Moving too fast

The cost of moving too fast is that one misses the sights. One misses real conversations, one misses the moments that make life worth living. One misses people in their lives. No side is to blame. No one foresees things coming to such a pass. When Time takes over, one has little options but to just synchronise oneself with the pace with which Time wishes to go. It works well, so well, often like clockwork.

Routines, meetings, deadlines, deliveries, end of the day parties, end of the weekend parties, end of the month parties, beginning of the month parties, hung-over Sunday mornings that often begin at 11 am — oh, the sheer pace of it! Before long, the Sunday is gone and so is the scope for some quiet reflection, some stock taking. It does not matter, the brain reasons. It’s all fine till I am moving, it says in its defence! Keep calm and carry on! To where? To what end? No answers there, Sir!


Keep calm, they say. And do what with that forced calm? Pretend that everything is okay? No answers here, either! Tough questions have a way of answering them. If it is too tough to answer, chances are there is no answer to it, it seems. And, there goes the feeble attempt at introspection down the big drain. You need no answer, workman! Just align yourself to the clock and keep moving. Keep moving and nobody gets hurt.

People we have left behind have an uncanny way of never leaving our sides, either in their presence or in their absence The only roots of our newly found existence, they are the ones who keep reminding us that there’s a home to return to, where sanity comes easy, where love is showered upon profusely. Such people speak, we listen. Distances fade out the impact of their words, but we listen, straining our ears to hold on to the last vibration of sound coming from their end. Their voices are the last hopes in our newly built lives which play out in rented homes, in cities that often remain strangers, in offices that refuse to become home.

listenWe listen. And, we weep, for sometimes the voices sound unfamiliar. Probably, because of the distortion caused by the vast distance in between. We listen. And, we smile, for sometimes the voices sound so familiar. Probably, because nothing has ever really changed. We listen. And, we live. Listening starts to assume greater importance than speaking. We listen intently for we cannot see each other any more. Blame it on the distance. We hang on to every word being spoken, for every word has meanings deeper than our shallow new lives.

We send love through cute heart smileys over platforms that they say the government is spying upon. We care a damn! We exchange pictures. We talk on the phone. We sometimes sing over it. We narrate our lives over phones. And, in doing all that, home seems not too far away. Really.

Five learnings from three years of blogging

November 26, 2014 marked three years of my venturing into the world of blogging. Looking back and reflecting on the last three years, I can say without the least bit of exaggeration that blogging has changed my life. I owe the version 2.0 of my life to blogging.Power of Words

Today, I want to take a moment to list out the five most important learnings from three years of blogging.

 1. The world always has enough room to accommodate one more blogger.

When I started out, I was unsure if my blog would be read by anyone. I didn’t know if people would like me, my voice, my writing. Three years from there, take it from me: The world always has enough room to accommodate one more blogger. In fact, the world has enough room for one more *anything*. Don’t look at the high-brow crowd. They intimidate you. They confuse you. They put fears in your mind.

Look at you own inner self and ask it “What story do I have to tell the world today?”. If you answer that question everyday or every now and then, then that is good enough. Take it one blog-post at a time.

2. Your story is important enough for the world to know.

People often tend to shy away from sharing personal stories on their blogs. Most do for reasons of privacy. But some simply refuse to believe that their story would interest the world. Trust me, your story is unique and it *deserves* to be told to the world.

Believe in your story’s power, believe that your experiences would be interesting enough for readers across the world to read and like. This single belief would take away a lot of your inhibitions. You will start to believe more in yourself.

3. It takes one person to make a difference, and you can be the one!

While you are blogging and enjoying it, don’t hesitate to start a campaign or a movement of sorts, if you feel the need to. Some experiences are so moving, that just writing about it is not enough. One needs to do more. And, one can!

4.  Page-views are not everything

Page-views excite the blogger. They are proof that his work is being read by people across the world. But, they are not everything. Don’t judge your work or potential by page-views.

5. It is okay to desert your blog once in a while

Yes, you love your blog! You love it to bits. You probably post everyday. However, if there comes a time when real life takes over and you have to let go you of the blog for a while, don’t feel too bad about it. It won’t be long before you will be back if you really love writing. Priorities change in life, and there’s no reason to feel bad about it. Its all fine till you always manage to find a reason to return to your blog.

