Spare me a cigarette

Spare me a cigarette, I've come a long way

A trail of sins and lies, floating in my wake 

A shining land, it swayed me away

I did come here, anyhow anyways

Circles on circles, I've seen them play 

Circles on circles, I've left them there

Once failed to fire, I've cried in pain

I moaned for me heart, all the way here

I've seen them play, with fire and tears 

I left them there, I bring no cheers

My fate is sealed, it is loud and clear 

Just the shadows remain, of the loved ones so dear

Circles on circles, lovers and friends they say

They'd be twirling, in the shadows we made 

Spare me a cigarette, I can't find my way

There lies the path, but here I stay

Circles on circles, when shadows remain

The shadow, it remains..

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Inspiration: "Circles on circles" - Caspian

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You've earned it

I don't have much to write these days because all that I have to say has already been said by Alan Watts decades back, goddamit. If only he did not exist! I would have had so much original stuff to talk about and then bask in the light of my wisdom properly appreciated. Nevermind that any worthwhile thing I have to say, I have learnt from him goddamit.

In fact let me set the record straight for all the non-believers you. I write regularly. A lot indeed. Of course most of it is too filthy to be published. Or even written down in good detail indeed. Some of the wiser stuff is too wise to put into words. And much of it is simply beyond the understanding of lay readers like yourself, let's be honest here. So I don't even bother writing it down. My time is precious if you don't mind. 

Nevertheless, here is an important thing. If you are doing something bad or filthy or utterly disgusting. If it is so bad that you don't even dare recognise the fact that you enjoy it more than anything else. If it sets your beats going. If it gives you goosebumps just thinking of how improper it is. Then, my advice is to you is to do it properly. Enjoy it totally. As if you have earned it. As if it's your destiny, that filthy thing that you do. As if no that's no one else's fucking business, goddammit. 

Of course you can keep it as private as you like. I know I do. Dont even let your closest persons know. Because you have the right to keep somethings private even if you haven't earned that right ever, in your humble opinion. Because you've earned it by birth.

But then, don't insult your Darkside by feeling guilty about it or lying to yourself about how you will quit it and won't look back. Maybe you will. Maybe this is the very last time. But then, give this last time the respect it deserves. Enjoy it properly. As if you've earned it. 

And Alan Watts would say the same thing, only a bit more elegantly.

And lets not fuck around, this isn't the last time you will enjoy it. Not even the next time. Or the one after that! 

The Mandawa Score

If this write up looks vague, it is by design. If, by chance, there are any specifics, that is just an error at best or your imagination at worst. 

Mandawa is a heritage village in Rajastan, some six hours from Jaipur and near a very average town called Jhunjhunu. Which is just as well because Jhunjhunu is the reason I visited Mandawa, with one of my friends hailing from the place. I say 'friends' loosely. He was my junior in a previous job. I taught him all the best moves of the game so that he is now so much better off. The ungrateful bastard never properly thanked me. But he did invite me to this wedding, so I graciously forgive. 

He got married in a heritage resort in Mandawa. If you take erotic drawings of couples in compromising positions - and truthful portraits wholesome women in very little clothes - on almost every wall in the old village to be heritage, that is. 

The marriage itself was done rich, though my friend is anything but rich by character. Money is enough these days. So I ended up in this "concept" wedding and a very amusing couple of days were experienced by all. Except the dads of both the bride and groom I suppose. 

I mean, if you spend a fucking fortune on a marriage which has no guarantee of lasting more than a Godrej refrigerator, only to see drunkards and rowdies dance in boxers through the whole fucking nights of debauchery, thanks to your hospitality, you'd see how they must have regretted being so filthy rich.

Anyways, the resort was a KM off the village proper and on one of those days, I visited the village itself. I got a tag along on the way to the village. A boring friend of our bride groom. All of his friends were boring to be fair. Except me of course, and a couple of stoners who were there for the amusement part of the marriage, like me. The rest of the marriage party is nothing to talk about really. 

Anyways, this guy came drove me to the village in his car, and not finding anything that would interest him, turned back. I on the other hand, had shoes to buy, beers to drink and Havelis to explore. I had almost given up on Havelis and settled down with a beer on one of the Heritage roof top cafes at the end of a twisty lane when a this Guy showed up. I recognised him at first glance. I think too he knew that someone like me was in the area, just by scent. Because he somehow showed up just when I was thinking of asking around. He was skinny with bent teeth and not looking trustworthy at first glance. But then again, I've trusted a lot worse before and I am still alive. I think I have an instinct about these things. Hard earned. 

He was a guide of course. Among other things. 

He showed me the Havelis and the Art. I didn't know that the middle ages were full of perverts in this part of the country. While the rest of the world was probably starving to death or or simply being eradicated by some pandemic, these guys were too fucking rich to bother. Rich AND Fucking to be very clear. So they paid crazy money to have painters with wild imaginations unleash their fantasies onto the walls of their Havelis in form of colorful and beautiful - extremely beautiful - fornications. Among other things of course. But some things cannot be unseen.

