Eagle vs. Shark

Anyone can be intelligent, not everyone can be smart. yet, i meet smart people everywhere and far too few intelligent ones. somehow so many i've met with great i.q's aren't very intelligent at all.



i'm not the smartest person i know, far from but i am intelligent. you need good genes to be smart for a start and you can obviously work at it but let's face it, the guy with two dimwits for parents will most likely not be the head of his class no matter how much he studies. all the information will not stick and some of it will be lost along the way. however this doesn't mean one should give up and throw in the towel, that would be unintelligent.



not being smart doesn't mean you're dumb, not exercising intelligence does. no one has a valid excuse to not utilize their intelligence. intelligence is what we all have inside us to transcend whatever situation we've been dealt with. intelligence is striving to become better. intelligence is a key ingredient of happiness. intelligence needs your entire being to progress. mind. body. soul.



soul. is the more simple of the three in my opinion but somehow the hardest to perfect. it's also a figment of our mind... to me. i know most people believe it to be its own entity, something weightless in themselves, perhaps closer in feel to their heart than to their mind.



intelligence touches that part of the brain where soul resides that all the smarts in the world can't. soul feeds intelligence and intelligence feeds soul. purity and selflessness feed both which brings on REAL happiness. TRUENESS. therefore ignorance is NOT bliss. intelligence is.



truth. unflinching. unbendable. impenetrable. glorious. happiness. transcendent. freedom. REAL.



conflicts whether inner or outer are unavoidable. exercising intelligence greatly minimizes the appearance and duration of these conflicts, which in turn minimizes the affect of them on yourself. being true to yourself gives you no choice but to be true to others. not an easy feat and very difficult to accomplish but it would be unintelligent not to give it a shot. i'm working hard at it and making very little progress but progress nonetheless.



i FEEL indestructibly unstoppable because i try to glide with grace on the clouds of intelligence. not because i've read a book. i'd rather fly with the angels than swim with the mermaids any day.



suggestion for new year's resolution: exercise intelligence

Rising Son

I woke. I rose.

I decided i was going to walk to china 1 crisp and dewy, stark morning. the sun absent.

no backpack. no luggage. no baggage. no looking back. no half steps. no stumbling. no stops. no idea. no failure.

all thoughts, wants, needs, desires, goals combine to make; 1 mind. 1 body. 1 heart. 1 soul. 1 hunger. 1 horizon. 1 vision. 1 love. all combine to make 1 lumbering weight on two shoulders. all encompassed into 1 word.

i rise.

along my walk i have picked up beautiful baggage, i have looked back in disgust, i have stumbled foolishly, i have a better idea. NO FAILURE. NEVER FAILURE.

and still i rise.

i walk. i stare at the horizon. beaten but not beat. fatigued but not tired. the horizon never nears but the grave i woke from fades further and further away. that's the idea. china is not the oasis. china is the mirage. the walk is the oasis.

all thoughts, wants, needs, desires, goals combine to make; 1 omnipotent mind. 1 indestructible body. 1 enormous heart. 1 passionate soul. 1 unrelenting hunger. 1 illusion of a horizon. 1 stead fast vision. 1 enveloping love. all combine to 1 feather of a weight on two iron clad shoulders. all encompass to 1 word.

freedom.

Blog's New Year's Resolution

Dates are out, b! i'm no longer going to pay attention to them when i'm posting. i used to pre-occupy myself with how often i post and i went from worrying about posting once a week to trying to get at least 1 in a month. i'm freeing myself from that thought. i'll just write when i write.

i've never been good with dates. every year i vow to remember my mom's birthday, it's never stuck. yes, i realize that is abominable. amman the abominable. i've never been good with telling time. five years ago may as well be three years ago maybe as well be six months ago. i don't know. the dates will stay on precisely so i know when i wrote it.... just for kicks...

i think i want to get all anarchy with this blog now. i don't know exactly what that means but i think i want to disregard as many rules as possible. including rules i've set for myself. you might or might not have noticed my love for short choppy sentences. there. will. be. more. of these. or will they? did i just make a rule for myself and then break it?

i'm different. this blog will represent that in however i can make it represent that. i'm going to confuse you. this will sometimes and other times not be on purpose.

this is a product of working graveyards leading to very awkward moments, more, others expressing themselves to me and me expressing myself to others in rather awkward ways, more, awkward sentences formed of words, much like this sentence, awkwardness would be the key word for the past 24 hours. i felt i absolutely had to write something to end it and this is the best i could come up with. on this hour of five in the a.m. on novermber the 13th of 2010.

this post may or may not be deleted in the near or distant future... just for kicks...

oh, i al.most

I Liked His Earlier Stuff Better

It's been a year, can you believe it??? i can't! so much has happened since i started this blog and well, you know a lot about it. my journal for the masses! and by masses i mean lori :)

i started strong, didn't i? i was brimming with zeal and anticipation and anxiety, good anxiety. and of course having a brain over flowing with things to write about coupled with aforementioned anxiety, i spat those motherfuckers out like excess pork fat. you have no idea how much control it took me to take my time in posting. like a virgin, i was all rush, rush... think of baseball, think of baseball.

i really feel like fucking swearing a lot right now. happy fucks, not angry fucks. so here we fuckin go...

the fuckin sophomore slump, that's what they call it in the music biz. when you start strong and have nowhere to fuckin go but down for your second outing. i say fuck that! it only makes sense, when you start you have a lifetime of work ready to go after which you're just working with where you fuckin left off. which reminds me, i lost that story i was working on. how can something you spend time on and stare at with adoration disappear off the face of the earth right in front of your eyes??? the cyber world giveth and the cyber world taketh away. i was going to re-write the shit out of that thing anyway but damn did i have some fucking beautiful gems of sentences in there. you'll never know. moving on...

if i have to write about cancer this year, i'm going to be FUCKING PISSED!

if i don't get in at least a couple of more evolution pieces, i'm going to be FUCKING PISSED!

if i'm not able to crack a few smiles, i'm going to be FUCKING PISSED!

if i don't get deeper into my own head, i'm going to be FUCKING PISSED!

if anyone else dies on me, I'M GOING TO BE FUCKING PISSED!

in my own charlie brown; typing furiously; smiling incessantly; loving tremendously; heart on my sleeve; too amorous to be bitter; too jaded to be enthralled; overwhelmed; fuck it; peaceful ass way :)

you might wanna hide your cats though.

