Blahsphemy

Chad was dead. He has been lying motionless for ages. I was there when he fell. But Chad looks the same even now. At times I wonder if he is dead. In my dreams I see him standing next to me swaying gently in the breeze. The birds and animals seem to like his current state. They have made nests and burrows on and around him. Some even lovingly call him petrified Chad. But he doesn't seem to mind. After all, he is a dead tree.

The blank page welcomed me like a stranger in an empty train compartment. She didn't have any choice but to accommodate me. I sat gingerly at one edge of the seat. She stared at me with vacuous eyes. The wall of silence between us was thicker than the concrete floor of the platform. I waited for the right moment to befriend her. I was ready to wait an eternity for that. But then my train of thought was derailed by a loud ring. The real world was calling me on my mobile. I have to get off here right now. I didn't have the courage to look at her. Like a shadow I just faded away at the nearest station.

What's your story? What's my story? What's a story? Isn't it called life? Isn't life a story? Or isn't story life?

I am always the horny bitch, she retorted. Was there a faint tint of pride in her statement? Or was I imagining things? Next thing she will say is that I stole her husband. Do I need to hang around till that revelation happens? Or do I just say bye like many of her friends? But then I wish life was that simple. There are times when she had tried to do it. And every time we have ended up in a mental health facility. There are times when she had tried to end it all. I dread those days. We end up in some emergency ward with insensitive hospital attendants. Can't blame them, who wants to save someone who has given up on life. But today it's different. I want her to choose. Only one of us can exist. And I guess I have won. For there she is perched on that window sill looking 13 stories down at the traffic below as if she is seeing it for the first time. Bloody bitch, how she had tormented a poor soul like me with all her eccentricities. Let go, dear. Let go.

Have they found it?  No, they wouldn't have. The last transmission we intercepted said one of their kind perished today. They can afford to lose people, but we are just a handful. We need to find that serum fast. Did you know that they believe the serum is derived from our blood? Ah! If it's true then why do we need the serum? Is it why they are always after us? Shhhh! Did you hear that? What? Sounds like someone is tampering with our locks. Haven't you activate the force shield? The force shield is weak against their new technology. Keep still. I can hear voices. They are coming for us. Let's make sure that they don't get what they are looking for. You mean? Yes, press the incinerator button. But... Press it now, damn it. Awww, crap the button jammed. Now what. Let's go greet them and figure out whether we can help them find the serum. Hope they don't turn us in to lab rats.        

There comes a time in everyones life when time stands still. Right now, he was experiencing it. Was he awake or sleeping? He couldn't figure that either. Without time his life has come to a standstill. What caused this? He doesn't know. All that he knew was that it was time for his body clock to stop ticking. His pulse dropped, his lungs failed, his brain flickered, his pupils dilated. He froze in time and became a memory.

Today also he displayed that dreaded object that he calls his face. I didn't have an option but to stare back at him. But then, I made sure my face looked just like his. Every wrinkle, every hair follicle and pimple were copied to perfection. He also seemed to be happy about it. He stared at me for long. He even calls me his mirror image. Fool.    

Someone stole my pen. That's why I couldn't write all these days. You know how difficult it is when you don't have your pen, don't you? I don't have to tell you all this, but still I feel morally responsible for not writing and entertaining you. Don't you want to know who stole my pen? I am the one who had stolen it. I hid it where no one could find it. I searched everywhere else to make sure that it wasn't there. I didn't tell anyone that I had stolen it. I was too lazy to confront the blank pages. I was too blank to string the words. I shut my own conscience. I am a thief.

