Better with Time

You jibe and you snicker
You punish those who dont bother,
You fake concern and You fake pity
You patronize all those (un)witting.

We pretend, We make believe.
We overlook, We make ourselves believe
What is acceptable and what is not
Are we that respectable or are we not?

To throw in the towel, or stick out your chin
Most people forget, even the strong have feelings

But,
We age
We wisen up
We learn what to say
We learn how to play
We dust ourselves off
and We hope,
It gets better with time

Forsaken....

Its 0045hrs over 48 hours later and the ordeal is not over. That sickness in my stomach still remains, the little lump in my throat still persists and I feel like its almost not right to smile.

Images of the floor at Leopold's covered in blood, bullet holes in the walls at Cama hospital, speeding hijacked cop cars firing indiscriminately at people at the Metro Junction... make me feel like i got punched in the gut... still.

And wat makes it worse is the morbid reality that this will indeed happen again coz noone will do enough to ever stop it. We have to all condition ourselves to get used to these feelings in our stomachs and throats. We all have to live with the fact that when we go out for a drink tomorrow, it might just be our last. Or a nice evening walk by Gateway, admiring the sunset will also include the now unsurprising sight of the 'occasional' jihaadi docking right in front of you. Everytime you walk from Xaviers towards Metro, or everytime ur crossing that junction you keep looking over your shoulder for the crazed gunman, so you can duck, or so you can move out of his way coz he's speeding. We'll have to wear bullet proof vest when we go to railway stations. We'll also have 2 get use 2 the factthat the vests will protect us the same way it protected Hemant Kakare, Vijay Salaskar and Ashok Kamte. We'd have to check for traces of RDX in our Chicken Tikka Roll the next time we eat at Bade Miyan's. Check the toilets, for terrorists or explosives or terrorists with grenades, at the Taj and the Oberoi's whenever we go there to pee...

Coz at the end of the day, that is wat the so called Spirit of Mumbai is goin to turn into.Coz nobody gives a fuck about anything until the Parliament is attacked, coz all those fuckers were garunteed a seat for 5 yrs, and by God they will have it for 5 Yrs. They wud give a fuck if elections were close and they wanted to tell the public what a shoddy job of national security the present govt is doing n that one shud vote for them coz they are better and have the decency to show up at the site of the chaos while the rescue operations are still going on. Their concern for maiking an example of bad governance by the opposition will obviously be very benificial to the otherwise ignorant people.

I salute the UPA government and its opposition for caring to be with us in this time of strife. What would we all do without them?

I hope...that Governments everywhere will take example from ours. The world would most definately be a better place.

HAPPINESS

Have direction and something to do for atleast the next 5 yrs.

Am a Xavierite again.

Out of the house for a major part of the day.

Orange chappals, nice ass Levi's jeans.

Bright yellow t-shirt, Red windsheater.

Pouring rain.

Long empty road,dimly lit by yellow street lights.

Splashing in puddles.

Bob Sinclair's World hold on blaring in my ears.

The loss of a loved one

There's a girl I know,

Who's mama's no more

Wasn't a good friend of her's

But I still shed some tears.

The loss of a loved one,An anchor for your heart

It kept u afloat as long as remember

And when this anchor's broken, or crumbling in the dark

You drift away and your alone at sea

Where Time's a measure of our memories.

Only these we have when its time to leave.

For every memory; we shed a tear,

Brave a smile, We've faced our fear.

With every tear; we try to fight,

To tame the lump with all our might.

Throat all blocked and unable to breathe

We choke back on our memories.

And so i pray, selfishly and cowardly;

Please let me be the first to die,

Before all the people that matter to me,

So I wont have to mourn them, so I wont have to cry.

PEER PRESSURE.... (i jus had to write one..jus Had to)

And so I've come to realise,
Life will never be the same.
That 3 yr chunk of paradise
Only in memories, will it remain.

I guess I was in denial
Coz these thoughts ar far too late..
With my mind now directionless and idle
It comes as a slap on my face.

My cheek stings from the impact
As emboldened images flicker in the dark
Their bodies, none of it ever coming back,
But their souls, forever leave their mark.

No more royally challenged physics theories,
Tho' its spirit still levitates with us.
No more Robinson in the arches,
The Onion Rings we called us?!!

Art was dark in the Manson Phase
With pinkies swept up in waves of black
N goths were sighted at some place
While in epic floods, they laughed their way back.

New twists in old monks
And breakin UVs while jiving on stage
Kalbadevi PGs, haven for the drunks
Curly hair was quite the rage!

Flings that flung with a blink of an eye
With fantasies fuelled along the way
To hold up fans, how hard we tried....
And shreik when "HGC's" passed by our way.

Hearing lost and earing found,
Vada Paos in tomato soup,
LP refreshers all year round,
Oh, that beautiful...beautiful potato soup.

I lived a lifetime in those years
And struck gold, six times over
Enough to last my worldy years
With plenty left over for forever.

Now the daydream's cut short
As flickers grow to light
My cheek's red as i recover from the shock
While Reality switches to overdrive.