HAPPY NEW YEAR, BLOG!

I'M OUT! SING IT ELLIOTT!

Busy, Busy, Busy

Man, i've been busier than i've ever have been in the past. not finding time to blog as much as i'd like to. hopefully this just means the quality of it kicks up a notch because the quantity is definitely lacking. i have some good ones in store that i'm waiting to unleash but i don't want to rush them. i'm never satisfied with my posts when i rush them, well i'm not satisfied when i don't rush them either but the satisfaction exceeds that of the rushed ones. you know what i'm sayin'.

so i've been working a hell of a lot more which is good but it comes with set backs like posting less and i've taken a pay cut to work the morning shift so i can still have a social life. those cheques get a lot smaller and the savings dwindle because i go out after work on an almost daily basis. it's summer though right? gotta enjoy it while it's here. i miss watching movies all the time but i get to read at work, in fact i don't even read at home anymore. so there's the pros and cons of work right now. boring, boring, boring, boring... moving on...

THE FUNDRAISER! now before we get all excited about that exclamation mark, let me clarify that the punctuation mark represents a little bitterness for me. the whole process has somewhat soured me from wanting to do it again next year. i didn't think it would be easy but it's definitely harder than i thought it would be. well, not harder either, more like frustrating and stressful. there's not much to it really, the hardest part, the only hard part is getting people on board. ya, i know, you thought that would be the easy part. IT'S NOT! stressing, stressing, stressing, stressing... can't move on...

of course, getting close friends to come and buy tickets is not the problem. it's when you're reaching for the other ones where this becomes tricky. you definitely have to hustle and convince and harass and sell and then hustle and convince and harass and sell. you get a lot of "ya, i'll come." but in no way is that a concrete "yes". that usually just means "leave me alone, if i have nothing better to do, i might come." i'm a pretty "happy go lucky", "go with the flow" type of guy so hustling, convincing, harassing and selling isn't really in my repertoire. one of my friends on the other hand isn't having much problem at all. the guy can seriously shoot the shit with the best of them. i was with him one day, stressed about selling tickets and he got on the phone and sold like 5 in 5 minutes. i don't have it in me to chase people and bother them. i was naive in thinking people would just call me and ask for tickets. only 1 person, YES 1 PERSON! called me without me having to call first, asking for tickets.... and that was just yesterday, after about a month of promoting. now i realize i'm being a baby considering the eventual good that is to come from all this but dammit, can't things just fall into my lap!?!?!? the air on this page is getting stuffy with grievance. annoying, annoying, annoying, annoying... moving on...

i'm going through major life changes at this point and embarking on scary experiences that i know not how to handle. i will stress, i will learn, i will evolve, i will write, i will de-stress. i will stress, i will learn, i will evolve, i will write, i will de-stress. evolving, evolving, evolving, evolving... let's move on...

The Barber Shop

Us men, we have one person to brag about and endorse to others, our barber. women have their nail girls, their hair girls, their wax girls, their massage girls, their girly girly girls. we have barbers. our barber's are the best barbers in the world, ask any man that visits one. he wouldn't go to him, if he didn't think his barber was the best.

I remember going to the barber's with my dad when i was but a wee lad. this place in east van complete with that bottle thing that spins with blue, red and white stripes. i wonder what those are called, they fascinate me to this day. you don't see them too often anymore though.

I must've gone through a multitude of nameless barbers until i found Art on scott rd. art was old school. i would be shocked to find out he was still alive. he never used clippers, only scissors. that's an art in itself. the first time i went there was when my mom had to do some shopping and dropped me off for a cut while she shopped. thank god she left because art's coffee table was littered with PORN! and i'm not talking about playboy, i mean HARDCORE PORN! needless to say from then on i rode my bike for a half hour to get my fade and fix. i would hope for a wait on the way and once i got there, i would be totally nonchalant, give it a minute or two, act like i was so bored that i might as well take a look and pick up where i left off as discreet as can be. as discreet as a 12 year old boy ogling hardcore porn in a barber shop can be. there's a special relationship that takes place between every young boy and his first brush with porn. maybe not so much anymore, what with the internet and all. there's no excitement of the hunt and the eventual jackpot anymore. the kids these days don't know what they're missing, it's too easy for them, the thrill is gone. i digress, porn's a powerful agent of digression. art retired.

Now i was ready for the real thing, the lovely ladies of great clips. i learned women talk too much even when cutting hair. asking dumb questions, trying to sell me $20 bottles of shampoo and shit. peace out, bitches!

then came ali and jamaal, 2 brothers working out of a garage. probably the busiest barber shop for miles, these guys turned themselves into local celebrities and did quite well for themselves. ali moved to white rock and opened his own shop soon after, he being my go to guy, i stopped going there. jamaal too, recently opened his own full fledged barber shop on king george hwy.

My barber, vinny was a great guy working out of his car port. one of my friends discovered vinny because he lived down the street. vinny's make shift car port barber shop turned into a social hub for all the boys. my first experience of a barber shop part of a social scene (other than the one my dad went to but that social scene didn't exactly involve me). vinny was great except that he was a first class pot head and he usually insisted on smoking before cutting. he also loved his paan (an indian style chewing tobacco with spices and masala). your barber spitting in a bucket while cutting your hair doesn't exactly encourage your confidence in him. but he was a really nice guy, he'd even give me a ride home if there was no customers waiting. plus he would sing and if in the mood, he would invite you into his house to listen to him rock the tabla and sing old school hindi songs. and he gave me free haircuts in exchange for magazines i would get for free from my then place of employment, newsgroup. vinny was going to school to become a nurse. he did. end of another era.

finally, my current barber, bharat. bharat's not the best barber by any means. the best barber without a doubt is elmer, a vietnamese, soft spoken man. problem with elmer is he lives far (also working out of his garage), you have to make an appointment and he takes a full half hour but you come out looking like a million bucks. i'll go to him for my wedding or something special. right now it's all about convenience for me. bharat's basement barber shop is a 2 minute walk away. he's quick, he sings just as vinny did and it's also a neighborhood social hub but with the younger guys, a lot of my brother's friends go there.

for now, i'm satisfied with bharat. i'll save elmer for a hot date. this is my story and these are my barbers.