He is not in yet. A disgruntled voice informed me. But it is way past the office time. You know how things are here, came the reply. How long should I wait? Is that a question? Aren't you the one who needs your issues to be sorted out? So wait till he comes. Maybe he won't come at all. But then you will have to wait. There is no long or short to it. I am still waiting. It's my story damn it. I can make him come when I want. All the best son, again the voice boomed.

slowmo thats what people used to call me. I guess I was born that way. They had to pull me out as I was coming out on to this world. Why are they always hurrying me? Can't they mind their own business and go on with their lives? That way their life won't be hampered by my pace. There comes the one who gets most annoyed with my speed. His name is Pacer. He rushes along like there is no tomorrow. At times, I feel he should follow my way of living. I believe the worm is for everyone whether you are early or not. So I deliberately slow down when I see him and that sets him off. What irony. Me Slowmo becomes the reason for Pacer to up his pace. My pace forces him to double his. Now tell me who is slow, me or him?

It took me forty years to realise that I had died long back. I am no longer the son I thought I was. I am no longer a lot of things that I was. I am no longer tied down by a lot of things which I thought I was. I don't know who I am now. I know I am free. That's all that matters.

She hasn't gotten over the shock of being a wife and a mother. Even after five years she still wonders how these people came in to her life. Both need her constant attention and both think she belongs to them. It always surprised her why they never saw things the way she did. Everytime she tells them her point of view, they seemed to be shocked.

You have forgotten me. For in your memories I have become someone I never was or can be. Your memory has given me strange hues. I become a stranger everytime I hear how you remember me. Or is it my memory that has faded?Is it my face that's staring at me from the mirror? Who am I?

I am a log. A big one that too. From the time I became aware of who or what I am, I was a log. I live in a marsh. Or rather a marsh formed around where I lay. I am now the owner of this ecosystem. I know everyone, from the first tadpole to the last snake that lived inside my trunk.

I need to lose you for good. No you can't. I have always been with you. Right from your chubby cheek days. I never asked you to entertain me. But you used to buy me pop corn, pastries, pizzas and what not. I can't live without you. I can't think of you without me. I am dead serious this time. I have had enough. Everyone seems to be mocking me for being with you. I can't take it anymore. Please don't listen to them. Have they ever said anything nice about you and me? Have they ever stopped making faces whenever they see you feeding me? I hate them. I hate this world. I don't care about you. You have ruined my life. You drive me nuts. I just hate you. I am going to show them that I can lose you. Ok, let's see. Last time also you had said these words before you started your diet. But when you came back, I never said anything. I will always be there waiting for you. I hate you.

Today I don't know where to begin. Maybe it's because everything has come to an end. Even the last iorta of kindness has disappeared. One will only come across frowning faces, nowadays. It's all about beating your competition. It's all about satiating ones ego. It's all about being selfish beyond comparision. So I don't know where to begin. That's it.

Someone wished me a very happy b'day today. I don't even know who he is. But how did he know that it was my b'day? Must be facebook. No it can't be, he is not my friend. Maybe he is my friend's friend or something like that. But why did he wish me? Is he cyberstalking me? Let me find out who he is. Ha! There he is. I have ten friends in common with this creep. Ten friends and I don't know him. Hey, looks like it's his b'day too. Let me wish him.

You never paid any attention to what I said. I did. No you didn't. I did. No way. I am positive. No you didn't . What can I do to prove it? Tell me what I told you a few minutes back. You never pay any attention to what I said. Hey, don't try to pass on the blame. But you are the one who said that. Big deal.

'On a wet rainy day...' there are a million stories that begin this way. My story is also not so different. But it diesn't start on a wet rainy day. It just used a wet rainy day to get started. To get you intrigued. So tell me how my story starts?

Get me something to prove that you are you, the man at the counter hissed. Will my passport do? The answer came in the form of an emphatic 'No'. So how do I prove that I am me? Go to any notary public and he will give you an affidavit stating the same. But how can someone who doesn't know me prove that I am me? What's so funny about it? Why is evrything suddenly red? Why am I feeling helpless? What happened to the world? How come every one is proving that they are they with an affidavit? Who will the notary public turn to if he wants to prove who he is? Looks like I am the only one who is seeing red.

I never thought it will end like this. I am sure he also never thought the piece of plastic I am wielding will save his dignity. For he has always seen plastic as a trap. Something that makes people buy things they never wanted. Something that pulls you deeper in to the debt trap. Something that is a bane of the modern day lifestyles. But now, when I finally did something that would've changed his outlook, it was too late. I just handed the piece of plastic over to the mortuary attendant and waited for the paperwork to be finished to claim his body.

