I'm sick of all you hypocrites

Is the generation gap a myth?

Do we, of our generation, have to do the EXACT same thing as the people two generations above us did when they were our age? Isn't there a factor which makes the next generation have different ideals and different ideas of "fun"?

Isn't there a way we can make ourselves heard at the place we call home? Is there a way my grandmother is gonna understand that I'm not wasted and that I do wanna do something productive in life?

Well, as they say, too many questions spoil the blog (With all respects to the cooks and their broth). No more questions. I'm being slaughtered here. Being set deadlines and curfew that would sound fair only to a 5 year old. All under the name of "discipline". It's not for me to decide what I want to do. "Do something productive", they tell me. "No talking anything private on the phone at nights", they say. Yes, I was having intimate phone sex. HOW did they know?!?!?!?!

Not good times at all. I read in some blog that the author loves her family more now that she's away. I know exactly what she means. I would too. I just want to move out.

Move out where my thought-process isn't shattered to pieces by illogical yellings. Move to where I'd be able to think clearly without people telling me things that don't make sense. Move to where I'd not have to go according to norms that i KNOW are insane, but they're just meant to be followed because they've been followed for eons. To some place where I'd be able to put down in words the things i feel without anyone making me justify myself as to why I need to write. Too many thoughts. Too less typing speed.

I want to move to a place where I can develop myself the way I want to.

I don't know where that came from. But it pretty much sums up all that I'm thinking right now.
Amen.

TaGgeD

First and formost, do NOT ask me why there are a few capital letters and a few small. Also, do NOT ask me why they're not alternately capital and small. The capital of Pondicherry, Pondicherry, is pretty small.
Amen.

PS - Sorry Rambler, got an irresistable attack of randomness :D

By the (in)sane Rambler. Case sensitive, among other things.

1. Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it:
--> A faint one on my left forearm, got cut by a barbed wire while on a reconnaisance mission of a cricket ball. There was Pus! YAY!

.2. What is on the walls in your room?
--> I have no room :)

3. What does your phone look like?
--> Like a phone :
Also, like something that can be dropped from the second floor and still work.

4. What music do you listen to?
--> Everything. From Green Day to Gangubai Hangal. From Black Sabbath to Bhimsen Joshi. From Jethro Tull to Jitendra Abhisheki. From Penn Masala to Pandit Jasraj. From Deep Purple to Dev Anand's film music. Anything that sounds good.

5. What is your current desktop picture?
--> The fab four "crossing the street"

6. What do you want more than anything right now?
--> To travel to Vashi by train :)

7. Do you believe in gay marriage?
--> Yes. No further comments. The Rambler's opinion can be sought on this.

8. What time were you born?
--> 2 something am.

9. Are your parents still together?
--> Yeah

10. What are you listening to?
--> Simon and Garfunkel - Bridge over Troubled Waters

12. The last person to make you cry?
--> Steven Gerrard. Thanks to his abyssmal performance last night.

13. What is your favourite perfume/cologne?
--> Er, i won't answer this (at the risk of revealing i know NOTHING about perfumes/colognes)

14. What kind of hair/eye colour do you like on the opposite sex?
--> Longish hair that falls around the face a bit, lightish eyes, not too light... Oh, and these are the basic specifications. If i start the real details, blogspot will delete me for over-usage.

15. Do you like pain killers?
--> Let's just say ur asking Zidane whether he likes Football. Or Johnny Wilkinson whether he likes Rugby. Or Pandit Bhimsen Joshi whether he likes to sing. Or.... Er, i think u get the point :)

16. Are you too shy to ask someone out?
--> Nope

17. Fave pizza topping?
--> Extra Cheese (TM- Rambler)

18. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?
--> A certain Soup i once had in "Curry on the Roof", Prabhat Road. I have no clue why i thought of THAT right now.

19. Who was the last person you made mad?
--> Nandita and Prochie yesterday, in Vashi, by going overboard with terrible jokes. Maybe i was over-bored :

20. Is anyone in love with you?
--> I don't think so.

I tag... Jahnavi and Ads. Do me proud :D

An uplifting half hour

Never before has half an hour exalted me to such levels of musing on the meaning of life.

