Category: Bukowski

Why the fuck…

So it’s been some time since I’ve written. Last post was on Feb 23 – that time I thought I was going to die. But as I’ve found out, I am not! And if I am not dead, why the fuck have I NOT made a post on my blog? Or written anything else? Why am I even alive?

Two weeks. I have no excuse to be honest for not writing. I know I was busy. I know I was travelling. I was unwell. I know I was fucked in the head. But then, that’s no excuse for not writing.

In an alternate universe, in two weeks I could have written 15000 words. And in 6 such two-week pockets, I would have written the next book! Like Charles says…

Source: Unknnow. Found via Google Image Search

Now that we are talking about book 2, ladies and gents, I know its long overdue! It was to hit the stands last december (2015) but I am nowhere close to even completion. I am sure my publisher has given up on me. However from what I hear the first book is no longer hardly available on any of the online bookstores (the wait time to get delivery is 10 days). So the first print run of 2500 is almost over – I guess. So may be there is a reprint sometime in future. Depends on the publisher. Let him take a call. I’ve done my bit by writing it.

Coming to the next book, lately, a lot of people have started to ask me about the status of my next book. May be they genuinely enjoyed the first one. Or they are genuinely concerned about my writing career. Or they dont have anything else to talk to me about. Irrespective, I need to uphold their trust and faith in me. I ought to write. If not for them, then for myself.

So there. I will ensure that the book comes out before end of this year. With or without a publisher. Wish me luck!

Thank You, Charles

I dont know who introduced me to Charles. Must’ve been Suds – he only talks about such radicals. Whoever it was, heartfelt thanks to that person. Even though I dont understand much of Charles’ poetry, I think I can comprehend some of his prose. Actually, leave alone his work, I cant get the spellings of his name right. I have to look up everytime. Buk-wos-ki? Buk-os-ki? Buk-ow-ski?

The point anyhow is that some of things that he said are phenomenal! Like one of his pieces go, “I wasnt much of a petty thief. I wanted the whole world or nothing.”

“I wasn’t much of a petty thief, I wanted the whole world… or nothing.”

The thing is, this is exactly how I think I operate. Either I want everything, or nothing. In fact, I remember when I was a kid, I was seeing one of Ashutosh Rana‘s interviews. He said something like, “dil to ada hai zid pe bachche ki tarah, ya to chahiye mujhe sab kuch, ya kuch bhi nahi.” I dont even know how old I was at that point in time. But I remember these lines pretty distinctly. May be despite the grey hair bald head I am like a kid, that wants either everything that I can my hands on or I let go of everything.

I dont know if this is healthy in the long run but I know that thats how I am. That is what drives me. I want it all. Or I want nothing. And I am willing to put in effort and hardwork and brains and all that for it. I dont sort of shun away from work but I dont understand why I dont get it all. May be I need to put in more effort?

Exhibit A: sgMS! I have no clue if I have ever wanted anything as bad. No, I am not objectifying her. Yes, I am being selfish. Yes, I love her. Yes, I want to be everything that she wants her man to be and yes I am not even a one percent of her needs or wants. Yet, I want to be around her. Why would I want to be? Because like Rabbi said,

tere bin / besides you
sanu sohnia / my love
koi hor nahio labhna / i shan’t find another
jo dave / who’ll give
ruh nu sakun / peace to my soul
chukke jo nakhra mera / and indulge me” (via)

No one else gives peace to my soul. Of course I dont do shit to her and no wonder I am not with her.

In fact she alleges that my love is the stifling kinds where I dont let her breathe. I put her under the weight of my expectations and she is not at peace. Pretty messed up. No? These one-sided love affairs are pretty sad. It sucks to sort of shuffle between sleep and reality and seeing her nudging her cheeks to me, inviting me to kiss
her. Its great till you can see her, smell her and all that and moment you go to touch her, you wake up to a rude shock.

I need a break. I will take a break. I am going to go away for a bit (Delhi for a week between 12 and 23 – if you are around, lets meet). Everything in Mumbai reminds me of her and I really need a break. May be I need to move away from India altogether? Damn the escapist in me.

Moving on. To exhibit B. Steve. If you know me even a little bit, I am probably the biggest fanboy that Steve has. And I want to be like him. I dont want to be Saurabh Garg. I dont want to be the unique dude that everyone else wants to be. I want to be Steve Jobs and no one else. He is that big an inspiration. I do everything that it takes to reach his levels. I push myself hard. I push people around me harder. I try and deliver the best. I connect with him philosophically – I want the process and proceeds both to be amazing. I can continue talking about him forever but allow me to digress a bit here.

After Steve, I needed a new “muse”, a new inspiration, a new Iron Man and this is where I turned to Elon. Unlike Steve who’s work was more about pushing the boundaries and making lives easier, Elon is about pushing the boundaries and making lives better (easier vs better). And while I read about what all he does, I often get drifted towards the concept of time and life and space and death and all that. I realise that we are so small, so tiny in large scheme of things. Whatever you may do, will come to an end and you cant do anything about it.

The entire thought makes me sick in the gut. At times I am scared. And I cant even sleep in night. At 33, this is a pretty stupid thing to admit.

More than fearing death, I think I am afraid of the concept of unknown. Everything that makes me – my thoughts, my memories, my longing for sgMS, my dreams, my aspirations, my personality, my friends et al, what would happen to those once I am dead? And if I am going to be dead in the long run, what is the damn point of this life then? Why not end it right now and avoid unnecessary heartburns and other such troubles that I give to people close to me? Case in point sgMS. The days I get to meet her, the days she talks properly to me, the days when I get god vibes from her, those days I am happy like hell. May be I need another session of Vipassana where they try and teach you that there is no you. 