Dear brain, I am writing this after serious thought. In fact I have been thinking about writing this letter for quite some time. I don't want to be called your alter ego. I am tired of being mistaken for you. I am in no mood to accept the blame for all the things you do. So please let me be me and accept my resignation. Yours faithfully, Mind

'Full sleeve or half sleeve?' asked the captor. She didn't know what to say. Either way I am going to lose, that's all she could think. Can't you spare me? She pleaded. But the man didn't seem to listen. He was losing his patience. There was a long queue behind her. Full it is then, he barked. She didn't know what to say. Now my hands will be chopped off fully, that's all she could think.

What's that crowd doing in front of my house? Someone died, a voice answered. Someone? Its my house! Who can it be? Father? Mother? Wife? Son? Dog? But why didn't anyone inform me? What stopped them? Or did it happen only now while I was on my way home? Didn't anyone know my mobile number? Ah there is my father. He looks all shaken up. I can hear my wife and kid crying. There is mom on that bed. But then who died? No it can't be.

How much will you pay for it? I have never sold it. I always thought it was a very personal thing. Something that can never have a monetary value. But, you have changed all that. How can you put a value to something like this? Especially when you are the main source of it?

I always thought you were my friend. You used to keep me rooted to the ground. I stuck by you even when you used to drag things down. I never complained when my favourite bottle broke. I didn't protest when you toppled me from my bike. It didn't hurt when you made my daughter tumble. I wasn't cross when you uprooted the tree during the last rain. But I will never forgive you for not letting me fly.  

Anyone can quit. Anyone can make mistakes. Anyone can write this. Anyone can beat you. Anyone can make more money than you. Anyone can have a better wife. Anyone can have a better life. Anyone can... will someone please show me this anyone?

"As usual" I started with the same old cliched words. Why reinvent the wheel, even if it's a cliche?

"Write something. You haven't written anything for ages." "Ages? It's been only 21 days to be precise. Ages will be longer. Much longer than 21 days." "There you go again. I just asked you to write. Not to figure out how long ages will be." "Ok let me think. I can't just write about anything." "It better be good."

It was time something happened. For long, things were just as they are. The same sun, the same nights, the same faces. Then one day it all changed. Monotony was overthrown by Chaos. Now everyone hails Chaos. Long live uncertainty. Long live Chaos.

Baba Yaga has never seen a horse.Whenever he goes out he always kept an eye and an ear open for a horse. But that elusive being has always tried to evade Baba. Until that day. The heavens were giving the village a proper dunking. Baba was feeling restless. Who likes to sit and watch while the raindrops make merry? So he ventured out. In front of his house was a huge puddle. He could see his face in it. He was admiring his face when a huge stone landed in the puddle. The water splashed all over. Baba got startled and neighed with all his might. He heard the neighbour's children shout "Stupid Horse." He quickly looked around. But there was none.

He looks the same. He even has my hairstyle and beard. He has befriended my family and friends. The most annoying fact is that no one seems to realise that it's him and not me. I have become the outsider who looks like the insider who is the outsider.

Death came again. Off late its been a frequent visitor. A part of the family. Today here, tomorrow there. It drops in uninvited without fail, leaving a vacuum in its wake. Erasing faces, adding a rich hue of sadness to memories.

Did you see that? He didn't even look in my direction. I think he is ignoring me nowadays. I was his favorite a few years back. Those were the days. We used to go to office together. We used to hangout together. We met his girlfriend together. The three of us used to have good fun. Beach, movies, concerts, pubs... things have changed. I think he doesn't even know where my keys are. I am now just a receptacle for dust and rust.

I haven't done it for quite some time. Some say it shows. I have started to notice it too. I have started to fear it. I have suddenly become a stranger to it. Blank white spaces give me palpitations. I try to stare them into submission in vain. I can't remember the last time I heard the sweet clickety-clack. I always say someday I will do it. Is today someday?

