Even a tea master knows what he’s doing

Yeah, even a tea master, who makes 100s of teas and less coffees knows what he’s doing.

I’m more than a little intoxicated. There’s no editor or proof reader to suggest me otherwise.

I’ve wasted a good time on being someone who I’m not. Since childhood I’ve had my eyes on words. And, till now my fascination with them hasn’t dwindled.

I could be better or worse. But, I’m a writer. I obsess with words. And, fuck the grammar and language and all the BS in between. I’m known for getting my point across. Through these little words of text.

My love for life. Words. Poetry. And beauty hasn’t diminished The love of my life has admired it. More so in the following. That’s saying enough.

I might be sucky at it, depending on your ridiculous and misplaced standards. But I am a wordsmith, minus the editor and the consciousness you have the luxury of.

I’ve wasted time enough. To learn what I am not good at. Be it editing, the visuals. Or, the designs and artistry am obsessed with right now.

I’m a good observer. Teeny details don’t go unnoticed.

But, I remain a foolsy writer. With words that I can muster. Vocab that’s shrinkern towards a puddle.

These words remain a testament. For I’m true voyager. Sailing across the tides of life.

Expecting something more out of a fish. Who’s the fool now?

I do what I do. Because I’m what I am. Not a blogwalker. Not a ranter. But a fellow writer.

Maybe I’m alone. Maybe I’m foolish with my comings. But, I am in the midst of a cluster of things. Trying to fish out clarity.

A purpose.

A life.

That’s beneficial.

To You. Me. And beyond.

Sayononare mediocrity.

I’m known.

For words.

And.

I shall remain.

Beyond criticisms.

And.

Doubt.

A witer.

Waiting to be read.

In the middle of a rock & hard

Kicking a habit is easy, all you need is motivation. But, with the detox comes a cocktail of emotions. With this post, I’m going to share with you readers, where I am at.

The love that every often seems a grasp away, is yet a grasp away. And, with some weird luck, I’m passing off as a non-anxiety ridden person. No thanks to drugs and all hail ‘el musica’. For its been quite some time, that I’ve quit the ‘anxiety pills’. If I’m right, it did more harm than good.

But, one look at the mirror, I’m happy. Tired truly from the work, ready to hit the hay. A lesson learned, from the loss of a gig. A high profile gig, turned sour. Thanks to many, especially that one girl who is all cute and smiley – but when it comes to work she is a tortoise, in a rat race.

How did I mess up?

To be frank, I fucked up the opportunity. Wasn’t prepared to handle the workload. And, all thanks to her no one to guide or coach me through. Damn you gal!!!

It’s just making me Hulky!

I made wrong choices, one of which was self-delusion and medication. Upping the dosage reversed the reaction. Anxiety returned like a monster, in the pretence of a self-confident  – walking tall bloke.

If it were no more regrets

They say, regrets don’t matter. But, let me break it open when I’m sober. Rushing up, without proper gear and army – doomed to die be it Cap America or Bruce the Lee. And, who was I?

One strong one weak?

Speaking in the local language, and occupied in the rat race – I have become distant with English. No time to read, the half finished Paulo Coelho still staring me silly! I take a look at my words, are they mine? Is this my style? Has it been corrupted from other formats. In the name of SEO, traction and other BS?

Nothing more to complain, there I’ve written more than 300 words, that’s ought to satisfy the bots. Damn scrawlers spoiling my ramblings. Nazis ruining my thought flow with rules.

The masks of an invisible meglomaniac

Crashing on the moon he cried ‘NO!!!!’

“I ain’t no play toy, launch me back!”

Removing the mask, he wasn’t an ape. A human after all. Tears didn’t roll. Rather a thick stench of rage. Poisoning the air surrounding.

“Can’t joy last a feeble more?”

He was marked unfit. Unearthed from the cusp of motley he play fought up on.

Adversity a commoner, a friend – a shadow.

Shouldn’t love be somewhere in the vicinity?

Clouds of hatred. Miscommunique and judgment blinded him.

The mighty warrior is a kid. Natures ploy was to test him.

Be a wrought iron, or wither like a dandelion. Breaking the fatey words and fighting mediocrity, he liked to destroy rules. All the clues left behind, were mere & mystic – hard to decode.

To dethrone his illusion, curs murred incessantly. Turning a blind eye or ear isn’t a tall. But, the call was on; “are you up” or “down like a cowardly lion?”

Where did the ego raise up?

With whom are the rage and fights to be resolved?

Abled zombies bent by desire?

Chilled hunters with pretty talks and slyed eyes and slight of hands!

The mystic robot hands wouldn’t batter. Falter in any manner to rest. Not a second of nonsensical thought could be taught to the infected inhumane & apey monstrous megalomaniac.

Losing the baggage, wearing opinions, cast away. An ostrich tale was the life of the tool. Buried with analogy, and not a thing original he was to be down in dumps. Maddening things wrangling in the corners of the mind. Horns glaring creature tapped on his shoulder, “be with me”.

