Tweety, a two year junior hostel mate, asked me yesterday whether I would be willing to accompany him for a debate to be held in a cultural festival of the Institute of Chemical Technology, Mumbai. Tweety said that his 3 member team had made it into the finals and since one of the members had made a-priori plans of going home, they would be one man short in the final team. It felt nice to accept the offer and relish a feeling that I had still evaded superannuation, that people two years younger were ready to make me a part of their agenda. The third member of the team was Tushar, another junior and mostly regarded as a very competent debater.

Weary

I have lost the desire to blog and some possible reasons for the same are as follows:

1. I am and was not a regular updater and hence have no emotional attachments with 'my diary'.

2. Not many people visit my blog anyway and there can be only so much of narcissistic gratification one gets after writing something.

3. Most of the regular bloggers I know either lead more interesting and bohemian lives than I do or whose lives are so mediocre that their blogs spit philosophical pretense which inturn helps them derive some narcissistic and pseudo-intellectual gratification. I feel I have neither as much improved to wear the coat of the former nor so much deteriorated to wear the shoes of the latter.

4. I find reading a book, cacking, playing scrabble or watching a movie more fulfilling in necessarily the same order.

We live our life trying to rid ourselves of the burden to propagate it.

Inevitablility is not an excuse for mediocrity. Inevitability is mediocrity.

Lust is the means; love is the end. My existence floats on the hope that there is an irrational end to my rational notions of life and truth.

Genius

They come down, each one rationed a single pint of intelligence. The street-smart scoops his share equally in all his inclinations. The other fails at the same for he is biased towards a single love. He weeps woefully while the world calls him genius.

Friends

A feast for friends in my car,
An intention to travel far,
We took our turns on the steer,
Mixed our joy, shared our fear.

Just when it started to look real sleek,
'A' said he wanted to pull over, take a leak,
I stepped out to check the vehicle's rear,
I saw 'A' steal away and disappear.

'C' cried, "What happened to A and his spine?"
We debated this question over a jar of wine,
'B' announces, "Charlatans we will be no more!"
Before he sells himself to a swinging whore.

'C', with his acumen, could join the links,
said he knew this friendship was a jinx,
said only passionate fools dream the sky,
As he gulped his wine and spat goodbye.

I sat a while, finishing my glass,
The kind alcohol flashed my past,
I pondered upon the auguries of my life,
probably destined for the butcher's knife.

Resuming my journey minus my crew,
I felt an urge to go through and through,
I pocketed myself an another mile,
As 'B' came back with his apocryphal smile.

Sheepishly sorry to not resisted her lip,
He lamented to have broken our fellowship,
Then promising never to leave my side,
He convinced me to resume 'our' ride.

We resolved to drive by a constant decree ,
While keeping an eye out for 'A' and 'C'.

Unknown

Here, on the level sand,
Between the sea and land,
What shall I build or write
Against the fall of night?

Tell me of runes to grave
That hold the bursting wave,
Or bastions to design,
For longer date than mine.

-Unknown Poet (Extracted from an unreferenced quotation)