I am the king of Andalusia. Don't ask me where is it on a map. I have never looked at a map to figure out where my country is. I was born there so I never had to resort to a map. I am a pirate. I don't have a ship. The ship that I sail the seas belong to my victims. I got this one from a rich Arab. Wondering how do I go around without a map or a compass? I am like the wind. I have no plans. I go wherever I please. I never wait for anyone. I have no direction. I make the windmills go round and round till they are dizzy. I am a wanderer. I am a free spirit. I am the king of Andalusia. I am a pirate. I don't have a map or compass. I don't have a ship. I am like the wind. No I am the wind.

He turned the tap and waited for the familiar whoosh of emptiness. For him this has become a ritual. It's been years since even a drop trickled down that spout. He never bothered to think why. For him it was just a ritual now. It all started on one sweltering summer day when he wanted a sip to slake his thirst. The tap was like a mirage in the hot afternoon sun. He scalded his fingers touching it. All that he wanted was a cool splash. All that came out was a warm gust of air. He fiddled with the tap again. Frustration goaded him to kick the tap. But he couldn't. Instead he became obsessed with it. He wanted to drink the first drop that comes out through that tap. When will that day be? He doesn't know. All that he knows is that the chances of water coming out of a disconnected tap is as rare as the drop of water for which he was waiting.

Its been six seconds. Why isn't he pulling the cord to release me? Has the adrenaline fogged his reflexes? Is he pushing his luck? Has he passed out? Or has he lost count of the seconds? Either way it's not a good sign for me. He should have let me free. But then why hasn't he tugged at the release cord? He is going to make me look like a complete fool. He is going to ruin my show. He is going to pay dearly for his folly. For it's only me who can help him ease gravity's pull and guide him to safety. Till he figures out his life let me enjoy the free-fall at least.

Vaclav looked at his hands. His skin has started peeling off. He had experienced this before. Every time, a new Vaclav used to emerge from within. At first he used to dread it. But now, he waits for it. He knew that mother nature will have some surprise or the other in store for him. Last time a fair skinned Vaclav had emerged. This time what will it be? Vaclav couldn't wait anymore. He rushed to the taxidermist's shop. The taxidermist resembled one of his dust covered masterpieces. It was impossible to imagine him wielding a scalpel. His vision had blurred long back. His shop was in the ruins. These didn't deter Vaclav. He was eager to get out of his old skin. He lay on the taxidermist's table motionless yearning for salvation. Like always, the taxidermist disemboweled his new specimen with a clean sweep of his scalpel.

No I am not asleep. But then how come I am dreaming?

There goes my mind again. It's difficult to reign it in. If someone says not to think of girls, that will be the first thing my mind latches on. If I know there is no water, my mind will make me so thirsty that I will kill someone for a drop of water. If someone says blogspot has been blocked by the IT department goons, my mind will scream alternate proxies. I have to mind my mind before someone minds.

I am not going to let some skinny ***** steal him. Which skinny ***** are you talking about? That **** who works with him? Or the ***** that sleeps around with every ***** in town? Nope I am talking about the other ****. That ******* **** for whom he is all ears. Remember the last time she flashed her **** and he couldn't sleep. I am talking about that tight *****. **** you got some serious competition there. Yeah ****. ****.

Expect the unexpected. How predictable.

Pull the trigger, fire me up, the bullet wailed. It has been years since someone let me free. I want to shock the world with my might. I want to smash in to my target. I want to make the biggest bang. I want to blow up into smithereens. I want salvation. I want freedom. Then trigger was squeezed. The hammer fell. "Damn squib". That's all the bullet heard before it hit the ground.

I am unwanted. I come unannounced. I am a stranger. I am looked upon suspiciously. I am junked. I am deleted. I harbor a malicious link. I am irritating. I use up your memory. I tempt you to your downfall. I tease you with porn. I solicit. I ask you unnecessary things. I scare you. I steal. I beg. I borrow. I mislead. I bankrupt. Well, I am just your everyday spam.

