Amit Goes Blogging

We not only buck undesirable influences but also override the most coveted influences of personalities.  I have always been careful to avoid making promises, even to myself, lest the natural course of events be interfered with or resisted. The state of holding to a promise is very much like grappling with the vow of celibacy alongside mounting frustration. Promises made in storm are, indeed, forgotten in calm. The purpose that drove us when life seemed meaningless changes altogether when we find meaning in our lives and vice-versa. A little feeling that stirs the heart to bind itself to promises for life soon gives way to some other feeling and we feel betrayed by our previous circumstance. We mark out our lives based on what goes flitting past us. One fine day, all the spirit of the good old days sublimates into thin air. With the spirit gone; the energy gone, we wake up, as it were, from a dream, and find ourselves completely wavered from our conviction.  We move from...

A dimly-lit lounge, bartenders pouring shot after shot into my dangling glass, plush sofas, and gristly bottoms heaving over the leather and hairy hands rubbing against me is what I call loneliness. After years of anticipation and effort what I ran into was always a bunch of males, a sorrow I have cried out my heart at umpteen times but to no avail.  It was loneliness when I had the love and care of my parents who did everything possible to make me see their love, no matter, how contrary my experience was to the truth. And, now when it's my turn to express my love and care, they are unable to come to terms with it. Crashed expectations raise the dust of loneliness before my eyes once I retire home from work!  I have been lavished with great love by the near and dear ones; some of them epitomized selfless love as is only heard of these days. But they are very far now and also old. My love made many unsaid promises to them. Those promises are still with me in their unfulfilled s...

It happened too soon! I never thought my enthusiasm, like a moth, was jesting with fire. My aspirations of being a writer were throttled by macabre stories that have left my heart aching. Only a callous heart could make merry at such painful experiences and treat them as material for some sensational writing. On hearing them, I felt I was punished for venturing into life with a writer's ambition. But, life was much more cruel to her who related her agony to me, a split fraction of which has taken away the chimerical peace of my heart. I would have happily suffered hundred whips on my back and would have been still be hopeful of the good times. But, not anymore. Why God did not appear on the scene and save her from that butcher! She was pricked, tortured and dragged through the mud. All this because she loved that inhuman wretch. The wretch used her, abused her, cajoled her and again abused her. And, love made light of it all and would have happily offered itself again for the worst...

That god forbidden instinct took hold of him in his drunkenness - the instinct to gamble! After a successful term at the college, his well-imposed academic constraints yielded to the influence of ignoble company of gamblers and hooligans. As it is he was drunk in the glory that education conferred upon him in that small town. That fateful evening paved his downfall. Goaded by a friend, he made his way to the gambling den. The previous evening had adumbrated the doom when he lost Rs. 4000 at one sitting. Gambling is like a bee sting: leaves you with a pain and also leaves the sting buried under the skin. And, another gambling session seems to be the only cure to both. The only wisdom about gambling is avoiding it. But, 'fools rush in where angels fear to tread'. My foolish friend staked again that evening to recover what he lost the previous day. After hitting a few chances, he started losing out on four bets at 10k, 20k, 20k, 20k and at the closing was under a debt of Rs. ...

She left! Our reunion was at the mercy of a few hours, but it was not to be. My eyes are still running hither thither anxiously hoping against the reality that has struck me brutally. The anguish howls in my ears and my eyes stare into the nothingness that has filled the place. The barrenness of this place will prick me as long as I am here and I have to bear with it every moment of my stay here. She kept asking me why I didn't stop her. She wanted the prayers of my heart to issue from my lips. I forbade from doing so, for lips spell commitment and it is something I cannot stick to now. I am torn between desiring and disowning; crushed between her overpowering love and the devotion of my first love; hung between the liberating love and the binding commitment. Why does my heart reach out in love to her? Why does she beat with my heart? Why every spring of love invites me to bathe in its waters? Am I not cheating on my previous commitments? Let the questions remain and let love rema...