Please share your five learnings from blogging!

Living with the Piscean anger–it’s a tough life!

Living with a short temper can be difficult, especially so when the outbursts are infrequent and very torrid. Do you know a Piscean? Are you a Piscean? If yes, then you will know what I am talking about here.

The Piscean anger is like a tornado that destroys everything that comes in its way. It does not see rhyme, reason, place, and person—nothing! It has just one objective—to quench its thirst, to get the anger out of the way by venting it. Does not matter how many hearts get broken in the way, or if one hurts oneself physically in the process.

The Piscean anger, in that sense, is like an unstoppable juggernaut that will not take a red signal for an answer until its objective is met.

It goes without saying that such a temperament makes life difficult for every Piscean. Apologising ceaselessly after the damage is done can be a task! I bet every Piscean also has this damage control mode wherein the person goes into a sudden damage control mode once he/she is done venting their anger.

That transformation is very radical and people often take offence to it.

“A minute ago you were abusing, and now you want forgiveness. Am I a tool to your whims?”—I have heard that quite a few times in my own misadventures.  

Unfortunately, there is no solution for this. The intensity and frequency can be moderated, but a Piscean is condemned to suffer from bouts of this anger problem throughout his entire life span.

I guess possessing this knowledge can be the only thing that can help—both the Piscean and his/her family—in such situations.

And please, do not take everything he says in the midst of a meltdown seriously! He/she does not mean 75% of the stuff that he/she says.

The show must go on

The master lingers on forever. His discipline, his quotes, his sense of integrity manifest in his pupil. The pupil, for his part, is distraught at the loss of his master. He craves for the guidance, for the stern handling, for the “system” that the master had so painstakingly built. But, things are too open-ended now. He is on his own.

He wanders, looking for new inspiration. But, it is indeed difficult, for these are still early days. The learning curve is steep. And there is no reassuring voice urging him to reach for quality. Then, there is the lure of the low-hung fruit, which he must avoid.

The master has left, but he has set the tone for his pupil. He has set the bar very high, and the pupil must strive to reach the mark. The learning must not stop. The master is the inspiration–the pupil must keep this in mind. 

The show must go on.

When things (finally) fall in place!


ALERT: Bad pic quality

Isn’t it a wonderful feeling when things fall in place for you, after a long, long time? Isn’t it so friggin’ relieving when you do not have to bear the cross of defeat on your shoulder anymore?

You doubt your own good fortunes, because good fortunes and you are not exactly on good terms! You do tend to think that it is only a lull before a new storm ravages your life, all over again. 

People who have failed many times have a hard time believing that they have finally succeeded. Isn’t that also a little saddening, when instead of celebrating their long-fought victory, they are vigilant, waiting for the next big heart-attack?

Yet, success is a beautiful thing, and I pray that all should get to taste its intoxicating flavor, but yet never get too drunk on it, for it is but, a transient state. More than the success, may all get to feel the sweet sweat of hard work on their brow.

When they go home after a long day’s work, may they feel immensely proud. May their chest swell with pride at the tiniest of jobs well-done. May good work become the final destination of many, instead of the adulation.
Meanwhile, I thank my Father above, and wait in anticipation for the next big heart-attack. Can’t let my guard down, can I? 


2013 in review — Better late than never

Okay! I know WordPress was late in doing my annual report, but its not my fault! So, here’s my report of 2013!!

The stats helper monkeys prepared a 2013 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 14,000 times in 2013. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 5 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

Leaving home…

I am finally going to leave home at the crack of dawn tomorrow. Agreed – it comes a few years late compared to my friends who did their first degree from other cities. Nevertheless, the day has come. I am stoked. It is a promotion and an enhanced job role that is taking me to a different city.

I am excited to tackle all the challenges that come my way. Honestly, I can’t wait.


I can’t wait to see the house that I shall turn into a home.

But, then again, I am sad, for I am leaving family and love behind. That is a void that no big city or professional success can fill. The people I love the most are not going to be with me. That is a big blow to me.

No matter how much of an “adventurous-and-ready-to-check-out-new-places” guy I seem to be, I am also someone who wilts like a rose in the evening when there’s no one to go back home to, when there’s no one to  watch silly sentimental Bollywood movies with, when there’s no  whose hands I could hold while walking.