How much? He asked the old man peddling baubles. He was in a hurry. How much for this one? He asked again, pointing to the big red stone. The old man's fingers came alive. They probed the small wooden plank on which the baubles were kept. They hesitated near the red stone and moved on to a green one. He was growing impatient at the old man. The old man picked up the green stone and said One Dollar. That's not the one I want, he muttered. Oh I am sorry, you wanted the big one, said the old man. That will be Two Dollars. What drama, the old fool wanted to push the green stone, he thought. He handed the old man a five dollar bill. The old man caressed the note and then proceeded to sniff it. Damn, why did I even have to buy from this loon, he thought. Could you please spare me the exact change, nowadays it's tough to make out the worth of money, said the blind old man.

He could see the sun sneaking up on the horizon. Another day. Another struggle. Thought he. She could see the sun peeping from behind the trees. Another day. Another adventure. Thought she. They could see the sun smiling on their village. Another day. Another hunt. Thought they. What Hubble saw was only a wayward meteor that was headed for a planet called Earth.

The rain drops tried in vain to make love to the glass pane. The street lamp's rays flirted with them and gave them a golden hue. The breeze helped them collide into each other and languidly flow. The pane tried to stay aloof to the wet caress. Only the wood that held the pane could feel its muted tremors of ecstasy as every rain drop slid by. "Let go, let go" it whispered in the pane's ears. "How can I? When you have framed me?" was the pane's reply.

You look like me. You are copying me. You are aping me. You are imitating me. You are my alter ego. Your are my reflection. You are my shadow. You are mimicking me. You are insulting me. You are pissing me off. You make me a narcissist. You evoke me. You are nothing without me. You provoke me. You... and then the mirror shattered.

Someone knocked me down. I didn't know who. I was happily lost in my world when that someone collided in to my dreams and shattered everything. All I could feel was the air evading my groping hands. I came crashing down. I heard the muted curse of my assailant. I heard the neighbor's dog. I heard the rats scurrying. I heard everything. Except for my tormentor's approach.

I have been beaten and bruised. I have been kicked viciously day in and day out. I have been saved by hands only to be thrown away in an instant at some spiky boot. All I wanted was to lie on the velvety grass and watch the clouds float by. The only time I got close to my dream was when I was lost. Oh boy, it felt good even though I was in a thicket. There was no one to kick me around. But it was short lived. A dog found me. I was his playmate. He used to bite me whenever I tried to roll away. Then one day he got bored and went away. By then I had lost a bit of my bounce. I didn't have the sheen of my heydays. My bruised began to show. I was suddenly old. My skin started sagging. I now long to be kicked around. I miss the spiky boots. I miss myself.

Get in Unzip Pull out Let it go Spurt, spurt Drip, drip Shake, shake Tuck in Zip up Flush Go

Mirabelle and Annabelle were sisters. They were inseparable. Some even called them twins. Only they knew who was who. On that fateful day when the farmer came to slaughter one, no one knew who was the unfortunate one. For the one that was left always responded with the same bleat as the one that ended up in the stew.

I will never die. I had seen generations after generations grow old and wither away. I have seen continents move apart and closer. I have seen volcanoes erupt, oceans dry up, rivers evaporate, mountains crumble. I have seen world wars, poverty, genocide, nuclear bombs, fuel shortages, famine and flood. For time immemorial I am the only constant. I am change.

Can someone tell me what's wrong? For me everything seemed alright. That's the only wrong bit about you, someone had commented in passing. But is that really that wrong? Or were they the ones who got it wrong?

Life was blooming one pixel at a time on his laptop screen. It was a megapixel dream come true for him. For he always believed his pixels were live. He always thought of them as extensions of his brain. He was happy that they were alive and kicking for everyone to see. But he knew that it was time to hit the print button and commit genocide. The ink jet devoured and regurgitated them on plain paper. All dried up and lifeless.

Damn, I missed. I have never missed. In a shootout if you miss you never live to tell any tales. So then how come you are reading this? He missed too. So I could take a second shot at him and correct my mistake.