In the last three days, I have been called a lecher by two girls. They were parallel flings and coincidentally both fell apart almost the same time. Let the readers be informed that there was no physicality involved. It was a misreading of my intentions that caused estrangement. Well, I am not depressed at all. I was kind of expecting such a glorious end.  Flings move onto being love affairs if the counterparts aren't treated as human resources. But, people interest me only so long as a sense of mystery surrounds them. I start in the right direction but goaded by a sense of experimentation, I end up falling out of the relationship. But, I don't regret the disaster because now I am a writer who welcomes even the untoward with open arms. I Now, when people narrate the sorry incidents of their lives, they pledge me to secrecy and to strictly desist from making their tale food for my writing. I am seen as a threat to their private lives. I have people telling me that a writer can n...

If passion is what counts to make it into Google, then I am a monument of passion in the field of my interest. Going by the testimonials and the penchant for talent that Google speaks of, I decided not to exaggerate my professional flair over my personal talent. Google would be the best judge of my suitability for the role of technical writer when I am given an opportunity to prove it. My academic career speaks little of my passion for language. I did not fare well as an engineering student. But, all that I learnt was utilized in breaking the intellectual moulds that mind so often gets into when ideas stop flowing by or a homogeneity of ideas narrows its vision. I have a strong philosophical interest and my education just served to broaden my philosophical outlook. I resist overdose of facts, and, at the first cognizance of facts attesting truth, I stop pursuing them. I distinguish between curiosity, which is vain, and inquiry, which is fruitful. Language holds a special charm for me...

Love passes through many phases from filial love to parental love. Of all the phases, romance is the youth of love. Lifestyle changes may have trimmed romance to its bare minimum but the charm it holds is undimmed by either career pursuits or the dictates of professionalism. Wherever goes man, romance trails along. And, in my case, the rigours of workplace only added to its tenacity. Being bound to corporate decorum, workplace romance never gets into the excesses of courtship. It is like a dew drop that perishes in the warmth of work and settles again in the moments of leisure. This is what makes it is so agreeable. The decorum and discipline tone it up. My hesitating steps ultimately took a leap of courage. Luckily, I landed safe. This time there were no wordy traps laid, no action plan. I was full of energy that takes one over when failure is most certain. The lover in me was playing the last game of the evening in the hope that he will have a sweet tale for many nights to come....

I cannot abolish questions that seek answers to my place in existence. The 'why and how' takes away from my enthusiasm for life. The value one places on life is an assumption. How can we be sure of its purpose? Knowledge can fill our minds but not the blankness where life wiggles. Adding more and more meaning on one side can keep us busy but cannot weigh down the question 'why are we here?' rising at the other side. This hopeless 'why' never leaves us alone nor leads to an answer.  Slipping into life is like wearing wet pyjamas to sleep; such irritable feeling life is. I believe not all suicides result from unhappiness, they could also result from an indifference to life. Coming into existence and being snuffed out of existence describes our lives. In the meanwhile is the ambition, the dream and the hope of outliving our time. There are specks of emotion, of action, of inaction, of understanding, of ignorance and then extinction. Helplessly we arrive and helple...

People who have described my writing as straddling the fence will see a reason for it. I am afraid you would be bogged down after reading this. Discontent has been my lifelong companion, going down all the way my earliest memories as child. Nothing could prevent the feeling of being short-changed at the end of every activity. I always had to encourage happiness to justify the desirability of action. But, on the inside, I was an unhappy traveller following an unsolicited itinerary. People were just tolerable. Obliging them mind-numbing. I had made an unstable peace with the fact that we are condemned to live and also tasked with making living enjoyable. Kids of my age derived great satisfaction in eating raw guavas stolen from the neighbourhood. But, when I set my teeth into the hard crust, I doubted whether the risk and the effort involved in the ordeal were worth it; was the resulting joy any close to expectations. When were we overjoyed when seeking joy? Playing cricket in th...