Songs of the not-so innocent

Mondays following a long weekend have no hope in hell of being viewed in a positive light & today is no different. What makes it seem like more of a burden is the fact that I spent some time playing cricket over the last 3 days. In itself, that remark is not meant to suggest anything sinister. What cannot be denied is that playing any sport, never mind cricket, vigorously every 6 months or so, is asking for trouble. Predictably enough, today has been an interesting day, in that I've spent the past 10 or so hours discovering exactly how sorely my muscles can protest. Added to this, I had to wake up at the crack of dawn or some such godforsaken hour to ensure that I did not miss the bus from Pune to Bombay and arrive late at the office. Were this the only thing on my mind, I'd still have been okay today, probably coming up with new ways and expressions to convince all & sundry that I am 'working'. However, I've had a strong feeling all day that something is am

Tis' a strange situation. How so? The mountain relentlessly pursues the sky and yet... And yet? It is the ocean crashing against her feet in tempestuous despair, that loves her. The price you pay for chasing that which cannot be caught. What is their fate? She will crumble, eventually. And he? Even as he embraces what remains, his query will remain unrequited. You are terrible. I am indifferent. Song for the moment: Numb - Linkin' Park

It is 5:30 pm on a Saturday evening. The creaking bus has stopped at Bremen Square, the conductor plaintively & rather hopefully announcing the stop as Parihar Chowk. Resisting the urge to sarcastically question that, the guy steps off. He is loaded down with two bags; one filled with clothes to be washed, the other containing his laptop. Even having travelled in what passes for air-conditioned comfort, he is tired. His bedraggled clothes and tousled hair suggest as much. Thanking the heavens for sunglasses, he crosses the road and takes the Workshop road. At first, he is slightly disconcerted by both the absence of humidity & lack of need to jostle anyone. Then he gives a slight smile... residual expectations and habits. The sunglasses do not prevent him from noticing how the setting sun burnishes the kadappah on the footpath. The murmuring rustle from the trees lining the road send a relaxing shiver down his spine. The sky to the south is blue, the blue that weaves dreams of

She liked that he listened to her. She adored that he seemed to keep up effortlessly while she prattled on about everything under the sun. She appreciated that he'd consider her words for the longest time before asking his questions... always the right ones. It told her that he thought about her ideas and empathised with her emotions. That he read between the lines. She admired that he had not once offered her pity. No one else could be there on that day. On her day. She asked him to be the witness at her wedding. He stared silently like he was seeing her for the first time... "What time should I be there?" Always the right question. Song for the moment: Dreams be dreams - Jack Johnson

What arrested every eye in the room was how simple they made it look. The steps to which they spun around the dance-floor were uncomplicated. Perhaps that was the reason. Or maybe it was the joy each step seemed to evoke; the confidence of two people who knew how gracefully they moved together & did not care if the watching world noticed them. She dispaired that she was not in the arms of the one she loved. He dispaired that he was. Song for the moment: Human - The Killers

So there you are, pleasantly buzzed.The crowd mills around you & there's a feeling of mild claustrophobia in the air. You can feel cold beads of sweat meandering ever so slowly down your spine & your heart is pounding. You are not quite sure why but your eyes rake the room, searching anxiously. Then, you see her. And just like that, time stops or slows down to do a waltz in time to your heartbeats. You can't explain it but there's a funny, compressed exaltation in the pit of your stomach. All you are doing is watching her. She slides a lock of her hair behind her ear & the simplicity of the gesture thrills you. She is unaware of your eyes, that you are watching, that every particle of your being depends on living just that movement. She smiles... And you realize you are in love. Song for the moment: 9 Crimes - Damien Rice

I remember writing a paper in college on mythology and culture. Specifically, I pontificated on the theme of the hero’s quest and the allegory provided by the failed quests. 4 years on, I find myself seemingly living that allegory. And I’m not a hero by any stretch of the imagination. Not exactly the poster-boy for optimism, I nevertheless came to Bombay with a specific amount of doubloons in mind that I’d part with to rent a place. Crusty old sea-salts, bitten more than once and shy with dubious alacrity warned me that Bombay’s rent logic was a riddle even the Sphinx would not dare go near. When I, with a zealously gleaming eye, informed them of my resolve to live on my terms, and live well to boot, they quietly chuckled and gave up the ghost. I blame Bandra, really. It’s a ‘twilight zone’ sort of nice place to stay, with a perfect blend of the bourgeoisie and proletariat world. One teases you to take a taste of the good life while the other reminds you starkly that y