Friends, How Many of Us Have Them?

DISCLAIMER: this post was not written with foul inspiration stemming from an event or person. it's simply a train of thought i've been carrying in my mind for a little while hence it's erratic flow. bare with it, please. it's thoroughly sincere.

One thing i've noticed over my 29 years on this planet is that all of us are more or less the same. we all need to eat and breathe, we all have things we fear and love. we all need each other in one way or another.

it's in the details where we can become vastly different from each other. our fingerprints, our dna, how we are raised, where we are raised and by whom. these things alter who we become and the variations of these outcomes are infinite.

if i were to clone a caucasian version of my baby self and plant him, let's say in russia, i would imagine my cloned self would be a much different version of me, but would still somehow be me. i wonder how my likes and dislikes, my habits and personality would be different and how they would be the same.


that being said, i wonder if my friends would be similar to the friends i have now. we choose our friends by common interests. all my close friends are freakin hilarious and most of them love music. in fact, i have friends that became so because of our similar tastes in music and with some of them i don't think i've ever even talked about anything else.


my whole life, without realizing it, while growing up, i've automatically been drawn towards the people that make me laugh and share a similar sense of humor with. i moved around a bit and when at a new school after the initial awkwardness and shyness i made friends by cracking them up. the ability to make people laugh has served me very well in my social encounters. (if only i could somehow transfer that to this blog. being funny and being able to write funny are two completely different things, the latter being much harder.) maybe a little too well. some days when i don't want to laugh or make someone laugh, i get a lot of "what's wrong?" "something bothering you?" those questions are really what bother me. anyway, i'm losing my focus again.


i love my friends, no question, but sometimes i think if i stayed in vancouver and grew up there, would my friends really be much different from the ones i have now? i know we all like to think we're unique, but are we really? as great as my friends are, there's probably a guy just like "mike" in vancouver, in any given neighborhood. there's probably a "me" somewhere in brazil blogging bout his friends right now. only the minor details in personality are different right? maybe the other mike likes something this mike doesn't but the mike's all over are pretty much the same. are we really that lucky to have the friends we have, like we think we are?


did i just cheapen the value of friendship?
a lil bit, a lil bit. sorry for febreezing away that essence of friendship we all hold dear.

time, i think is the biggest factor in friendship or any relationship for that matter. either time spent with or time spent apart. i have friends from as far back as elementary school. i like to think i'm loyal but really i probably just have abandonment issues. which is why i think i don't like to lose touch with people. with time we realize the ones that are going to stay around. i have some friends now that have been my friends forever and are so just because of that fact. sometimes i feel if i were to meet some of them now at this point in my life, i wouldn't dislike them but i wouldn't think we would become as close of friends as we are now. so are we close friends then?


i have friends i seldom see anymore. with some, when we finally meet, we don't miss a beat. it's as if nothing's changed, we're on point with each other like tip and phife. and at the same time there's others that remind you why you don't see them that much anymore and why that fact is no longer bothersome.

the time together is why russian mike is unique from my mike. there's a reason why i want mike to come to the concert with me, to read what i read, to watch what i watched, to listen to what i listen to, to not read what i write.

you might feel, after reading this that i have no respect for friendship. you're wrong. i love my friends more than family. i chose them.

experiences shared is what makes our friends unique.

The Sun's Trap

First off, i'd like to apologize for not writing more often. the sun is directly to blame. i'm sure i've mentioned before that i write more often in the darker seasons. once the sun starts to come out for some reason i'm not as inspired. i love the sun and although it enlightens my life and spirit, it doesn't enlighten my thoughts much. i'm usually left with a false sense of euphoria. i'm a little more happy-go-lucky than usual, which in a way forces my brain to be a little more lethargic. and isn't that what happiness really is? slowing the brain down. sweeping the clutter under the rug. eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. "i think i'm dumb, maybe just happy" - kurt cobain

i've been blogging more often than i even thought i would be able to... up to about a month ago. this is has a lot to do with the fall and winter seasons. in hindsight i can see there was no way this blog would've started in spring or summer. there's something about the dark that keeps me thinking. lying in bed is when i come up with my best stuff but more often than not i'll be too lazy to get out of my warm blanket to get all the thoughts down. somewhat of an insomniac, i've written damn near whole stories and posts in my head trying to sleep. of course, this is completely counter productive towards my goals of sleeping AND writing. the faster the brain ball rolls, the further my slumber runs away.

often walks home from the bar or a friends house, with a buzz, the wind strong against my face and the occasional rain pour, start to strike strong clear thoughts and ideas within. a lot of times, i'm offered rides and my friends are perplexed to why i would walk when i can get a ride, well now you know. a lot of these posts are products of those walks. as soon as i get home i rush for my notebook or laptop.

this also explains my deep love for vancouver. lord knows, we get an abundance of rainy days and few sunny ones. but when it's here doesn't it make it that much more BRIGHTER!

the sun's bugging me right now and is holding me back from continuing further. so i'm just going free my fingers from my keyboard's cathartic grip and just enjoy the sun for what it is, the easiest, natural form of escape.