What is home without loved ones?

Damn! Why can’t some decisions be easy, like for instance, to be happy or to feel sad?

PS: Happy new year friends!

Image courtesy:

It’s raining tonight. . .

It’s raining tonight. Cold December rain.

It isn’t raining cats and dogs, though. Just the low humming rain that keeps falling incessantly.

It has rained after quite some time today. There is this smell emanating from the soil — that characteristic smell that accompanies monsoons.

It should be winter now in Guwahati, technically. But the weather’s changed. Global warming, I presume. It is not as cold as it used to be in Decembers when I was growing up.

Yet this rain, the smells and the sounds, the light blanket, and this dark night bring back memories of familiar winter nights spent many years ago at my grandfather’s place.

It is a small town called Coochbehar – a town that has always fascinated me. My best moments while growing up were spent there.

I remember how cold it used to be back then. How I would lie under the blanket and listen to the rain in the dark of the night. How the familiar smell would entice. How the night watchman would come right up to the house and frighten me with his blood curdling whistle. How I would hear his footsteps as he walked away from the house. How the cold winter wind would creep in through crevices of the wooden house.

Those were the best winters. Now the winter fog is no longer there. Things have changed.

Both of my maternal grandparents were alive back. I don’t feel any great sense of loss for them, to be honest. But a loss has been often experienced.

A loss of environment, warmth. Certain people have a certain aura and make sure that the places they inhabit emanate the same. The place has never been the same after they left for their abode up above.

Now as I lay in bed and type on my phone, I hear the low hum of the fridge, the wall clock ticking away. Mechanical sounds. There’s no warmth. No emotion. No sense of adventure. No cold wind creeping in. It’s a concrete house.

There’s no watchman here.

Why do familiar smells and sounds bring nostalgia? Why does it feel that things were always better in the past, when they actually weren’t? What is this mystery?

The story so far

There was a time I fought with the world. I fought everyday but I could not win.

I complained. I hated all.

The world seemed like an unequal place. I revolted against authority, and followed my heart. Half-hearted efforts yielded little. With my feet in two different boats, the journey was destined to be rocky.

Was I a rebel though? I think I was. A rebel without a cause, then? No! My cause was to prove to them that there existed a different kind of life. I needed to show them there was a life that was much, much better than just safely following the herd. I spoke to them. They were unconvinced. They said I spoke too much and delivered too little. They said I was a loser.

Then, one day, everything changed! I was destined to prove them wrong. I chose a life — no, a life was thrust upon me by my circumstances. Circumstances which at first had seemed hostile to me. I complained. I fought with an imaginary God. I cried.

I asked, “Why me, of all the people in the world?”

My imaginary God smiled and whispered, “Because you are special!”

Days changed into weeks, weeks into months. The curse turned to a boon. And I realised – I was happy. For the first friggin’ time in many many years, I was happy! By jove, that was the only thing that mattered. That happiness and that satisfaction was the only thing in the entire world that mattered to me.

Today, months later, I feel like I have created my own little island of “all that is right” in the vast ocean of “all that is not”.

In this island of mine, there is no hatred, no grief, no sadness, no regrets. There’s only happiness and good old fashioned hard work. Like a karma yogi, I work. And the consequent satisfaction is the biggest reward.
The mockers and haters are very far from my island. I don’t need them anymore.

In this island, I am happy. That is the only thing that matters. This is my story so far.

Thank you for reading!

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Thank you for reading! A performer is nothing without an audience. A writer is nothing without a reader.

I had started writing under different circumstances altogether, hoping to just pursue it as a hobby, as some kind of a respite from the moronic  life of a Math Honors student.

But, circumstances have changed in the course of the last two years. For the better, too! Life has been kind, for not everyone gets a second shot at re-starting life, wiping out all previous mistakes and regrets. Not everyone has a job where one’s natural talents are put to use.

I am happy today, after a long time. The written word means a lot to me. This blog means a LOT to me._DSC0054

(I have been super busy for the last month, which explains the irregularity in posting. Also, not having an internet connection at the apartment where I am holed up for this month truly sucks! But, I will back be home pretty soon. Hope to start writing regularly again. Before I sign off, once again, thanks for the reading)