It was on the last day of the last year of the last planet of the last human race that he stumbled on the trigger to the top secret nuclear weapons pile.

Edna was a fool. That's what he liked everyone to believe. He could always hide behind his foolish self. It helped him wriggle his way out of many a difficult situation. "Poor fool" that's what everyone thought. For Edna also, the feeling was mutual.

It was loud enough to rattle his eardrums. He was amazed how such a tiny thing can produce such a racket. Try dropping one again, someone urged him. He hesitated, it was an open invitation. He wanted to drop them all. He wanted to wake up the dead. He grabbed the pack and threw them high up in the air so that when gravity reclaims them they will all explode one by one. But, they never came crashing down, the magnet had other plans for them.

He never thought he will take that path again. He could feel the chill crawl up his spine at the mere thought of the last time he went that way. He thought about his best friend who frequented that path. One day his friend went down this way and never came back. That's the day he took the path looking for him. That's the day he saw his friend stepping in to the void from the precipice. That's the day he realised why his friend used to love this path. That's the day he knew that one day he will also be walking down the same path looking for that same precipice.

It's time to pull out my eyes. They are a nuisance anyway. I always get to see what irritates or tempts me. The world is blind, it's better that I don't see much. Oooh camt see wht am i tpig..................

Today we will remain closed. Today we won't give in to the pressure and part. Today we won't let the hinges do their work. Today we won't let the key woo the lock and weaken us. Today we won't let the latch slide down and free us. Today we won't budge. Today we will remain closed.

Everything is going as planned. The rain fell when it had to. The fruits were ripe. The predators were busy mating and defending territories. The trackers have returned with news about a fresh source of food. But didn't the sun rise in the west today?

These are the tears of joy, but they taste the same, she wondered.

When he woke up he was alone. The rain was still rattling the window panes. The amphibian orchestra had bowed out. The ancient ceiling fan made another futile attempt to stir up some breeze. A lonely mosquito with a blood filled stomach was lazily buzzing around. A jecko's warning echoed in one of the distant corridors. The house creaked under the weight of the soaked thatched roof. How long will it endure the onslaught of the elements? Will I be there when it happens? Will we perish together? Or will we go on to see another monsoon?

This time it was easy. The title came before he even thought of what to write. Usually the tiresome ordeal of wrapping up a story used to leave him panting for a title. Titles always played hard to get. He always felt that the ones he chose prickled his carefully woven stories. There were times when he was caught between two equally potent titles. There were times when he stared at them and still couldn't recognize them. But then sometimes, the title came to him without any struggle. Just like today.

She did it. No he did it. No not me. It was them. They made me do it. We didn't do it. It was there in the system. The system can't make anyone do anything. There must be someone who did it. That's her. No him. No them. Not us.

Finally. He heard the familiar rustle at his doorstep. It must be her. He could see her shadow moving under the door. He waited for the keys to jangle. The door knob to turn. What's taking her so long? She must be carrying something. Sometimes she picks up stuff on her way back. There will be something for me, as always. Or has she forgotten the keys in the car? She is quite capable of that. He was getting a bit impatient now. What's stopping her from opening that door? The door seemed like a bottomless chasm between him and her. Will she cross it? Or shall I just cross it and meet her? What if it's not her? What's taking her so long to open that door? Why can't she make some familiar sound that will tell me for sure that it's her? Why is she silent? Why isn't the doorbell ringing if it's not her? Why? His impatience was delivering knockout punches to reasoning in rapid succession. What if... that was the last thing that passed through his mind before he

Today's sun looks different, she thought. The orange blob looked bigger than usual. Something like an orange on steroids. Her thumbs wandered over the controls of her turbo-charged air conditioner. Don't give up your fight against the sun, she whispered. The mammoth machine shuddered as if it understood the gravity of her statement.