Death in fact has been a recurring theme in my thoughts and my dreams the last few days. The place I live at, it has a board that announces death of every person that resides in the building; and every other day I see yet another name marked on it and a place where that person would be put to rest. Creepy in so many ways. Then over the weekend, I read Reacher 20 and it was about people wanting to commit suicides. Yesterday, a colleague asked me to make my will. Last night, I was craving for sgMS while she was getting drunk and I did not know what to do find sleep. I turned to Quora and the first thread that it showed me was about how a happy, healthy young guy committed suicide without giving any sort of warning to his family and the family hasnt had a closure about the reason why he killed himself. And then in the morning today, I woke up to my maid howling about someone who’s killed himself back home. Pretty fucked up man.

I dont know what to make out from all these recent things. From real life to dreams to fiction, I see it everywhere. If by any chance I were to die tomorrow and this is my last blogpost and this holds and legal merit, here is my latest will…

  • I dont have any debts. In fact I am to take some money from some people.
  • All my movable, immovable assets must be given to my parents and my sis equally. My bike goes to Vivek. Everything else to be given to people who may need those. 
  • All my digital data (computers, hard disks, blogs, social media accounts et al) to be wiped. I dont know how would you do it. But I trust Vivek to get it done.
  • My dead body must be reused (parts given to those in need and whatever is left to be given to medical science for research).
  • Proceeds from my book, if any, to go to M. Gawri. 
  • sgMS, I love you. Loved you till I died.  

Fuck, its so funny. I could sum up everything in my life in 6 bullet points. 6 bullet points. And these 6 points have made me realize that things we take so seriously are so so insignificant.

Anyhow, I am sick in the gut and I dont know what else to write. Lemme move on.

Wait. I am not suicidal (just in case you happen to read this and care enough to call and reason and all that). Just that there is just too long a string of coincidences. This too shall pass.

So, if I were the spiritual kinds, I would say that I am inviting death
– afterall the thoughts manifest into actions and all that. In fact
universe has been throwing death at me. But deep down inside I dont want it anywhere close to where I am. There are indeed so many miles to go before I sleep. And some of those miles with sgMS if not all. Here is a song for her…

I just want to see you, when you’re all alone
I just want to catch you if I can
I just want to be there
When the morning light explodes
On your face it radiates
I can’t escape
I love you ’till the end

I just want to tell you nothing
You don’t want to hear
All I want is for you to say
Oh why don’t you just take me
Where I’ve never been before
I know you want to hear me
Catch my breath
I love you ’till the end
I love you ’till the end

I just want to be there
When we’re caught in the rain
I just want to see you laugh, not cry
I just want to feel you
When the night puts on it’s cloak
I’m lost for words, don’t tell me
‘Cause all I can say
I love you ’till the end

All I can say
I love you ’till the end (via)

That’s it for the time being.

Onwards to the rest of the day (Dharma) and a lunch with a friend. And then, may be, some work (Artha). And then, may be poker (Kama). As, they say in Purushartha, life is about Dharma, Artha, Kama and Moksha.

P.S.: The way I’ve moved on from Steve (did I move on?), may be someday, I will move on. Inshallah some day I will come out of it. Some day I will find someone that accepts the way I am.


P.P.S.: Talk of digression. From Bukowski to Steve to Elon to sgMS to Life to Death to I dont know what all. Verbal Diarrhea. But the fact of the matter is, I feel good once I have poured out shit in my head on a blog. I just wish there was someone who I could talk to – about things that I write here. And about things that I cant write here. 

P.P.P.S.: #note2Self: Read more about Purushartha. 

Older than the mountains

Bukowski’s Dirty Old Man. 

I am old.

And I can feel it. I feel it in the aching joints and sore muscles. In the perpetually tired brain and never-ending exhaustion. In the desperate lunges towards my bed to answer my dying need for sleep. And in the desperate, loud protests for not getting up even when I have rested enough. I feel it in this need to take breaks even when I ought to concentrate on the big task ahead. And in longer than average time that I take to make those snap calls. I feel it when people half my age talk about making twice in one year that I’ve made cumulatively in my entire life. And when I know that I’d never be able to catch up with them. I feel old when every interaction with a member of opposite gender makes me cringe and gives me butterflies in my stomach. And when the opposite gender ignores my attempts at these interactions. I feel it when friends talk about things like homes and babies and health. And when I have nothing to contribute in such discussion.

I feel old.

I can see it as well. Its actually easier to see. I see it all the time. Starting with the balding head. And the white sprinkled carelessly in my beard and whatever mop of hair is left on my head. I see it in ugly eye-bags. And thick folds on my neck. Double, triple chin. Aging, freckled, skin that could well have been the underside of a dried leaf if I weren’t this dark. I see it when I get called “uncle” and other such things by people who are not more than a couple of years younger than I. And when I am in two minds about addressing someone that even if they look my age. I can see it in my boredom that creeps on me when I goto these loud fancy places that everyone else seems to be reveling in. And when, much to my surprise, I enjoy going to these simple quiet hideouts where a few years back I wouldn’t even want to tread. I see it when things I loved to eat, the McDonalds, Coke et al when I was younger get replaced by boring foods like Muesli and Green Tea. And especially when I seem to enjoy em more than the greasy, fried cousins. I see it when I catch myself staring into a mirror all the time trying to notice that new faint age line that had appeared last night. I see it when I think twice, sometimes thrice, before choosing on a shirt for that all-important meeting. I see it when I my hands and feet start shaking by themselves. I see it all the time. All the time.

I can see that I am old.

If this is growing up, getting old is growing up, even if its a small part, I did not sign up for this. I did not.

P.S.: If there is one author that you ought to read before you die, you ought to read all of work from Bukowski. Really. And despite all my fandom I cant seem to spell his name right. I have to Google for it every time.