Yet again

So, feeling rather sick lately… What’s wrong; is something missing, aye? What could it be? Nothing I tell myself; just because I designed painstakingly my existence to be as self-sufficient as one possibly could have, couldn’t have missed out, now… could I? And yes, it involved a lot of pain and sweat and blood but curiously no tears. Turned out to be not quite what I expected. What hurts? Nothing, I always told myself. But how true is that now, aye? Oh, the shame of it all!

So no more HOV lane rides for you mate. No more stuffing your face with those favorite exotics that you so desired and enjoyed. Bereaved yet again of that feeling of true happiness accompanying all such frolicking; replaced by an abyss and suddenly a cold, harsh new reality dawns. And again, what hurts? Nothing aye, but that really isn’t the truth. Nothing instead is the answer to “What should hurt?” Pain is only the exorcism of weakness.

Well, can I go now?

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Hello, it’s just another (fine?) day just like any other. See nothing seems changed things are just as they should be, the computer is still allowing you to type, instead of just trying to kill you. Then why exactly do my hands feel like balloons too, I am rather sure nobody understands. All I can hear is the emptiness of my silence, though it extrinsically seems taciturn and almost lenified, its not.
Just yesterday was my birthday, I remember I was watching Aladdin and, yes sir, I could do good with a personal genie too, yes absolutely. I remember father asked me what I’d wish if I had the genie. I remember wanting to be at least twenty years of age with a nice education and a nice bike, oh yes sir a nice bike. All I know now is till a couple of minutes ago I was twenty I am not anymore, another year already? I am sure some people aren’t working as they should there surely is some anachronism about this year business. Well, let’s see what all do we expect this year, oh I know…, you’re not reading this woman, I know that too, but I’ll allude nevertheless.
Retrospectively speaking things surely seem changed, but change has been gradual, the pen and paper vanished but it took a whole lot of time I really don’t know how it would feel to write with a pen again. A mad guitar player and a self proclaimed athlete evolved where no such possibility existed at one time. A raconteur of alien fantasies entwined with dragons and gothic women emerged. The passion for science has attenuated, not inexplicably though; but I believe will rise again.
However, the will to live forever just won’t budge, and neither does the hope for such a task.
Juxtaposition all the above and that is the metamorphosis of yesterday.
Oh, talking of yesterday.
You see somewhere a genie got a hint of me and decided to grant me my wish after all, well damn the sneaky bastard, I was just twenty for a while, nothing more. Well, what also I don’t seem to understand where did rest of the years that were supposed to be in the middle of yesterday and being twenty for a while go?
Oh did I forget to mention yesterday I was, if I remember correctly, eight.

Sudhir Sharma

Monday, November 13, 2006

There are certain facts which must remain enwrapped, just like unopened, new, unlooked at presents. While the truth is they’ve already been peeked into and are a source of disappointment, thusly remain reluctantly unopened, and also when such truths are uttered by not oneself- which they will not be obviously, - become an absolute outrage on the other’s part. Yes, I must say I did ignore the fact for my own good, however, I do not apologise for the truth, however harsh it may be and may it be an outrage, and by saying so maybe I must put an end to any hope of reconciliation with those who have been outraged, that however I will not.
For there is only hope that can never be lost and I believe in hope as much as I believe in the power of my abstraction and in the truth, in which, again, I must say, many do not.