Before Amitabh Went Bollywood

I don't understand how grown ass brown people born and raised in canada watch bollywood movies. i understand why people in india do, it's a huge part of their culture as hollywood is ours. art in india is mostly underground and for the rich. the people who have the time and luxury to hunt down art if they wish to. the artsy music and movies and stuff stay underground and take a far back seat to the mass produced bollywood crap. they're all for the most part, musicals and the music is the pop music of india. so the movies are like a double whammy of crapola! the soundtracks often make or break the movie. in fact, you can have an awesome movie on your hands but if the soundtrack sucks, your awesome movie, will without a doubt, fail. and you can have the shittiest movie of all time but if the soundtrack's a hit so is the movie. could you imagine if that was the case with hollywood movies? haven't seen a bollywood movie? watch grease, or mama mia then cut out the kissing, there you go. imagine watching movies like grease for the rest of your life? scary, i know.

the thing is though, the indian people haven't been exposed to much of anything else because other options are far and few. also the largely poor population just wants to escape from their shitty lives. eventhough hollywood just like bollywood find a money making trend and run with it (scary movies in the 90s, superhero movies, teenage comedies and now with the fucking vampires), hollywood also has indie productions that steer from these trends and keep things fresh and new. india doesn't really have these available to anyone other than college kids, either making or hunting them down. as critically acclaimed as some of these are, they almost never make a dime. lack of funding for promotions keeps these forever in the dark. some of these are probably more popular here than there.

i even understand why some white people watch bollywood movies, every now and then. the east indian culture has been slowly seeping into our pop culture for awhile now. it started with timbo and other producers experimenting with eastern sounds in pop music and the popularization of yoga and then finally with slumdog millionaire. all these things slowly accumulated and now the south asian culture is a full blown fad in our pop culture. it's the cool thing to do or be. but mark my words, it is just that, a fad. it will fade just as it came to the forefront. so ya, i can understand why white people watch them. but they don't live them, as some of my peers do.

i don't completely hate bollywood. i have a strong sense of nostalgia tied with them. amitabh bhachan, (the actor the slumdog chases down for an autograph covered in shit, in the movie) was my first obssession. i would watch bollywood movies growing up with my parents, well it wasn't exactly "bollywood" then, they were just hindi movies. amitabh was like brando, deniro, pacino and eastwood all rolled up into one. actually, he still is. he's not only still the biggest bollywood star of all time but he's also the focal point of all the movies he's in. he hasn't really taken the supporting role even into his 60s. anyway, i was completely obssessed with him as was every other brown kid in the world, as evidenced in slumdog. during my summers in india, my cousins and i would go on amitabh binges. watching 2-3 different movies of his EVERYDAY! our goal was to watch every movie he had ever made. WE DID! eventhough that was still fairly early in his career, he had an abundance of kick ass flicks. let me see, if i can wiki up some kind of idea of how many movies that might've been... i went to imdb and it was just over 100! obssessed to say the least. he took a break for awhile and that's also when i came back here and grew up a little and have pretty much avoided bollywood ever since. i recently heard that wal mart now carries hindi movies, so i might just pick up an old school amitabh dvd or 2.

Brainstorm

Of these boisterous winds
That carry me like wings
Across plains, I dream

Frantically across the range
With a calm so strange
That puts me at un-ease with ease

Lack of vision makes the journey excited
Lack of wisdom makes the journey un-guided
And no particular destination

Makes it one of neglect and obsession

this is my favourite piece of work, not because of what it is, but because of what it represents.

years ago i was in a hole, at the bottom of it. sitting at the floor of this well i picked up a napkin and a pen. i wanted to write like my grandpa, i wanted to write like tupac, i wanted to write like kurt, i wanted to write like anthony, i wanted to write like billy, i wanted to write like thom. (i didn't have the mental capacity to want to write like andre yet.) i wanted to write. i wanted to have something i wrote make a difference to someone else, just like all of them did for me. i was working security, which meant sitting in parking lots for hours. so ya, i picked up a napkin, i picked up a pen. i wrote.

i used to write a little here and there for kicks. i used to write really lame raps, those raps turned into something a little bit more substantial in my notebook. this is before the hole. it was camp, the fad disappeared.

but those men, that job, that hole made me find that napkin, made me find that pen. i wanted to write something substantial now.

i wrote. it was shitty. i was trying to climb out the hole. my pen and paper turned into stepping stones. my climb exposed light, my feet felt a little lighter. i wrote more crap. i wrote some more crap. same old shit, same old shit, it all sucked.

then one night i lay in bed, words swarming around me, buzzing. i grabbed my notebook, just wanting to write. knowing it's gonna suck. not knowing what to write. what to write? what to write? what to write? i need to write...

IT HIT ME, write about wanting to write!

i wrote "brainstorm" in seconds! minutes would do that thought more justice. it happened so fast but i'm sure not as fast as it felt! despite time, it was sooooo easy, sooooooo natural, soooooo perfect, soooooooo like i wanted it be!

immediately after writing it, i knew this is all i want. this feeling of self accomplishment, this feeling of self validation, this feeling of self produced euphoria. self. me. this is what i want to do. i want to do this over and over and over and over...

i was already writing not realizing it was what i loved to do. after that blessed moment of writing and reading what i wrote, i knew it! i impressed myself! i got HIGH off it! i didn't believe it! did i just make that up? did i just write that? did that come from me? did i just write something deeply mine? at the same time could this be completely different to someone else? i smiled, like i've never smiled. i wanted that feeling again....

i've been chasing that feeling ever since....

