Books....

I Love books. A little fussy about it because I love fiction. The masala and the mindblowingly impossible things like....O well! like the CIA planning an assassination of some one to prevent another assassination, the adventures of a guy who manages to lose his memory yet retain his skills and O my! what skills they are! shooting jumping, sky diving etc etc....
For a bibliophile like me, I miss books. I miss the variety and spice that books bring in my life.
In a city like Mumbai that's teeming with life, movies rule. But books, alas! these are so scarce!
I miss buying books from the street. I miss buying and selling books. If a book is trash I can read it once, and resell it, too!
An amazing concept. Its a moving library. Buy, sell, resell....buy another one...Hmmm, sounds like my heaven. I can keep the books for as long as I want. I can also sell them if I am tired of them or if i deem them completely unreadable.
Mumbai, for a city that proclaims to cater to everybody's likes and dislikes, unfortunately, puts the bibliophile aside :(
There is one street in Fort which has the book bazaar on the street but it is so faar away from the suburbs! Also, it is a little on the expensive side. Reading, as a habit, is quite an expensive hobby in this city.
I wish I could get some books with more varied authors...different titles, a place near by that will allow me to exchange books, read them, savour them and talk to other people who love books. I miss talking to people who know where to get books, the libraries the places to go read in peace....
In a city where space is premium, this kind of luxury is not only unheard of, but unthought of!
I actually miss London where the bibliophile is pampered with choices. The number of different authors, the variety of literature, its something I miss about that city. It has a classic collection of books that keep getting churned out every year and surprise a reader and help you get out of your comfort zone in reading genres. On the other hand, it also helps you to read more in the genres that you are comfortable in. Works both ways!
For, the number of bookshops are more. So the variety of books are also more.
So does that mean that Mumbai has less nuber of readers? And is it that most of them reside only in the town side? Aah well, my bad that lesser mortals like me reside in the far away suburbs :'(

Run for it!

When everything looks dark
Then simply light a candle.
When you see theres no way
Just turn right back around
When everything you say is misunderstood,
Just stay silent
When the noise becomes too much,
Tune out.
When the noise in your head becomes too much,
Simply zone out of yourself.
Look outside of your head,
find your feet,
and simply....
make a run for the nearest ice cream store!

Anathema

And then the fumes of anger pass by me, like some gas of rotten gas. It wafts by and stifles me. Clogging my arteries, veins and circulation. It clogs up my entire system and creates such a stink!
There is no clean air to breathe.
I suffocate.
I die.
And its all anger.
Its all that rotten egg air that fouls up everything inside of me,
misdirecting myself from me.
Creating another entity that is so not me.
Its that stink inside of me,
that walks beside mostly,
but sometimes i am besides myself and it is inside of me,
wafting around and making me what i am not.

Patience

Now, This is a virtue that I have always taken for granted. I always had quite a lot of it. I know I have quite a bit of it because unfortunately or fortunately, it has been tested quite a number of times. I simply wonder at how much more I can take.
Now a days, my patience just wears thin. Or maybe I am seeing more clearly. I dont know which one is true. I wonder when I am going to lose it all and simply upchuck everything and go away. I wish I could!
But I guess lady Luck has walked away from me long back. She simply forgot my existence maybe....?

Sometimes I hum out of tune.
Sometimes, I tunefully sing a song o' sixpence.
I chirp like a beautiful nightingale
and my words are punctuated
with laughter and gurgles...
sometimes, they are dipped in sorrow
and convey that I am down in the pits of hell,
My hummings, my dear friends,
you have all heard
you have all appreciated.
Even the few words I get in response,
I feel pleased.
I coo in pleasure.
You guys have all kept my words pouring.
I appreciate!
 

A loneliness steals into me. I make all the noise I can to cover the silence inside of me. That core is as secret as Tutankhamen's tomb used to be, before John Carter decided to rip it.
Mine - it is still a secret...
Like the tin man, I feel not that my heart is alive.
It's songs are unheard. Its wonders unfelt.

There seems to be no chink in the armour around it, that i can widen and get into.
But suddenly, I feel someone sitting in there, calling out to me.
Who is it?
Who found the way in there without my knowledge or permission?
Who dares?
But....
I still can't find the chink in the armour around my heart?
How did that person find a way inside my heart when I knew not the way myself?
Maybe one day, I shall find the answer to that...
Till then, I shall guard this secret and maybe find the voice of my heart,
the one that has fallen silent for so long....

truth

The truth of the matter is....? Now really, what is truth. How can you beleive truth is just what one person says and not what the pther person says? Its jsut that truth is truth, is it?
What one person perceives as the truth may not be what another person perceives it to be. When one person sees a movie, the things he notices about it is different than what another person who sees it notices. What you may see when you see a brawl is not what i saw. Yes, both of us saw them tearing at each other's hair and calling the other person names. But who started it?
Who knows? Do we care?
Nopes. Not my business. :-)
Aye, That's what they say.
What is truth, then?
Is it what we see?
What happened?
What we perceive?
What we hear?