुल जाए,
कवि कुछ ऐसी तान सुनाओ जिससे उथल पुथल मच जाए.

Rigourous Anal Pleasure Experienced.

PS: I had an exam today.

My stint with graphic design for IIT Madras activities, or for that matter any formal activity, is long over. It’s now limited to occasional work for friends and personal creative pursuits. Over the last few days, I designed these two posters:

First announcement for Breakthrough, a Business Plan Competition organized by C-TIDES, the entrepreneurship cell of IIT Madras.

Moli had called me to shoot him with the new hostel furniture. He was trying to edit the picture, I had this idea of a new brand. So the poster.

When I left my room for lunch last Saturday I had plans to come back and work on my resume and the long pending dual degree project (DDP). Okay, the worst case could have been me delaying both the stuff. But there was no way I could have imagined that I would return on Sunday evening, my white t-shirt having turned into some colour that no optimist could classify as white and my jeans moist and sandy. I had a little adventure.

So the lunch. The regular, at Himalaya. It was a hot day. Still I thought to accompany Doodh who was going out of institute for a courier. We had a bike. We left IIT and after an hour decided to go to Bachcha’s place. His flat is on OMR and that makes a good ride. Half an hour later, we were at his door. Moli was already there.

Someone once said, always carry liquor when meeting old friends. We meet every weekend, still we think the idea of liquor is good. So we had beer. And we decided that Raju Srivastav’s shaadi wala piece is a classic. After all that, we went to Ghalib’s place, who lives nearby. We were treated with Smirnoff and food.

Later that night, as four of us (me, Doodh, Moli, Bachcha) were sitting in Dominos we realized we didn’t have the key to Bachcha’s flat. The other occupants had locked it and gone for a movie. Two of us were in shorts without wallet, there was one driving license among us and about 100 in cash. We had two bikes. It was 11pm. We thought of a ride till Mahabalipuram.

The first agenda was to get petrol as both the bikes had limited fuel. We found a pump but it had run out of petrol. We went upto Mahabalipuram but there was no second pump in sight. And that’s when we realized that we didn’t have sufficient petrol to return to Chennai.

We figured that it was best to return to the first and only pump that we had found, and pain the guys there for some petrol that they may be hiding somewhere, or in the worst case, ask directions for the next pump. There was no hidden petrol and the next pump was nowhere close. We were 40 km from Chennai. That night, for the first time, we slept on newspapers on dusty and dirty ground of the petrol pump. Two pairs of slippers with a cardboard sheet on top of them formed a makeshift pillow for one of us. A bag that we were carrying formed the second pillow, shared by two. And the last one used a helmet.

The lights were directly overhead and every 15 minute some vehicle would come blaring its horns or the music player. We couldn’t sleep much. We were awake at 3:30am. Now what?

Further talks with the pump guy told us that this particular pump won’t receive petrol for the next two days.

We asked a couple of bikers for the nearest pump, though we were not sure if we could reach there. Finally someone said there is a pump which has petrol. It was about 15 km away. We decided to try our luck.

We left our place of stay at 4:45am, in the hope of getting fuel and catching sunrise on the beach. The road after Mahabalipuram, parallel to the one that goes to Pondycherri was awesome at dawn. As we rode on we saw it getting brighter gradually. There were fields on either side of the road and the sky sported a colour that any photographer would die for. We didn’t have a camera and the battery in the camera phone was long dead. Finally we got fuel (paid 30 bucks in coins), but it was too cloudy for a nice sunrise.

The next destination was Shore Temple. We had tea and hit the beach there. After a very salty swim, it was time to return to Chennai. The weather didn’t show any signs to lessen its grandeur. And then it started to rain! Nothing beats the combination of bikes on East Coast Road, awesome morning weather, rains, brightly lit patch in the ocean that stays with you beside the road and pink coloured buses passing by every now and then.

We returned to Bachcha’s flat at 9am, too exhausted and hungry. A bath and a Maggi later, everyone knew it was time to sleep, and to return to IIT only when we woke up, whenever that would be.

The original courier that Doodh had to send still lay in his bag.

I didn’t need any bottle as a resort. Friendship did the trick. An old friend had a vast collection of erasers which wiped away everything. Few hours and 400 lines later, I have a new inspiration. And a great one.

The monk has changed hands. It’s the same old bottle, now with me. The problem is,  the single gulp of liquid that’s there is not at all tempting – I too prefer beer.

After a dinner and an hour long walk, all alone, I am all the more confused about solitude/loneliness. The questions that we have about any/every thing rarely change. But our answers, or the nature of absence of them, do change over time. There are times when I feel that life will certainly provide answers, there are times when I feel it’s better to remain clueless.

Crap. Probably few 650 ml bottles tomorrow will erase all that text above.