The city of Mumbai. The city of Dreams. Makarand society, a humble housing society of half a dozen buildings, situated right on the Mahim beach. The edge of the society is at a height from the edge of the sea. 10.30 pm. A few extra, unnecessary bites of Parantha in Only Paranthas, Linking Road, Bandra compelled me for a walk in the society. What better place for a walk than along the edge of the society, with the delightful sea-breeze lifting my spirits! Fate, it seems, had other plans for me.

The instant I stepped into the view of the sea, my first reaction was silence. My jaw had dropped too low for anything audible to be able to physically escape my thorax. The sight I beheld couldn't be real. It just couldn't. Words are too much of a handicap for me to explain, but let's try.

The Mumbai skyline. With all it's lights at night. In all it's glory. The perfect picture. Howard Roark would've been proud of it. Perfect architecture, a few structures of steel rising out of the ground. It was like that particular space in spacetime had been created by the Almighty with the sole purpose of giving refuge to that skyline. A pale yellow, perfectly crescent moon, placed atop the tallest building. Yes, placed. It was impossible for the moon to be there unless it was placed there. Manually, by God. He must have thrown hooks at it and tied it in place. The moon was part of the building. The building was incomplete without the moon. Symbiosis. No mortal could ever achieve such perfection. Not even those who want to reach perfection not for money, but for the sole purpose of lifting themselves above the rest.

I couldn't believe it. This wasn't happening. It happens only in movies or a few books, at the most. Yet, it was right there. It didn't even go after a few pinches i gave myself. It was there allright!

And all of a sudden, God loosened his hooks. The moon began to sink into the building. It sank, till it was no longer visible. Maybe God gifted the moon to the building for being so perfect. For being the only thing that could possibly occupy that space.

Then it was just the buildings. The disappearance of the moon made me recognise human voices. The fishermen folk, on the beach. With all their bedding, for their humble homes a little ahead along the beach didn't have air conditioning. For they trusted on the air conditioning provided by the sea. The sea, that was all they ever knew, that was all they ever trusted. The sea that enabled them to feed their children back home. Some lying down, talking about the wonderful catch of the day. Some enjoying a simple game of Rummy. Some smoking their beedis in silent contemplation. Through that mile-long humanity, i could sense one emotion. Happiness. Contentment. Not even a whiff emerges through offices of the corporates.

We talk about of social divides, don't we? Well, some inside information. It's the sea. The divide we all talk about.

On one side of the sea, fishermen unwinding, wiping honest sweat. On the other, modernisation. Fly-overs, cars, steel towers. Contentment on one side, a hectic life on the other. Beauty sleep after a hard day of work on one side, more work after a day of hard work on the other. In the city, it was hard to recognise which light was the brightest. On the beach, the brightest light came from a beedi and an occasional match.

I was suddenly aware of movement in the sky. A plane was apparently denied permission to Mumbai airport, and it was wiling away it's time making circles around the sky.

Straight ahead, i could see the incomplete Worli-Bandra connecting bridge. A bridge meant to bridge the gap between two areas of the same racket they call "Mumbai". We're bridging the wrong gaps, i said aloud. A stray dog on the beach heard me. It looked up in confusion.

"Main Tanha" by Penn Masala hummed in my ears through Apple headphones. And i was truly alone. Tanha, as they said. The realisation of the great divide had made me feel like the lonliest person on earth.

And it goes on. The Mumbai skyline won't change. The fishermen will still come out of their homes for the cool breeze at nights. The bridge will be made.

What changed, was me. By observing something that has been present for eons. But in a different light.

The city of Mumbai. The city of Dreams. It couldn't be truer. Ten feet away from me, on the beach, the dreams were humble. A mile away, beyond the sea, beyond the curving beach, among the lights, the dreams were sky-high.

Life poses some fairly interesting questions sometimes, doesn't it?