Just 'Cause You Feel It Doesn't Mean It's There

Freedom, love, hatred, happiness, anger, trust, confidence, spirit, soul, belonging, security, warmth, hospitality, generosity, wealth, sorrow, intellect, artistry, reliability, camaraderie, relation.... SELF.

the title of this post is a lyric from a song called, "there, there" by radiohead. the very first time i heard it, it struck me instantly, the lyric, i mean. i thought about it over and over, and what it meant. then all of a sudden it hit me! it was so obvious. above is what i think it means. it's up to you to decide what it means to you. what does it mean to you?

i'll take this opportunity to inform those who have not realized yet, that a lot of the titles to my posts are lyrics of songs. a lot of times i'll hear things in music and they will spark something in my head completely different than their intention, so i assume.

let's run through;

the miseducation of amman parmar was named after lauryn hill's album, the miseducation of lauryn hill

i don't like to dream about getting paid; title of a song by the dogg pound, a very diffenent song than what i posted to say the least

it's evolution, baby; is from pearl jam's "do the evolution"

on the side of my bed, where no good ever stayed; is a lyric from "jazzybelle" by outkast

(i originally wrote this post on the 22nd of last dec. the first paragraph anyway)

FIRE!

there's an alarm going off

that i can't stop

stop!

it starts

to form a thought

it stops

ringing again

i've lost all faith

singing again

not able to stop

this alarm

ringing again

it keeps goin on

alarming

ringing again

until the reason and source

come out of hiding

Nobody

My birthday has now passed. it was fun, i had an awesome time due in large part to my alcohol intake, which obviously wasn't enough, otherwise i wouldn't be able to type.

last year, i was able to bring friends out of the wood work, not this time around though. last night, or tonight as it is for me, i expected this birthday to be the best, most memorable yet. how shittelly (new word) was i disappointed!?!?

i had a great time, don't get me wrong. but unlike last year, no one came this year. the inexplicable part is, last year, i barely made an effort. this year i made a HUGE effort, i invited everyone i knew. last year, i didn't get many calls or texts about what was going on. this year, i constantly got calls and texts. last year, people i hadn't seen in a long time and did not expect to show, showed. this year, a lot of people i thought were "for sures" turned "no shows" even after they called and/or text'd to confirm they're "for sure-ness"....

it's a crazy, mixed up world, i can't explain it, i just live in it.

Just An After Thought To My Last Thought

The story i'm embarking on, may very well turn into a novel one day. it has openings for further story at both beginning and ending. i've already been putting in more time thinking about the possibilities rather than thinking of the task at hand. the story i'm writing now can very easily be just a chapter or two within the big picture. i think i'm going to carry the idea through and add to it over time and see where it goes.

a friend and i once talked about how much research, dedication and time must go into writing a novel. you really have to be passionate about it. which i am, i think but i'm also lazy and as i mentioned i procrastinate a lot. i'll write it later, goes through my head all the time and i justify it by making lame excuses. i know, i'm only lying to myself and how pathetic is that?

the whole idea was inspired by a single painting and it's an original idea as far as i know. i love how a single work of art can inspire creativity and cause someone else to create something off the strength of that work in a completely different form of art. art breeds art. did i ever mention how much i love art?

(i just really wanted to use this picture. i bet it comes to bite me in the ass when i write something that could've really used it.)

On the Side of My Bed, Where No Good Ever Stayed

I've been grossly neglecting my beloved notebook ever since i started this blog. i've written in it maybe once or twice since. that's not the only reason though. i don't really like my current notebook, my third since i picked up a pen years ago. it was a gift, i guess. my friend works at pepsi and he had won it as a prize at his christmas party which consisted of other cooler things, to him anyway, so he had no qualms of parting with it. i saw it in his car and my first thought was, cool. it's gotta soft, kind of puffy blue cover and it's small enough to fit in my pocket and has a red ribbon for a bookmark, which really caught my eye because i used to hate trying to flip through pages to find the next empty one. when i'm in a hurry and want to write immediately that would really annoy me. so all these things that i love about it go out the window because if its only but huge downfall, it's bound tighter than a virgin's legs. (i just slapped myself for using that metaphor. sometimes originality has to take a back seat to corn.) this is extremely irritating when writing because i have to hold it open while i write, no good. she's like a super model, pretty on the outside and empty inside. sorry for offending any super models who might be reading, you know i love you.

my phone's another reason, i text myself ideas and lines so i don't forget by the time i get to my notebook. didn't work, just made me lazier. now i just have a phone full of drafts, one liners and single words which might have made sense when i put them in but now when i look at some, i have no fucking idea what i was thinking of. "only mississippi can feel me" is one of my favourites. let me know if you think you know what the hell i was thinking of. i'm gonna go with something to do with the blues. that's all i know about mississippi, that and the klan, which seems a good of a reason as any to have the blues.

lastly, i'm bored of writing poetry, i guess that was bound to happen after a couple of notebooks full of crappy poems revolving around three basic themes. booooring. i'll bore you with them when i have nothing else to say.

which brings me to my point. yes, i had a point and am only now getting to it. even though i really enjoy writing this blog, i really, really want to write short stories and maybe, just maybe a novel one day but let's not get ahead of ourselves. short stories are hard enough, not so much the writing but coming up with an idea with some substance and entertainment. i've got 1 on paper, 1 in my head (which wants to hide in there a bit longer. procrastination might be its demise but i promise to do whatever i can to not lose it... except for writing it) and 1 that i just started yesterday after coming up with the idea a week or two ago. (procrastination - 1000, me - 1) this story will be my biggest challenge yet. it's very different from anything i've ever written, it has some fantasy in it. i usually write very real things, they're easier, you don't have to be as creative. the biggest obstacle however, will be writing about love. i've written about the part when the boy and girl meet already and have left it at that for now. i've never been in love. i've been infatuated a million times but definitely have never been in love. so it's probably going to be a little corny. i don't really have any experience to draw from for that part of the story. we'll see how it goes. feel free to tell me anything that you might think will help me with this. so wish me luck. if it goes good, i hope to try to get it published. some of you know i tried with my last one but my professor suggested some changes to make it better, which, once again due to procrastination and a loss of care, put back on the burner.

ps. some of you had mentioned how you were unable to comment on my posts and i just recently realized there's a setting to change that and i did. so if you still can't leave a comment let me know. and email me a "hi" at bit.2@hotmail.com if you want me to send the story when i'm done unless i already have your email address of course. but don't expect it to be anytime soon.

Vancouver 2010

Seems like it's been a long time since i've written anything, well i guess it has. hope i didn't lose any of you. i know poetry's not exactly for everyone especially my grandpa with his old school english and deep, lengthy poems. so i'm back, let's move on.