Would he settle for the dark eyed bidder?

Or Fall all back?

Into oblivion?

Pride blinding!

“Chide away you damn Chester, picked the right moment to die you buster!”

Befriending a stranger

meet

Reading a couple of Dale Carnegie does you wonders. I tried implementing them, it has really opened up my doors to getting acquainted with people. Real conversations and meaningful adventures are just a whack away.

All you need is a push to greatness…

I like to meet people. From different walks of life. I want to know the backstory of every interesting person I know. Digging in with questions, a few feel uneasy. Mastering the art of conversing is a way deep conversation for this post. But, I muster on.

“That’s the ideal meeting…once upon a time, only once, unexpectedly, then never again.”
― Helen Oyeyemi

The digital and tech interfaces do more masking than revealing. Who really is the person that hides away inside the thousands of likes on Instagram?

I know a girl, who is quite famous in the online media. But, deep inside she is a wee kid seeking attention; broken, depressed and self-diagnosed bipolar patient. Poor gal, all I could was get her Vodka.

Meeting up a stranger with just a conversation about bikes (RE) we got acquainted. Smoked (up) and started to have a real, meaningful conversation. Talking about travel, movies and the books. It’s been ages since someone mentioned their discovery of Harry Potter. And, to trust someone. Riding out on a hinge. That needs true gut.

Roaming around the lonesome roads. Discussing a bit about the untapped history of Tamil. It was a peaceful and wonderful little adventure. I recommend one to you, meet new people. Expand your horizons and discover a beautiful you!

Like attracts like…

If you believe into that, it does you wonders. Shedding the little egos, trying to be a better person in theory is easy.  Once out of the shell, you learn to care a little less about your fragility. The mushy ‘id’ that you think matters fade away into nothing.

When after a fight, colleagues discuss inviting me to a coffee break. “He’ll probably tell no”. No, No is the least favorite word of mine. I want someone to ride with in the middle of the road. Out for coffee, fags or chips? I’m in let’s go!

Sometimes I wonder, how come this day is pure bliss?

Venting out and channeling at the right moments. I have stopped pissing off people for no reason. People have been kind to me, why shouldn’t I be?

In this sense, I have come to meet the new me. Thus, a stranger in me has awoken. This day could be marked as a real & eventful day. So, this post wouldn’t just be a slightly censored page from my diary.

It was really cool meeting you too!

I had a wonderful day, and if you are here – you must be a wonderful person to read thus far. And, the most interesting thing the stranger I acquainted today told – he reads a lot. When a writer and a reader meets, then the decisions and topics of conversations are endless.

Shout out if you want to meet, if not a quirk like me. Someone wittier could be standing right next to you 🙂

Growing up to love

‘Swingers’ is a movie I enjoy every often. It’s almost an equivalent to ‘Chasing Amy’.

The movie beautifully treads on – what seems to be a huge chunk of my adult life.

To be obsessed over this lost, once perfect (in a dream maybe) relationship. That is pristine in its perfection, etched like ‘David’.

I tried to implement the love lessons from this movie. Take a look at the wonderful dialogue that is exchanged between John Favreau and Ron Livingston (‘Office Space’).

Sometimes it still hurts. You know how it is, man. It’s like, you wake up every day and it hurts a little bit less, and then you wake up one day and it doesn’t hurt at all. And the funny thing is, is that, this is kinda wierd, but it’s like, it’s like you almost miss that pain.

I’m way over the missing the pain phase. Sometimes it’s like, I used to care so much. And, I might switch back to ‘where is she’ & ‘what’s she doing’ phase like Kabali Khan. But, not anymore.

If we’re having an okayish life being far away. Without much interaction and missing of any kind; is there any point in looking back?

Maybe this is me growing up like Mike (John). Only there were very few Trent-s (Vince Vaughn) and Rob-s in my life. To give me a perfect man-o-man talk.

If you’re in doubt. Hungover a girl?

There are other beauties to be hungover with. Absolut Vodka and Jack Old No.7 are a few to name. go check out the movie. Will be sharing a few more favourites of mine. Cheerios muchachoos 🙂

 

Hoarder’s can’t be leaders

If I’ve learnt anything, with lo many years in media, it’s this – those who hoard, can’t lead.

People grab their material belongings tight. Somehow their ego is fulfilled by the little toys and things. Which has more sentimental value than an intrinsic purpose for day to day life.

1. Hoarding is a mechanism for coping loneliness

If you hold a bunch of coins, it’s called a coin collection. But, if you hold onto your well to run bikes. When you can use only one, you’re a damn hoarder.

2. Fragile egos get hurt easily

While we tend to rely on these little things, we are conditioned to be happy in Thier presence alone.

If any mishap happens, a daily routine is spoiled; instead of adapting to the surprises we tend to turn buurish. Blaming external circumstances to mask our inability to tackle events spontaneously.

