In Bhutan.

14/7/12

Lying on my bed in a hotel room.
Just finished watching Stranger Than Fiction with my parents.
Earphones plugged in, with nothing but fuzz playing through to my brain.
No internet.
Great view.
Compromise.
Hmph.

Slightly strung out on strong Bhutanese coffee.
Have to get up early tomorrow.
It's almost a daily thing now-one city today, another tomorrow,
Package tours, I tell you.

Still, its one beautiful country.
And the food is surprising, quite unique and above all, delicious.

The country's roads are nearly all the same.
Thin tarmac snakes winding across the evergreen mountains and valleys that define Bhutan.
Rough-patched and uneven, from the frequent landslides from the near-constant showers.

Monasteries and forts and temples alike proclaim a very well-set culture with traditions going back to the 7th century.
Let me tell you, these guys take their Buddhism pretty darn seriously.
-Smoking is illegal(gives you bad karma).
-Slaughter of animals is illegal.(so all the meat comes from India)
-Its so bad, that flies hover freely in even the best restaurants and resorts as fly-zappers are illegal(see above).
-The booze flows pretty freely, and every second establishment has a sign that ends in "CUM BAR"(sure,pun intended, but its true).

The women are pretty and the sex ratio favours them.
So the eyes are happy, but the heart isn't.
Their attire is mostly limited by law, to some pretty funky looking clothes(most young folk excuse themselves from this rule-except official business).
The mens' informal dresses bear a strong resemblance to Scottish kilts, and the womens' to two piece kimonos, one half silk and one half patterned cotton(kinda hot, gotta say).


The cars are cheap(relatively) as there is no import duty, so jealousy is quite inevitable and must therefore be excused.

Weed grows as a wild plant in most parts of the country, so looking out the window while traveling was a wee bit more fun.
Well, it wasn't the season for it to be flowering(especially in the wild) so there was none to be had(meh).


Seven hour drive tomorrow, back to Paro, from where we fly back to Kolkata and then back home to Bangalore.
Should be there by Tuesday evening, in time to pick up the Thar(Need it to drive to work the next morning).
Oh, Im doing my industrial training at this factory some 20km from home, on the highway to Chennai.
Learning to MIG and TIG weld at a plant that produces doors for Volvo buses.
By the end of the month, someone will have purchased a bus which has had a door welded by yours truly(hopefully).
A certain sense of achievement looms ahead in the future, but its at the cost of 2 burnt fingers, a badly sunburnt arm and aching eyes(the damage done till date).


Feels nice to write after so long.
Will post this as soon as I get net access(probably in Paro).

Ciao.

Fuck Me Over

There's no absolute love when she walks by.
There's no absolute pain when someone dies.
There's no real truth in being swept off your feet.
There's no real tears in hellos and goodbyes.
There's no true fear as you fall from the sky.
There's no true hate lurking deep in disguise.

There's simply nought, 
Our thoughts betray our eyes.

For everything is swallowed, and lost,
In this matrix of thought, of layers
And layers and layers and layers.

All, save a trickle, that drips

Into a confused puddle.
So clouded and weak.


So come fuck me over, life.
For I am not afraid.
For I don't really care. 

For I am numb.
I know I'll be alright.
 

Sunday Bloody Sunday

Back when i was about 8 or 9, I remember going to Planet M(wa-aay back when people actually used to buy music) with my bro and folks and picking up a couple of cassettes. I remember playing Age of Empires all day long with the aforementioned cassettes playing on a deck next to the computer. Such sweet, joyous times. The monotonous recorded clash of swords clashing, the horses neighing and the roar of cheat-code-generated sports cars that shot streams of rocks from their headlights ,alongside the likes of Linkin Park, Creed and U2.


Those are some of my favourite childhood memories.


Now I've "grown up" and become an "adult".
No more simple games with simple cheat-codes.
NO more Linkin Park(too electronic), no more Creed(too christian).
I have "taste" now.
U2 still remains, though. 
They are classic, not contemporary.
Today, I can hardly play any games.
Can find a lot of time for it and more so, my laptop overheats every time I play a game. 
These graphics-heavy games of today, I tell you.
Not that I don't love them.

It's just that I didnt need to know of a word called compromise back then.

Now listening: With Or Without You-U2
Now doing: randomly awake,reading blogs
What I should be doing: sleeping
What I really need to be doing: studying(finals in a week)
What I really could do with: AC and a coffee maker(with clean mugs)

Arizona Bay(A Change of Seasons)

They dance around a flaming pyramid of wood to the relentless pounding of drums, whooping in delight as the flames bite at the bitter, retreating cold. The cold that surrounds them, the cold that they run from, swear at in unison, the cold that they try in vain to defy for as long as possible.


I watch from my window, even stealing a laugh at their antics, as they seemingly throw inhibition to the wind, pirouetting around, closer than ever before, to their fellow man, and to their mother earth. 


But they have their rituals, as do I. 


As the sparks float up past my window, I hand myself a blade. 
I acknowledge its power, gleaming in all its cold, steely glory, firmly gripping it with willful hands.


The drums stop.


I face myself in the mirror, silently looking at the past of the future.
I see much, but the time to reminisce, as the silence reveals, has sadly run out.
I make the first cut, and feel nothing.
Yet the face in the mirror flinches.
I continue, hacking away at what once was, as the face in the mirror turns silent, too stoic to show its pain.
The blade runs through like a knife through butter, the heat from the fire propels, smoldering through, surging forth, to expose, to bring to light, the inner skin.
The mirror is in metamorphosis, chrysalis now in sight.


The drums, faster now, head toward a climax as their hands feed the flames.
Crackling, giddy in their self-consumption, glowing ever brighter as the night flinches, prancing back in disgust.


My hands drop to my sides, shaking from their labours.
I see now, through eyelids welded shut.
I see now. 
All around me, it lies.
Nameless, formless, waiting to be flushed away.


The blade drops from my tired, shaking hands.
It shatters as it hits the ground, instantly turning to a hundred thousand atomies that shine forth, swallowing up all that lies on the floor and disseminates in an instant, leaving nought but ash.


The fires have died out.
The phoenix has risen, and flown away.
The ash, the only witness.


In their minds, the seasons change, as they usher in Baisakh with their song, dance and flame.
Is it only me then, who wonders, if anything has changed?
What means this ritual, of rebirth, of coming full circle?


I ask not for them, but for me.

I ask not of resurrection, let the phoenix have his way.
I ask of reinvention, of my very own Arizona Bay.




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ciao