THE OLYMPICS! how much fun was that? i had a blast! for the past few days i've been reminiscing in order to have something to write about on here. it's what i usually do, let an idea marinate in my head, take mental notes and after a couple of sleeps, start typing. in this case, however, i didn't come up with much. which is unusual, especially for such a greatly entertaining couple of weeks.

i'll start with all the love and pride i noticed in everyone. i've never seen so many smiles in my life. the vancouver and canadian pride was at an all time high. i've always defended vancouver when people slam it for being lame or whatever and it felt good to have my defence not lost in vain. seemed like the whole world was here partying and enjoying. it seemed to have opened our eyes to all that we have here and which we take for granted.

not being completely loaded (with money), i didn't get to do everything i had hoped for but the beauty of that was all the free events and attractions. the downside of that was the freakin line-ups! tell you the truth they didn't bother me all that much, being drunk helped. but it also created time to socialize with strangers in anticipation for a shared experience. i saw one of my favourite rappers, buck 65. the opening acts were almost horrible and not really my cup of tea or that of my friends and a lot of the crowd started to fizzle. those not familiar with buck were itching to leave. i told my friends to go ahead. not the first time i've been to a concert alone. i ended up sitting with a group of strangers who really liked him as well. buck was nothing short of spectacular. i also got to see another favourite, damien marley. good show but very crowded and had to watch the whole thing on the big screen. i missed out on shows i wanted to see as well but you can't do everything, can you?

the gold medal hockey game was icing on the cake. things could not have gone better. the suspense after the tie-ing goal was silencing and the win in over time almost blew my ears off. pandemonium!

also, i met a photographer during the night we lost to the u.s. he took a pic of me behaving mischieviously and put it on his site. so if you want to check out some great photography, his web site is 1putts.smugmug.com and he also agreed to let me use his photography. so both pics posted here are his but i'm not in either. high-five to wu lee.

not much more i can say about it other than it was most definitely one of the funnest times in my life so far. i guess you just had to be there.

Ah! This Darkness Within and Without

Darkness in the abysmal depths of our hearts
Darkness hovering like a bird of ill-omen
on the horizon of mind.
Darkness lingering like a sinister frown
on the brow of thought
Darkness smudging the face of reason
Darkness besmirching the mirror of existence
Darkness submerging the world of sensibility
Darkness smothering our youthful aspirations
Darkness casting monstrous shadows
across the sunny vistas of life.

No glimmer divine illumines the dark sanctums
of the custodians of public morals
The censor's hearts are cold, indifferent
apathetic to the wailing and weepings
and prayerful beseechings of the devout and the faithful
The shepherd and the sheep
The Guide and the gullible
are beyond Redemption.

Outside a furious storm is raging
Inside darkness reigns supreme -
The Abodes of God
Pagoda and Cathedral
Mosque and Temple
Are all dark within and without.
The night is pitch dark awe-inspiring
sending a shiver of cold, deep into the spine
and I
wrapped in the shroud of mysterious silence
Whither bound? In the gloom profound
All alone... companion less.
A few that are... are dozing and dreaming
rollicking in the arms of a complacent life.
But for how long shall i traverse
this dusty and dreary, dark and dreadful
path of existence?
I brood and ponder
whence? whither? and why?
I muse and wonder.
Where shall my quest lead me to?
I stand bewildered and dazed
In sheer consternation... utterly dismayed.
How long shall I grope and stumble in the dark
without a Guide?
Ah! no light beckons me from afar
and the night is too dark.
Yet, footsore and weary
I am trudging-alone-all all alone
What a lonely night!

A frantic finger moves reckless and wild
shattering the hushed peace of night
Breath-taking suspense... but hark!
the agonising groan of human heart
piercing the thickening pall of gloom.
Listen! the pathetic wail that comes again
sending ominous reverberations
across a world of sorrow rocked to and fro
by those fatal shots
and standing aghast at the dastardly deed
of gruesome murder or martyrdom
crime or crucifixion.
Another great soul departs
Another blazing star is lost
In this dark, dark void.

How can the spirit of compassionate love soar
higher and higher with bruised and broken wings.
One more plunge into the bottomless pit
Am i awake or dreaming?
Hissing and howling, moaning and shrieking
What evil winds are blowing
across a vast panorama of life
Poor world is this - impoverished decadent
precariously poised on the precipice of destruction.
Is life a dream or a vision?
A chimera or an illusion
A reality stern and stark
or a play of vain delusions
or an eternal mirage
luring the worldly and the unworldly.
The world's inexorable tide is bearing me along
willy-nilly onward to unchartered regions
of the mysterious unknown

This loneliness is too great for me,
Profound-unfathomable
When all is dark within and without.

Lonely mountains, lonely valleys
Lonely villas, lonely alleys
What a lonely night!

What an impenetrable darkness!
Doesn't its Ethiopian grandeur terrify?
Doesn't its Stygian darkness horrify?

Cease the song of victory
sing the songs of defeat
For culture has beaten a retreat,
to hide its painted face in the cavernous haunts
of deception, duplicity and deceit.

Unmask the varnished facade of civilisation
Tear off the holy cloak of religion
and reveal the mocking grin of demon
masquerading in the guise of man.

No more divine symphonies of love
soothing strains and balmy refrains
O; musicians, strike up some other tune
discordant, jarring
uproarious, tumultuous
befitting the devil-dance
for the sons of Belial.
A mad frenzy!
A bacchanal orgy!
A voluptuous revel!

malignant forces are rife and rampant
suffering is writ large on the brow of creation

Will this night of all nights
herald no Dawn of Resurrection?
Bring no balm for the broken heart of man
Show no light to the groping soul of man
And Again men have killed a Man.

Out of the Woods Into the Realm of Beauty

Sunk in the illusion of self-deception
Slimy creatures
unable to breathe
in the invigorating air
of open spaces
creeping and crawling
grub and grovel
shrink and shrivel
in slush and slime
Steeped in self-delusion
and fake pride
drivel and snivel
in nescience-abide.

But the men of moral integrity
unruffled without
and fortified within
stand calm and self-contained
serene and unsullied
lotus-like inebriated
with the immaculate beauty
of its own contemplation.

