Nicotine, a rather strange strain of insomnia and a really bad psycho thriller kept me awake till two past midnight.

But that's not the point.

The point is that there are way too few psycho killers in India, and I see a whole lot of potential to make an industry out of it. Here's the plan in all its concise beauty - Abduct kids and torture them for a few years. After making sure that they'd become psychotic killers, ask them to sign an exclusive contract and release them on the world. Record their stories, write a best-seller, make a movie and become rich.

All in a life's delusion

world
Originally uploaded by Kapil Karekar.

Not long ago
I used to think that I'd like to think that I didn't like jazz
And then you happened

My Dronacharya
In tie-dyed indigo wraparound, you were
My private little phenomenon

Or so I'd love to believe
For then the delusion is complete
True though it is

Close on Goldilocks' heels

Curtsy to the Queen and her fancy cohorts
Curtsy to the arguments of design and teleology
Curtsy duly to corporates, conglomerates and their confounded rationale

Curtsy verily to family, kinship and society
Curtsy sometimes to all those things that make us unhappy
And curtsy eventually to the fell virtuous human mind.

P.S: Go figure!

You and I

We exist, you and I, as inexorable experience collectors, sometimes individually, often collectively; intertwined in our quest for experiences.

We're a rare breed, you and I, for we believe in gathering experiences sans judgements, sans pain, sans hatred. We wish to be like a sandstorm, indifferent to the dust we gather, yet growing strong with the same dust; atleast we wish to be, for sometimes, the storm falls in love with the grains, not willing to let go. We begin to love the grains, hate them, wish they'd be less abrasive, or more. The grains are what gives us strength, will and reason to sustain the storm. Without the storm, the grains needn't exist, and without the grains there'd be no storm. What matters - the grain or the storm?

We're funny, you and I, for in the course of our quest, we forget that the course is short, that the course didn't have a past before it started, and no future after where it stops abruptly. Millions and millions of paths had the million quests taken, strengthening each other, bitching, groveling, snarling, smiling, existing.

We're wise, you and I, for we realise that the course is ephemeral, and in a cosmic scale, is hobbesian.