This guide showed me those things. I am still healing in my psyche from the damage done to my sensitivities that afternoon. He doped me into buying some decorative Heritage stuff at ransom prices. But as I quipped in my botched up Hindi later to my new found stoner friends at the marriage, "if he doesn't loot me, how the fuck will HE make a living?"

More over, he did give me the promised gift. And no robbery too. It was worth the pain and the price.

He 'guided' me into a secluded gully towards the end of our walk. Something about 'two women making love to an elephant' being the charming words. A ragged guy caught up to us and greeted my guide then. He seemed used to running around these lanes a lot.

Hushed haggling. Increase in quantity and price. A quick handover. Some tip for the runner as well, and we were on the way to the rooftop. Just like that. A crucial couple of minutes. A clinical finish, like that of Messi in the Semi Finals of Champions League. Sign me up for such an efficient operation any week of the month. 

Add a fancy pipe for good form. Which, by the way, an old guy sells on the main street,  probably a satire on the whole situation. What did the law and order think of clay pipes made for just one obvious purpose being sold openly? But then, these guys were weird enough that even this absurdity was not out of place in this village here. I mean, just look at their fucking walls. 

Anyways, a chicken dinner (Figuratively. Marwadis eat only vegetables and other people), and something to brag about later in the evening. Afterall, not everyone can go to Mandawa and do as they damn please in broad day light. Not even if you are getting married rich. Not even if you are the dad!

Providence

Long story short, I ended up in Haridwar with excitement in my heart and heavy luggage on my back one early morning. It was December and it was Uttarakhand - this could be quite a weather shock for someone like me, used to the tropical South-Indian climate. But I was not to be deterred, I came prepared for the weather. What I was not prepared for, however, was the lazy and negligent attitude I carry during my leisure trips, especially when going solo. I usually account for my shortcomings on such occasions and so have extra checks in mind to avoid disaster. But this time - I really messed up. 

After taking a half-an-hour auto ride from Haridwar to Rishikesh, I got on a sharing jeep at Rishikesh immediately to reach my planned campsite, which is around twenty kilometres north of the temple town. As soon as I got out of this jeep on a twisty road in the jungle, near my campsite as per Maps, I realized that I did not have my smaller travel bag on me. This bag was important because it had cigarettes and, among other things, my office laptop.

The jeep had already raced away long before I realized my loss, lost in the twisting ghat roads of Uttarakhand, God-knows heading where to. Thinking of finding help in this place seemed more of a joke than hope. After a few minutes of panicking and swearing my heart out, I realized two things. One, I still had my phone and wallet with me, so I can survive. Two, there was a chance I can still catch up with the jeep if I can somehow find another ride in its direction. Because if I could not trace that laptop back, I might as well call my manager and quit right now.

What happened next feels like a planned sketch on hindsight. But I’d like to call it providence. A kind man stopped his jeep almost immediately and I convinced him of my situation so that he hesitatingly let me in and agreed to help me track the jeep. As we started on the road, I earned his sympathies through, among other things, the promise of a good breakfast and more rewards, in vague terms, if we were successful. He was a mountain guy named Suresh, or Kumar - definitely one of the two, hailing from a small mountain village north of Dev Prayag and was kind enough to give me some of his Beedis to fight off the chill.

Now, the dire situation I found myself in - more like dug myself into - was there to be dealt with, but let me dwell on this bliss that was this jeep ride just for a moment here.

I was sitting on the front seat beside Sunil, smoking those Beedis like a chimney to fend off the cold. And this was my first morning in the mountains after ages. They’ve been calling for some time now and I finally arrived. No lost bag can stop me from enjoying the views of these beautiful twisting roads among green and brown mountains, leading to heaven itself through the foggy morning. I welcomed the chilly breeze with open arms even if it felt like I was going to freeze (I had four layers of clothing on, but still). The Ganges on the right in a narrow valley was not visible, but I knew it was there from its sloshing sounds as it headed the opposite way towards the holy Shiva temples down south. I was in the Himalayas after long last and this moment right here was magic. The context of the ride itself was just background music in my mind and I wished that I could afford to ignore it.

I did bring myself back from my trance often to ponder on the situation during that ride. Had to, obviously. I think what kept me from losing my mind completely was the experience of being in such fucked-up situations before, and I am still alive, am I not? Want to know what been-there-done-that looks like? Look at my face as I was figuring out how to survive this. I was uncomfortable in the cold, a storm of pain waiting to unleash unless I got this bag back (not the least from my family back home), which was very unlikely and my original camping plan is probably ruined for good. But I also had a foolish smile on my lips because, deep down, I was swaying with bliss in this heavenly atmosphere. But I tried to conceal my joy from Sunil just so he takes me seriously enough. And I never smoked anything as spirited as those simple Beedis of his – just wow.