And they know not
and I forgive them for not knowing
that life is too short to waste
in tittle-tattle or silly prattle
Perhaps they know not
and i blame them not
for not knowing
that leaves wilt and wither
flowers droop and fade
and the wheel of life moves on
relentlessly at a stormy pace
and the man engrossed in
trivia of existence
trails behind the race
and that the curtain will fall
engulfing one and all
in its sweeping cold embrace.

And they know not alas!
and I have no quarrel with them
for not knowing -
that knowledge is freedom
knowledge is enlightenment
that this life is an adventure
an adventure into the cosmos
an adventure into the unseen
regions beyond
It's a sudden leap
into the unfathomable depths
of the dormant mind to know
that your own 'self' is the seeker
that your own 'self' is the knower
that your own 'self' is the see-er
that your own self possesses
the cosmic energy -
that hidden flash of intuitive insight
that auspicious moment of
inner illumination
to know the meaning of existence
to know the meaning of being 'awake'
the rapturous ecstasy of being aware
to listen to the still small voice within
to realise the invisible bond of unison
betwixt the finite and the Infinite.

And it has ever been
from the times immemorial
an eternal quest
of a restless inquisitive, anguished soul
pregnant with beauty of thought
to know the genesis of creator's myriad creation
to unravel the inscrutable mystery of the universe.
to penetrate the impenetrable
to tear off the mask of appearances
and lift the curtain of ignorance
to know the Reality behind the phenomena
and to have the radiant vision of the sublime
in the Realm of Beauty within
and a better, fairer and higher
panoramic glimpse of the world beyond
and thus attain a state of inner beatitude
the quintessence of harmoniously integral life
Where inner freedom of soul triumphs
Over the outer world of human bondage.

And when the mind outward bound
returns 'Home' into
the sanctum of its 'inner being'
to him is revealed
in full splendour
sparkling glitter of 'goodness'.
heavenly glow of 'truth'
luminous gleam of 'beauty' -
Satyam, Shivam, Sundram - the Trinity
enshrined in the golden temple
of our cultural heritage.

Vigil

She stood there
In the doorway
Wrapped in the solitude of her thoughts
All alone-
A picture of sadness, sorrow and sacrifice.
There she stood
In the doorway
Waiting for her Lord;
He was somewhere else
beyond the bourne of her dreams
Beyond the reach of her thoughts
For he had some promises to fulfil;
That night
He was virtually lost
Though much against his will.
And she? - devoted and steadfast
Hoping still
kept a weary vigil
Though night was dark and chill.
Midst the streaming peals of laughter
Frolic, fun and jollity of rioters
Throbs of her aching heart were drowned
While she stood there
Quite oblivious of the noisy world swirling around
One by one the lights in the streets went out
In the vast azure dome of night, one by one
The shimmering nodding stars went out;
And she stood there
On tiptoe
Peering into the dark fathomless night,
But alas! he was not to return home that night.
At last, tired and worn-out
By weary waiting and watching
She slumped there on the threshold
And the night passed by.

When the rift of dawn
Gently stroked her dream-dipped eyes
And she turned her face eastward
To do obeisance to the Lord of light
What did she behold?
First a dark speck
Then a blurred image of a man
Moving nearer and nearer
Where she stood, in a prayerful attitude
Twirling the wet pleat of her sari
Around her tremulous fingers.
Precariously perched on the verge of nervous commotion.
Lo! the advancing figure staggered
And fell at her tender feet
Dishevelled, broken and utterly shattered
A picture of remorse and reckless dissipation.
And She? - the blooming Bride, with feminine grace
Stooped in reverance
And stretched her arms to enfold
him in her forgiving embrace.

(my dad used to do that too, my mom wasn't so forgiving. i'm not so sure i'll be the one to break the cycle)

My Fair Lady's Rendezvous With Destiny (pt.1)

(Alright, well i'm just going to jump right into it, the genius and beauty of my grandfather. i can only hope to love someone as he loved my grandmother. my words will always be in brackets.)

Half a century ago
when she came into my life, she was a
lily of the fields, fresh and fragrant
a coy maiden, a blooming bride
a country belle, fair and lovely, innocence personified
haloed by pristine glory, immune from
arrogance and pride

- A divine Creator's Immaculate conception was she
a sculptor's beatific vision cast in alabaster was she
a poet's dream-incarnate in flesh and blood was she
a romanticist's miragic illusion, ravishingly beautiful
a passionate lover's dream-girl, fantastically ideal, was she.

A Grecian profile, porcelain smooth soft skin
gorgeous in colour, tone and texture
features chiseled to order in classic perfection
a wondrous harmonious combine of female anatomy
exquisitely consummate in every aspect.
giving a fleeting impression of celestial apparition
endowed with charismatic persona
a veritable paragon of singular charms
delicately glamorous - a radiant form.

A famous artist who did her portrait (it hangs on my dad's wall, it's MAGNIFICENT!)
four decades ago
confessed to me, under the rose
She is, indeed, a Venus vivid and intense
a woodland nymph or an ethereal being
glowing with inner illumination;
his observing eye and discerning gaze
brought out the quintessence
of the inner beauty of diaphanous soul
on canvas
called her epitome of classical Indian Beauty
maidenhood, elegance and feminine grace
She is, no doubt a painter's delight
his vision - his inspirational flight.
Now with the passage of time though
her beauty has mellowed and softened,
Chastened into gentle contours of sweetness
and other-worldly charm, her being still radiates
Warmth of love, magnetic spell, magical fascination.

