Balloonman

Do you ever feel that you're empty. I mean there's nothing inside you, no bone, no blood, no anything. It is as if like you're a balloon, someone pinches you, and Phuuss! You're gone.
I know this sounds like the normal emo-crap ranting vomitted out by every other teenager, but I don't feel like them. I don't have any of the stupid pain-in-the-ass they feel, I'm not standing with my backs against the wall, and I don't threaten myself by shouting out quitely the same old word - 'suicide'. No, I don't have any such stupid problems, and the truth is, I don't have time for them.
I just feel like a balloon, all empty. For those who are confused, let me clear it, I'm not the helium-balloon type, who fly; I'm the normal air balloon, balloons with which kids play, which are used for decorations, and which, if left behind the door, burst out just as someone comes into the house.
I just feel like a balloon, and that's the story. Period.

The accounts of a lonely oxymoron

Sunshine. A silver shining sea. A tropical island with two palm trees. I own this place. This is my island. A place devoid of human presence, this is my home. Life is great here. No one to disturb me, no one whom i can disturb. It's so serene that I feel myself thinking out, loud. It's so serene that even the sea does not disturb me. The sea, lies still. As for me, I also lie still, like a centipede. I let the sunshine shower on me, it's full of vitamin D after all. I lie, still, like a drowsy molasse pie. It's so peacefull. I lie the whole day, chewing the crystal clear grass, I don't feel hungry, I just feel sleepy. When evening creeps in, I get up, and enter my burrow. Time for dinner, sinner, simmer, whatever. After dinner, I brush my eyes. Health and hygiene is important afterall. I get into my bed, and I wait for sleep to crash in. But she doesn't. Instead I start to hear rumbles in the subaquatic labyrinthes. The toys from the attic start to come out, scary toys. I feel scared. I come out of my burrow. I see a light far away into the sea. It shines brightly. A girl lives there, a very beautiful girl. She is alone, too. I decide to go to her island. Yes, that's what I'll do first thing next morning. I never do though. I stare at the light, I sit down and stare at the light. I know anytime the toys may come out of my brains and kill me. So I just stare at the light, I do nothing else, I just stare. Slowly the night fades away, and the light fades away. I again feel drowsy, I lie down like a molasse pie. Another night passes.

             This way it has continued for years, but I just can't bear it anymore. I know the toys are getting impatient, I am getting impatient. Anyday now, they will kill me, anyday now, I will not kill myself anymore. So the time has come. Today I chopped down the palm trees, and I made a raft. Tonight, I am leaving, leaving this home forever. Tonight I'll be heading for that island with the bright light. Tonight i'll try to reach out to her, to her world, to my world. Tonight, I will reach out to myself. Tonight, I refuse to die.

Tele-Bivision

Bright colours, cause me pain. They hit me right between the eyes like love bullets. My eyes start to water. I can't keep on looking at them anymore. The need to turn around and face myself away from the colours become very evident. But instead of turning around, I just pull my throne a bit closer to the fountain of bright colours. I stare at them. A poison, the poison starts to lull my brain. The colours stack themselves inside my brain like empty boxes of mayonise pizza, which smell of cheesy delinquency. Overload. The alarm screams out. But I pay no heed to it. I sit, I stare. I see waves. colouful waves. non-colourful waves. I see grainy, sandy, dirty ants climbing up my cheek and entering my eyes, the shortest way to my brain. I see waving hands, waving legs, waving faces, waving waves. The waves seem to arrive from no where and end nowhere. Waves. Static waves. Gasoline rainbowed hands start to dance before me. They dance seductively.  They try to hypnotise me. Suddenly the barricade unclogs. And the flow of unimportant data crosses my limit of insanity. Enough. I grab the remote, and switch off the television.

umm... my television has gone bonkers and this is my reaction to the nuisance he is causing. Damn You!.

