staying.cool

there is something curiously calming about staring out of the window of a bus.
at ten o’clock at night.

i am on a bus from aberdeen to london, and am located exactly above the driver. red tail lights form beacons in the night even as yellow headlights flash past.
the night has finally fallen and the sky is in transition from blue to black. the countryside is a blur of shadow along the side-windows; the shape can be discerned but the detail is shadowed by the lack of light.
a sudden change alongside as a petrol pump flashes by - yellow light in the gloom.

the window is blurring as a sudden shower comes, the red beacons are split by the prisms. closer observation shows the chaotic pattern of the raindrops splattering against the windshield in front of me.

passengers murmur in the darkness behind, one knows people are there but who - it seems almost sacrilege to turn and try to pierce the privacy of the dark.
its not easy to write due to the lurching motion as the bus takes the circle and then goes down a winding road.
a passenger sleeps, from the look of it uncomfortably, but the gentle sway of the bus is comforting.

the rain comes down harder, the road can barely be seen for the mist of raindrops. in the window alongside, a mirage of the self sits - it is company that is never really there. i lean against “myself”, the feel of cool glass against the cheek is warming; but a chill sinks to the bone in a while.

the night stretches ahead…

******************my feet are cold, my hands are ensconced in the folds of my jerkin. the rain is coming down harder - the continuous patter of the raindrops against the pane of glass woke me from my doze. wind and rain combine to form random patterns… the bus stops at a signal in the middle of nowhere. weird.

i think we’re entering glasgow…

******************buchanan bus station, glasgow. pink floyd plays ‘marooned’ in my ears. i believe that was their only grammy winning number. not even ‘comfortably numb’… the bus driver is changing.

the designs of the windows of a random building on the way into the station were weird. it looked as though the pane had been split apart by a random force.

the pattern of rainwater in front seems to take on new meaning in the music…

******************2 a.m.. sleep comes and goes as the bus hits the motorway. all that can be seen now is the illuminated patch of the highway lit up by its headlights. i drift off… thoughts, dreams, and reality seem to merge into one…

******************6.30 am. greenline coach station, london. most passengers are still rubbing the vestiges of sleep from their faces. all too soon, one clambers down from the bus. it has been something of a residence for the last twelve hours.
‘rasiya’ plays as i eat my sandwich while sitting on a bench, waiting for the connecting bus. it is already day - london looked half alive to my half-dead eyes on this sunday morning.
ahead, near the europe buses, the scene is that of any indian railway station. clamour, chaos & crowd. baggage. only the omniscient porter is missing.

another hour to go before i get the bus to birmingham..

there will be no update for another week, as i’ve realised just how far behind i actually am in my work.
typical.

there are going to be a few more sleepless nights, i can see.. but the next update may be out in a week.
until then, i’ll leave you with my fiction; and this.
oh yay.

but i will be back. rest assured of that.
like there was ever any doubt.

yeah, i’ve got to stop talking like two people on this page as well….

when it comes to music, there is something magical in the air.

i mean, there is something magical in the ear.

janis joplin - leaving on a jetplane

music has always had a special significance for me, i hear anything from pop to rock, to classic ..and classical, to country, jazz, soundtracks.. language is no bar - one of my weirder choices was swahili
i kid you not.

grease - summer days

i cannot claim to be any expert, who has heard everything there is to be; or even someone who would have heard everything you talk of. it is probable i would have heard it without knowing it, but i believe in music.
the genre, the composer, the type, the artists rarely are a criterion.. music in itself is a language.

shankar mahadevan - breathless

green day - boulevard of broken dreams

my favourite memory of music’s effect was yanni and my exams. every morning, en route to college, the car would be empty; with yanni playing. i would actually leave the car refreshed.. the music was enough to allow me to recharge in the half-hour it would take me to reach college.

interestingly, classical music while working on assignments does wonders for allowing one to really immerse oneself in the theory. and then really get out the perfect idea for the solution.

dus - dus bahaane

most of those nights that i spend not sleeping are possible due to the music that goes in the background.. without it, i don’t know how long i could have taken humming computers on standby.

on the flip side, silence is something i search for anywhere. in one of my favourite places in aberdeen, the local park, the favourite time of day is around 1 am - absolute silence. i remember a night roaming in the outskirts of mumbai, when the silence was actually deafening. there came a point when some of my friends started talking just to alleviate it.

at that time i realised the sound of silence was a music of its own. there can come a time when it can seem deathly silent.. this is rare.

ar rahman - rasiya

there are some people who never listen to music, this may make no sense to them. sometimes i wonder whether the point is there are some of us who need the be shown a way of leaving it all behind us, and getting lost in the music. losing ourself in a way, maybe…

…lost into space…….hmm, yeah.. well as i was saying, we need to leave our body behind and go into a region where music surrounds, envelopes, and finally defines us.

and so the music becomes us.

evanascence - haunted

this is about this, not this.

i won’t be shitty about it, and not say that the SBC had nothing to do with this. they did. i found myself linked on mango’s blog coz of them.
yeah, and a shitmaster gave out an idea of a farewell post.
and in true shitty fashion, here it is. 6 days later.

yeah, and the way i found mango, was through technorati’s service. so every 20-odd days, mango’s blog would been given a look-see.
until he came up with the mangozine.
i actually read that “mag”, from cover to cover.
or whatever, it was a pdf.

frankly, it was a jitter when i read the final post. other bloggers have come and gone, but some are considered institutions. mango was one. at least, for me.

i don’t know why.. there are not always reasons for these things. i do hope he’ll remember some of us if or when he ever comes back. i hope his novel reaches fruition someday. i’ll probably read it too.

he’s going to be married soon, i wish him love in that. and i hope he has a good one.

you were cool dude. in every sense of the word.

a curious thing has been happening..
it is very interesting, but lately i am becoming aware of exactly how ‘aware’ my mind is.

for instance, the other day, having gone the usual 20 hours without sleep/rest, it occurred to me that while my body was physically tired, my mind was alert, active and quite aware of what was going on.
it literally felt like my mind was externally observing everything around. and accordingly reacting. however, my body was physically tired; and hence the reactions were not as coordinated as one would expect. to the extent of slurring words. i could make sense, but the co-ordination that makes the mind sync the body was missing.

however, the mind was working perfectly.
if anything, it was easier than usual, as the encumbrance of having to take care of what the body does was not essential.

this is not the first time this is happening.. it has happened before - but it is happening more often now. even during normal working conditions, albeit the awareness seems a little duller then.
one would think the opposite, but apparently rest causes us to be more aware of external stimuli - leaving what is internal more or less subconscious.

even now, its been a while since i slept, and yet, i’m pondering the problem of my project while typing this out.

try freezing on every thought that comes to the mind. try realizing every flicker of an idea that appears. you realise how incredibly complex it all is…
..as well as how much crap you can think of every second

i can actually trace the flow of my thoughts while writing this.. and it occurs to me this particular post might seem a little egoistic.
maybe a lot egoistic.
however, i needed to talk about the inside of my head right now… and i’ve barely scratched the surface.

lest i come up with another ‘faeces’-type thought, i’ll stop here.
but its very weird. and freaky.

but cool.

i thought i’d never do one of these either

but, here i am, and here’s the next addition to the fiction that flows from my pen.
“flows from my pen”, i have to remember that one.

the next addition is co-incidences.

no real reason for this one, just a concept that appealed a lot to me.

i would say ‘have fun’, but i don’t want to commit myself.