Sudhir Sharma

Friday, November 3, 2006

Well, I just about managed to be completely forgotten after all. However, there exists an alcove just like the one I am unable to get rid of, yes, it’s just that it ain’t mine. In that forgotten cranny sits someone that once was me. I deliberate that my alcove be forgotten for it causes me too much pain for existing, however, it seems the other alcove that I daresay is counterpart to mine is not even cared about and hence is completely lost, passed by when looking at other places nearby and thusly whatever or whoever occupies it as well. And yes such is thy fate, Mr. Sharma, no questions allowed, and no apologies for the inconvenience. But well, there certainly are disturbances that must be attended to at times, questions aren’t answered but the questioner has to be put down.
Ahem…
Yes I understand why there were no explanations for reminiscence in situations most impertinent to me, for my space here is looked at and maybe frequently as well, but that must remain clandestine, removed from my direct knowledge. However, it seems to me deducing some facts is a simple job at times, for there can be not two times strikingly similar coincidences or maybe I have been kicked again in the balls as I’d put it, for deducing a conclusion as such. But I believe I haven’t been, not this time.
I do not accuse anyone, neither do I complain, I merely state a fact that I believe is a correct inference.
I never intended to write concerning a singular person here, even then, do you see what you made me do?
Tell me, do I lie?
Cheers for the truth.
I hope all will cheer, will you?

Sudhir Sharma

Thursday, November 2, 2006

I still have that picture, taken not many birthdays ago. I wish I were back there, still don’t know what exactly I would have to change, but maybe I could revel in my ignorance and thusly in my bliss. Make my hand rove over the picture freely, alas, it’s not real and I seem to have forgotten the touch of that skin and the smell of it. No, it’s still somewhere hidden in some alcove I deliberate to forget but trying to forget does not make it non-existent, it still remains where it was, giving shelter to the illusion which should never have been.
Stared at the picture for a good third of the hour, such reminiscence a man could have I did not think possible, well, the irony of fate again, it turned out wrong and it was proved with me as the object of experiment.
Have the small anklet too, the one I helped in making, I stole it after it was worn a couple of times. Kept it in the small drawer that I allow nobody access to. However, it was opened once and the voyeur generously punished and since then never I believe it happened again.
Played with the anklet for another third of the hour. Still smells of the skin it was meant for; or maybe it’s an olfactory phantasm.
Cost me more than two hours to look into that drawer, also the anti-frissons it costs seems a rather expensive affair to be longing so dearly for the past.
Moreover, I have the other small trinkets, yes, maybe they have been forgotten, for I stole them all too.
I stole almost everything I could; everything I could have survived with what was yours’ when you weren’t around. But yes, somebody did say once stealing was a bad habit, and see the price I am paying.
Even then I think I just couldn’t steal what I actually should have…
It was you, woman.
It was you.
You didn’t let me or maybe I just failed to.

Sudhir Sharma

Thursday, October 19, 2006

The date just remains on the header; it already is the 20th of October. Time ceaselessly will remain in the state it is, evanescent. Yes, as a chemical engineer I could say vaporized, and now I think nothing could sound more moronic. Volatile, ah, that’s the ticket. Inexplicably, I am unable to understand my obsession with time. The lines aren’t here to go maybe that’s why the obsession becomes a niftier form of paranoia everyday.
That was an oxymoron, niftier paranoia, eh…
All my discourses lately tend to become questions, all to myself and here I am unable to answer, only floundering in the silence of my ignorance.
I do not receive answers; even then, the process of questioning does not ebb.
Neither do the echoes…
The echoes of silence.

Sudhir Sharma

Thursday, October 6, 2006

The pace is too fast.
You just won’t last.
My life, my pride is broken….
That’s what the song that I’m listening to says, I love the din it creates, hate what it says. Multiple perceptions, maybe multiple personality play.
Started on an off note, it just struck on its own.
Well, as for multiple perceptions, I do not remain a singular case as to what I observe.
All due to a new habit that’s turning into an addiction now, reading blogs. And I remain completely oblivious to the reason why this habit contains in itself the power to transmogrify, maybe it assuages my hunger for literary knowledge, on the other hand maybe the voyeur within is secretly pandered to?
As for literary knowledge that still remains unappeased. However, it also does fulfill my needs for discovering new psychological frontiers that one remains ignorant of in the more picayune observations of everyday life. But well reading thoughts helps in observing nuances that would have been otherwise lost in the banality of life. And if one is capable, it may be observed that one’s perceptions of daily life may turn out to be entirely wrong, maybe not always, but nevertheless…
Where am I going?
Meant to say something entirely different today, damn the song….

Sudhir Sharma