Ironically Galvanised Lungs

My Iron Lung

Faith you're driving me away

you do it everyday

you don't mean it but it hurts like hell

my brain says I'm receiving pain

a lack of oxygen from my life support

my iron lung

We're too young to fall asleep

too cynical to speak

we are losing it can't you tell?

we scratch our eternal itch

A twentieth century bitch

and we are grateful for our iron lung

the headshrinkers

they want everything

my uncle Bill

my Belisha beacon

the headshrinkers

they want everything

my uncle Bill

my Belisha beacon

suck, suck your teenage thumb

toilet-trained and dumb

when the power runs out we'll just hum

this this is our new song

just like the last one

a total waste of time

my iron lung

the headshrinkers

they want everything

my uncle Bill

my Belisha beacon

the headshrinkers

they want everything

my uncle Bill

my Belisha beacon

and if you're frightened

you can be frightened

you can be it's okay

and if you're frightened

you can be frightened

you can be it's okay

the headshrinkers

they want everything

my uncle Bill

my Belisha beacon

the headshrinkers

they want everything

my uncle Bill

my Belisha beacon

 
 
I suddenly had an urge to write something, but as nothing exploded in my brain, so I decided to post my most recent Favourite song.

A page from the diary of a homesick alien

I love to be alone. I also love to walk alone. Walk where? I don't know. I don't care. Probably I walk on the roof of my home. And probably I walk on the shadowless road. And probably I walk on the milky moon beam. I don't care. I just walk. I also run sometimes, but only when I'm scared.
I see alien ships hovering over me. Ships with starry eyes, and rainbow moustaches, and clown noses. They come for me. They want me to go with them. I know everyone of them. They are me, I am them. They ask me to come back home. I want to. But I don't.
Why?
I don't know. I miss home. I want to go back. But I don't. I can, but I don't. They keep coming back. They ask me to come back. But they never try to understand me. This is my home now. This roof, this road, this milky moon beam is my road, is my way out. I want to go back home. But I also want to be free. So I don't, I don't go back. Probably I'm addicted to walking. In my home, I didn't know how to walk.
This is my home. Home is where I can walk, where I can run, where I can breathe, where I can think, where I can feel, where I can gaze up at the sky, and lie down on the grass, and die while walking, or running.
They will come back. And they will request me to come back. Go back. But I won't. I never will.

Rainmachine

I stand below the rainmachine. My rainmachine. I turn it on.
Big, whole pellets of water hit me like soft-nosed bullets.

I stand.

I stand.

I start feeling my nose, my eyes, my temples, my face becoming numb.
I can't feel my face anymore. But I feel water caressing my face.

I imagine.
I imagine myself flying. Flying over a strange city. I fly naked. I feel naked.

I see everyone doing their chores, no one gazes up towards me. Everyone looks at their shoes. Shiny shoes, dirty shoes, ragged shoes, shoes with strings attached, with no strings attached. Everyone stares at their shoes.

I fly. I see myself carrying a guitar. I'm playing the guitar while flying. I know it's weird. But I do.

Now I'm flying over an ocean, a blue ocean, a red ocean, a yellow ocean, a rainbow ocean.

Slowly I start to lose altitude.

I drop, drop like a bombarded pigeon.

And I crash into the sea.

I open my eyes.

I close the rainmachine.

I dry up myself.

I feel the last drop of numbness fly away from the tip of my nose.

And I feel happy.

Rolling like a stone: A review of 'Like A Rolling Stone'

How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone.

This is cynical Dylan probably at his best. He shouts out in spoken verse to question his generation. And the strange part is even though it is meant for Dylan's generation, even I can answer this long-but-simple question.

The answer is, it feels scary, it feels scary to be on your own, with no direction for home, like a complete unknown. The identity crisis which the post-war generations of Europe and America had to face, is being felt by us today. It is understandable that if today a new Dylan was born in this pora kopaler desh then probably he would have also written a song of this stature.

'Like a Rolling Stone' is a simple song chronicling the life of a certain Miss Lonely who went to fine schools, who dined with high society friends, who dressed herself in fine loins. But now she has to face the hard, cold, bitter world which awaits with knife and fork in hand to dine on her, after she has been robbed by her lovers and officials of every penny. Till this day she had been fooling life and in subtler terms, herself with the help of all the extravagance, she had been hiding her weakness from the world, but now that she is penniless she has to earn her right to live in the tough way. 'Like a Rolling Stone' deals with the issues of loss of innocence, the tough journey of life, and not knowing who you are.