Anyways, we figured that the missing jeep was likely headed to Dev Prayag, then onto Rudra Prayag, or somewhere along that route towards the snow-mountains of the Kedarnath-Badrinath range. Que an hour-long ride with me trying to recollect the details of that jeep, scanning the ghat road ahead and talking to as many jeeps parked on that road as was possible.

After a lot of time with no success, or even clues, we were ready to take a breakfast break. At this point, I had given up on tracing my bag and sort of prepared myself to face the music. So, you can imagine my face when the sharing-jeep that I was searching for had also stopped at the same Dhaba for breakfast - broken glass on the driver’s side was the perfect clue. But when I looked - I felt like someone punched me in the face - my bag wasn’t there in that jeep. Despair.

After talking to the people from the jeep, I realized that I have likely lost it before I even got onto this ride somewhere back in Rishikesh or Haridwar, sixty kilometres down-south, right where I came from. So, credit to my amazing memory, I had managed to enjoy the whole journey from Rishikesh to that camping site earlier in the morning, a whole hour without a clue that I was missing crucial luggage. It slowly dawned on me (while enjoying an amazing paratha at this Dhaba), that I lost my bag on the sharing auto that I took from Haridwar to Rishikesh. Probably.

After saying goodbye to Sunil, who was very sensitive given my comical botch-up, I got onto a bus that went back to Rishikesh. As I was thinking about how this puzzle was deepening and as I tried to prime my Mr Holmes' instincts to crack this one, an amazing insight caught me by the neck and basically said “you may still redeem yourself, after all, you fucking idiot, and genius”. 

The auto in which I seemed to have lost my bag probably bore the number 2020. How do I remember? someone had specifically mentioned it to me as I was asking for directions at the bus stop in Haridwar “go to that auto number 2020”. Like, if it was some fucking 6532 or something, no chance it would have registered. As I said, providence.

Anyways, after another couple of such positive omens, my crazy detective instincts, and with help of some kind auto-drivers, I did trace my bag. The driver of the 2020 auto was kind enough to deposit it at the Union in Rishikesh, everything inside untouched including the fucking-laptop.

On looking back - and tell me if this whole thing is not reminiscent of the Alchemist story in any way, ok? - if Sunil and I were not able to trace back that sharing jeep en route to Dev Prayag - with help of lots of Beedis - earlier, I would have simply assumed that the bag was lost in the sharing jeep and given up. I would have probably travelled further north hoping to trace it there, but since it was halting at that specific Dhaba (with its amazing parathas) I would have likely missed it. And with that, I may never have realized that there was this auto called 2020 on which I had forgotten my bag.

So, stopping at that same Dhaba for our breakfast was pure awesome luck. I mean, we were talking of stopping at three other Dhaba’s before this place for breakfast, and we simply did not for God-only-knows-what reason. Just randomness you’d think. But I’ve found that this happens to me every so often - I dig myself into a deep pit and then find some unlikely way to get out. 

So, 2020 came back in December of 2021, to help me move into 2022 with a semblance of grace. Well, at least the number 2020 did. But the whole experience had a greater meaning. Over the journey on the slopes of Rishikesh-Dev Prayag in the quest for that sharing jeep, I realized that I was not really afraid of losing that laptop or my job. Any job, for that matter. In fact, there was this sense of relief that it was somehow decided for me. I carry that over into 2022 and beyond.

As it turned out, an old mountain lady at Deoria Tal asked for that bag a few days later on this same trip and I gave it away. It was a special bag – made of jute with shaded blue and red colours, with ropes for straps. More than a few people asked me where I had got it. “In Kasol”, I’d reply with a smile. And man did it save my ass on more than one occasion. But then, its time had come to move on and help an old woman with her chores.

I am giving up on my career too, by the way. It’s time too has come to move on and help, well, whoever needs a career, I guess. Losing that bag decided it for me. Or maybe it was the journey en route Dev Prayag with Sunil. Or Kumar.

On that day, actually tracing that bag back had set off something in my mind. A belief in some sort of providence. Or maybe, the providence was, after all, my carelessness in losing it in the first place.

Swamy, or how to prove yourself an utter failure

We had a dog and I called it Swamy

We had it only for a week but I still had to fucking name it

It was not well, or I would've still had it 

This is the fourth time I am trying to say it

We had a dog and I called it Swamy 

I tried hard but just couldn't tame it

It was a stray and I was a layman

In the end we were both tired of each other 

We tried to pet and care for it

I tried to get my son used to it

I tried to hold on as long as I can but

In the end it became too much of a bother 

I had to let go of it

I abandoned it and I am now a meme

I left it on a street full of wild beasts

I tried but couldn't even cry back then

I still remember the day when I betrayed 

I started my car while my dog was still playing 

I wish my kid doesn't remember 

How his dad once behaved like a coward

We had a dog and I called it Swamy

One day at night I sat down on my bed and started crying

Knew I had killed a part of me

I wish that was the worst of me