It's time to wake up the muse, he thought. She has been worshiping Rip Van Winkle for quite some time. Do I really need to interrupt her worship? It was a rhetoric question of sorts. He wanted her to be up. But didn't have the guts to do it. He approached her before his new found courage could hide in the darkest corners of his mind. There she was lying motionless, secured to a bed of inertia covered with cobwebs of memory. He could see her faint radiance seeping through the dusty words that have settled on her. I can never blame her, he thought. For it's me who neglected her. i was too busy to notice that she was there waiting for me. All that mattered to me was fame and fortune. And now all that is left is just her.

Boy meets girls. Girls get boys. Boys meet boy. Boy meets reality. Boy meets girl. Boy doesn’t want to meet boys. Girl likes boy. Boy gets scared. Boy runs after boys. Girl gets confused. Boy gets disillusioned. Boy meets girl again. Boy proposes. Girl … oh boy it’s a long story. To cut the crap short, boy and girl decides to tie the knot. The rest as they say is … another series of ellipsis? 

Out of 100 wired people... one will create content... 10 will interact online... 89 will view the content and interactions. Business Week Now tell me where do I fit in? Am  I there in the first category? Or am I in all the categories? I feel I am in all, which makes me internet famous! Let the worship begin.

When will these morons give up? 

Couldn't resist posting J.K. Rowling's Commencement Address, “The Fringe Benefits of Failure, and the Importance of Imagination,” at the Annual Meeting of the Harvard Alumni Association. Here it is: President Faust, members of the Harvard Corporation and the Board of Overseers, members of the faculty, proud parents, and, above all, graduates. The first thing I would like to say is ‘thank you.’ Not only has Harvard given me an extraordinary honour, but the weeks of fear and nausea I have endured at the thought of giving this commencement address have made me lose weight. A win-win situation! Now all I have to do is take deep breaths, squint at the red banners and convince myself that I am at the world’s largest Gryffindor reunion. Delivering a commencement address is a great responsibility; or so I thought until I cast my mind back to my own graduation. The commencement speaker that day was the distinguished British philosopher Baroness Mary Warnock. Reflecting on her

We are a messy race – unpredictable, capricious, subject to violent mood swings, sudden changes of mind, spontaneous and illogical behavior.

We get attached to certain words. We treat them like our kids. We proudly display them whenever or wherever we can. We feel odd if we don't have them around. We feel jealous if someone else uses them. We simply can't let go of them.

It finally happened. Today I didn't have any blog-revelations to share. The slate was wiped clean. Not even a word. It's the beginning of a new era. I can feel it. Bring it on.

The spiders scurried in to feed on the fresh pieces my brain threw up on the blogosphere. Nothing much has changed down here. It's the same binary rule. You are either the one or a zero. There is no role reversal. The wires buzz with the same content. The word fresh has become superfluous. Repacked, reshaped, rewritten is more like it. That's what life has come to these days. It's just the same old wine in new bottles. Bottles change, the wine doesn't.

What would it be like to let go off your profession? What will be it like if I put my career on the backburner? What will be it like to take the plunge? It's funny, there is only one way to find an answer to these questions is to do it. The day I might do it is not so far away. I beleive it's time I lived life my way. It's time to rewind a few things. Take some risks and start living. Time for that wall to wall bookrack bursting with my books. Time to work when I feel like it. Time to be with the ones that love you. Time to savour nature. Time to tend to the little flowers in your garden. Time to pause and enjoy whatever life throws at you. Time to have a few pets. Time to play music to your heart's content. Time to meditate. Time to do it all. I am already feeling good.

"We are always taught to follow our dream to achieve greater goodness in life. What if one doesn't have any dreams to pursue? What do they achieve in life?" Won't that make a great opening line for a book? Or a movie for that matter? Well, of late, such potent thoughts have started visiting me the moment my head hits the pillow. I lie there helplessly drugged by my desire to sleep and the inertia to get up, brave the cold, switch on the laptop and key in those words for posterity. Maybe, one day I will overcome the odds and just do it. Should I?

“If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets like Michelangelo painted or Beethoven composed music or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, ‘Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.’” – Martin Luther King, Jr.