3. Materialistic attachment detaches oneself from people

If you’re so attached to your tape collections, or books, chances are the same bond can’t be attained with humans. It is easier to fall in love with books, movie and music. But also human beings, the physical and emotional connect can’t be replaced by thousands of AI.

4. It’s hard to move on

If you’re stuck in a place, tending to your huge collection of ‘things’, you won’t find the need to travel much. Getting in a rut with the same old routine has lots of dangers. From depression, social anxiety to the early onset of Alzheimers.

5. Trust is a big issue

We tend to judge people, if not deeply, superficially by their sense of fashion. We have our own damn standards so in order to keep our ego satisfied we tend to look up or down strangers.

Hoarding ideas also come in this scenario. In a fantasy land, all our ideas are gold. And, they better stay the same. If exposed to the public ear, they will be criticised. Or worse, original ideas are rare, people will steal away yours.

Don’t kid yourself, throw away any idea that hasn’t seen the light of day in 6 months. This is the only way to come up with new ideas.

Elon Musk’s crazy ideas like Hyperloop and Colonization of Mars are open to public viewing.

And, these hoarders are quick to judge. They are an insecure lot. As they treasure their material more, any potential stranger can take away their precious toys. And, the whole world might collapse. Forget all that’s said in Gita, materialistic things provide a comforting calm in the late superficial society.

If you find someone with these symptoms, please guide them right. I can identify these traits, as I once (denial!) was a hoarder of books, pens and everything nice. It is a hard thing to grow up from.

May you leave your hoarding days behind.

Riding onto somewhere, a dream journal

This time around the sleep had a dream. And, there was a strange yet wonderfully beautiful girl. Perhaps I met her before in real life. 

We were shy. And the dream has brought us together. 

While I wantonly pissed her off. Like every guy trying to impress a girl. She was quick to respond with anger. But, unlike women in real life. Cooled off fast. 

Want a coffe?

“No, you’re going to buy me pizza and Redbull!” (Weird combination? I agree.)

She demanded. 

Taking her up. In my bike. Her angel like presence wasn’t so  overwhelming. But, the road was ridiculously rural. Narrow. And dangerous to ride around. 

Yet. We moved fast. In the direction of the non-existant coffeeshop. 

And then…

“La la la, la la la la….anything that you want….”

The Beatles ringtone woke me up. 

நினைவலைகள்

உனை தேடிய கால்கள் இளைப்பாற…

கண்கள் ஓடின!

நினைவே போதுமென வாழ,

வாழ்வேததற்கு?

அன்பை துளைத்த மூடனுக்கு,

கர்வமேதற்கு?

என்றும் உனைத்தேடி,

நானும்,

காதலும்,

கவியும்,

வலியும்!

உனை தேடி…

அறைநிர்வான ஓவியமோ?

நம் மனது…

முழுமையை தவிர்த்து,

எளிமையை மறைத்து,

புரிதலைநோக்கி,

களையோ!

கவியோ!

கடவுளோ!

நடைபழகிய காலம்போய்,

புகைப்பழகிய மூடனாய்…

உனைத்தேடி நித்தமும்!!

முத்தங்கள், என்

ஆராம்விரளுக்கு.

How many dreamless sleeps have you had?

“A hard day’s night. And, I’ve been sleeping like a log. – The Beatles”

So goes the song. If my memory serves me right. It’d be close to a handful. That. I’ve actually slept like a log.

Heavy work weeks give me nightmares. Deadlines this. Submissions that. Whoa give me some room for my life!

The weekend parties can wait. I’ve decided to take one off. Wanted to finish Coelo’s Brida in a day. It’s a good read. But, man oh man. Was I tired?

All the drama and politics at work. I regretted my decision to help out a kiddy colleague. Who am I to interfere in her romantic life? But, couldn’t be a bystander at a street row. Women beaters must be jailed. Tortured. And then, sentenced to death.

Any who. The sleep was necessary. Sometimes the body takes what it wants. Then, we realise the importance. Feeling rejuvenated. Ready to face the oncoming work week.

But, wait. The clothes needs to be washed. Pressed and. The match. Can’t miss the Ind vs Pak. Maybe in a decent pub. Crowdy atmosphere. Collective intelligence gathered on a single purpose. Wanting to see our nation win. Yeah. Am on for it.

Balancing work – life isn’t an art. No BS. We just need to set our priorities right. If we’re buried with work. For a fixed pay. Hoping for recognition. Appreciation. No shit. It’s all work and no play.

Hemingway put it eloquently:

It’s just juvenile to expect people to work as per the pay. Many organisations do this mistake. Asking someone to work based on the amount they’ve agreed to pay.

Instead, be forthright. Quote how much you can afford. For the work, the potential employee is ready to pull out. Keeping clear deliverables helps reducing unwanted conflicts.

All I want from an organisation is to say the lines. “Work as you wish. Give me 3-4 articles a day. And, sod off to your personal shit!”

Reminds you of a scene from ‘Parthiban Kanavu’? Only if young starter uppers, applied these gypsy like ideals.