But somewhere Dylan also highlights and glorifies the life of a nobody, with nothing, when he says-

When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose

You're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal.

And this way he changes the whole course of the song from the tale of utter failure to the accounts of hope and faith on the human habit of struggle.

But it is the last four lines of the song, the chorus which helps to elevate the song from accounts of a stupid generation to the concerns of a bunch of stupid nobody generations.

How does it feel to be like a rolling stone?
It feels sad.

Blurring into obscurity

Today I woke up in the morning. And I found my world hazy. I went upto maa-baba's room to inquire about the whole matter, only to find two faceless figures standing. I quickly came out of the room, out of my house. I was feeling scared. I went upto to the roof, my only recluse. On my way i was greeted by faceless, hideous monsters. I ran upto the roof. I thought the air would do me good. But I found no air, instead i saw a large, grey roof above me. It was obstructing the air, the blue sky, the white clouds, everything from my visibility. I panicked. This should not happen, it's not the time yet.

And then I remembered, i was without my glasses, as they had been sent for repairs.

Gosh, and I thought the world had started to blur out into anonymity.

Crackrepair

I had a pair of glasses. One of the glasses had a crack vertically running through the middle of the glass. This crack helped me to see the world from two different sides, one left, one right. I saw 1 fighting against 100, from both sides, and i walked past them. I saw a volcano polluting the sea, from both sides, and i walked past them. I saw a stranger killing another stranger, from both sides, and I walked past them. I saw little kids jumping from clifftops, from both the sides, and I walked past them. I saw a man spitting blood on another man, and I walked past them.I saw a veiled woman serving poison to a man, from both sides, and I walked past them. I walked over deserts, over oceans, over cities, to reach my home. But when I reached there, I saw they had already burned it down.

My glass helped me to see everything from two sides.

But, it didn't tell me what to do.

So I threw it away.

Nostalgia: A Fever / Fever: A Nostalgia

I take a mug full of water. I dip my head... err... i mean my nose in it. And I breathe in. I inhale the water. And bang.

My head starts hurting, terribly. I feel my nose becoming numb and blocked up. My eyes get blurred.

And memories start gushing out of my secret vault.

I remember the time when I was six-years old, and it was midnight, and i had a fever. I used to wake up maa-baba, declaring that if i can't sleep, no one can.

I remember maa waking me up in afternoon, and washing my head with cold water and checking my temperature.

I remember the lemony sunlight of a winter morning bathing my feet and the smell of phenyl hitting me right between the eyes.

I remember maa repeating the phrase "Serves you right!" over and over again to prove that her decisions regarding me roaming around the house barechested was right.

I remember frequenting the neighbourhood dumpster to play with ash-smitten puppies.

I remember throwing up in front of maa, and then apologising for it.

I remember  a windy evening, me savouring both my first can of coke and my first freaky ghost story.

I remember listening to Metallica on a hot afternoon and then feeling sick.

I remember waking up from a feverish nap to find someone rustling my hair, not being able to recognise her, till i understand it's Khuku Di.

I remember waking up in the middle of the night with a fever, and putting on Floyd on my mp3, only to realise after half an hour that it's just getting worse.

I remember feeling feverish.

I feel feverish.

And somehow, I love it.

The Forbidden Blackhole

[The inspiration for this piece is 'Is there anybody out there?' from Pink Floyd's Wall album]

Knock knock.

Who's there?

A friend.

What? Friend? Mane?

Entry denied.

Knock knock.

Who's there?

An enemy.

Enemy. And you still think i'll let you in? Well, you are wrong!

Entry denied.

Knock knock.

Who's there?

A bird.

Birds should not be allowed to enter cages.

Entry denied.

Knock knock.

Who's there?

A fish.

Fishes should not be allowed to live out of water.

Entry denied.

Knock knock.

Who's there?

A stranger.

I don't know you. I'm scared.

Entry denied.

Knock knock.

Who's there?

An alien.

You are too boring.

Entry denied.

Knock knock.

Who's there?

Silence.

Entry allowed.

*ENTER/END*