Back from Bangalore

… and here’s presenting yet another hurried post.

Much could be said about the trip to Bangalore but we shall wait for a time when I’m not as sleep deprived as now. A little anecdote though – already sleep-deprived, running a fever and somewhat stoned, I reached the railway station to discover that my ticket was not confirmed. If you are familiar with the Indian Railways, an unconfirmed (RAC) ticket basically means you get a seat that you essentially have to share with another person. For a couple of hours, that’s alright, bearable. For 36 hours, not so much. Nevertheless, what had to be done, had to be done. I finally did get a seat 26 hours after boarding the train. Most of those 26 hours were spent standing by the door smoking the frigging air out of my lungs.

After spending that long a time at a blessed door, anybody would feel a certain propensity towards it, I suppose. I know I did. What I saw the evening before we reached Delhi was a rude shock. The door reciprocated my current state of mind as well. And this is how the window to the world, the most important part of that door, looked –

“Death has a thousand doors to let out life: I shall find one”

– Philip Massinger

More from Bangalore later, folksies. Peace out!


The Burial of the Dead*

Death will rise to greet me

Grieve not, for ’tis goodbye

Until we again rendezvous


*The Burial of the Dead is a poem by T.S. Eliot.


A deified gulp

The sin?
My name.

In the name they Sin
and sing
of the Sins they Sing,
erase many a men;

base rats rule the world,
cutthroats revered,
deep cuts and rum tins?

A mark of intrepid pretense
while death –
the reward.


Lest this post strike you as perhaps a tad abstract, let me take this opportunity to apologise for I find myself gripped firmly in the talons of an existential crisis and this is the most sensible thing to come out of the camera as well as my pen. Oh, and in case you’re wondering what that light is, it’s the flash from my Nokia E-5. This photograph has not been edited at all, not even the slightest bit. No, nada, nil. Zilch.