A tender ingratiating smile
natural, artless, sans deception and guile
captivating without camouflage
impeccable to a fault.
With her pellucid, limpid eyes, intent gaze
even with suffering writ large on her elderly matron's face
a lunate aura circling her thoughtful brow
brightens up her countenance with soft touching glow.
In a spacious hearty and candid mood
the portraitist made bold to say: it's no exaggeration
to call her archetypical URVASI
a venerable, adorable household deity
creating an illusion of beatitude, of luminous mystery;
She has in her making
three elements of Trinity
Goodness, Truth and Beauty
that transfigure a woman into divinity.
With an arcadian life style
a face ever-wreathed in ubiquitous smile
though this poignant beauty's life-span
was steeped in pathos,
was a muffled dirge of worries and woes
yet, she didn't buckle under
adverse fate's buffetings and blows;
She never lost her joie de vivre
seldom staggered, quailed and wavered
though pain-smitten had a way of her own
steeled her heart, to live life at her own terms
Shrugging off fortune's fluctuating tides, twists and turns.
and gallantly preserved her crystalline conscience

The chalice of her heart was filled to the brim
with the nectar of grace
in which hubris and malice had no place
disdainful sneer, frown of scorn
never, clouded her ever-beaming face.
A moving spirit of graciousness
of winsome manners and genial temper
erect of bearing and nobility of character.
No, dilettante sophisticate was she
though ignorant of book-learning
self-taught, self-cultured, self-groomed
full of fun and jollity
always bubbling with spirit cordiality
blithe and lively, exuding bon-homie;
lacking academic plumes
she had uncanny knack, intuitive insight
to read human nature
hidden under superficial, cloak of honeyed words
under the garb of sugar-coated babble and chatter,
could easily follow the drift of high brow talk
of glossy femmes, blue stockings and snobs
of high-heeled lasides and pseudo mods,
behind the web of appearances, hypocritical facade.
By virtue of her suave, open-hearted demeanour
she became cynosure of her compeers
her talk was frank, informal, engaging in simplicity.
shorn of frills, flourishes and flounces
free from banal superfluities
unsoiled, undefiled, untouched
by mod life's trivial frivolities.

She cared not for flamboyance and colours
limelight, razzle dazzle, pseudo-veneer
tasteless ostentation of upper circles Vanity Fair:
always at her homely, realistic best.
that made herself eminently endearing
to men and women of diverse social standing.
Stoic patience, rock-like forbearance, gritty endurance
warm humaneness, infinite toleration
were her lustrous ornaments
to crown all - all she had superb in-built sophistication
a paragon of virtues she falsified the phrase:
Frailty thy name is woman
Frivolity thy name is woman
by her upright bearing justified the phrase:
Discreet modesty thy name is woman
Serenity thy name is woman
With anguish-freighted heart, tormented soul
bearing a heavy weight of anxieties and afflictions
with heroic determination she kept fighting
her lone battle, outwardly keeping her mind in fine fettle
heeding the least about the canker or grief gnawing
slowly and steadily inch by inch eroding her vitals.
but had the guts to break into high laughter
O' praised be that lady for her lofty character.

A lady of sterling calibre in thought and deed
even in the face of ominous clouds of approaching doom
looming large on the horizon of her ebbing life
with strong-willed tenacity
kept feeling her way through circumambient gloom.

The descended '89 with an acid test
of her unruffled patience, unswerving faith, courage and conviction
Phoenix - like her spirit rose
out of the ashes and debris
of her shattered dreams, ruined hopes
splintered expectations, unrealized aspirations
to face another challenge, more formidable.
with all the possibilities of critical situations,
but her mighty invincible spirit
triumphed over that catastrophe;
Should i sing a paen to that departed soul!

My Fair Lady's Rendezvous With Destiny (pt.2)

(so the blog won't let me carry on even though i, or rather my grandpa wasn't done yet. so i have to split it into parts. don't worry, they're not all this long)



Abiding trust in a benign Providence
was the sheet-anchor of her faith,
had been her polestar to guide and steer
her storm-tossed boat through turbulent sea of life:
a self-sacrificing, self effacing, all-forgiving Mother
a vivacious, vibrant lady, warm-hearted devoted wife
hitched the wagon of her family life
to that beacon of hope and promise
But the valiant lady was star-crossed
the hounds of Fate chased her to the last
as in the case of all noble, pious souls
emancipators-redeemers of mankind
who bear the cross for suffering human kind
A strange fatality kept dogging her foot-steps
and at long last
extinguished the spark
that had been burning by fits and starts
within the sanctum of her brave heart;
But who could read the scroll of Fate?
Who could decipher the writing on the wall?



I rue the day
When by quirk of fate
or intrigue of circumstances
She was uprooted, as if by a strong gale
from her native place
and transplanted at this critical stage
and thrown into that heartless asphalt city (my dad took her to chandigarh, the capital of punjab, during her last days. ironic because it's considered one of the cleanest, advanced and most beautiful cities in india. my grandpa, obviously grew a great distaste for it.)
Where she kept languishing and lingering
crying and shrieking, wailing and writhing
with most agonizing unbearable pain (i witnessed a couple of them as i've mentioned before, it was scary as hell and they lasted a lot longer during her last days. glad i wasn't there.)
on that blasphemous asphyxiating atmosphere
where the very air
was permeated with dark apprehensions
gripping fears
and life was out of joint-out of gear
and this fighting angel, so full of valour
had her rendezvous with Death.



The mourners could see
the flames of funeral pyre burning and blazing
cracking and hissing, spiralling and billowing
higher and higher into the azure deep void above
but they didn't have the insight.
to imagine and see malevolent flames
sparking off the diabolic fire
issuing out of simmering, seething
Volcano within that mortal frame
that had been singeing, scorching and consuming
her body and soul
moment by moment day by day
for the last two decades.



A day before her final departure
I heard death rattling in her lungs
knocking at her cancer-eaten ribs;
I prayed and prayed and prayed
earnestly, fervently, silently
in sheer desperation for her redemption
in the same way i had prayed
half a century ago
for the salvation of another pious lady
a frail, sensitive, noble soul
my prayers were heard
and her soul took flight
out of the skeletal
earthly tabernacle.
Thus my fair lady's tortured, tormented body
gave up the gruesome fight.
succumbed to final dissolution
to eternal silence - to oblivion
to the inexorable law of Nature
That we the humans, however, high and mighty
ultimately have to bow before the will of the Almighty.
How could she, poor wounded soul, escapes her date with Destiny.
She left at last
with a thousand yearnings unfulfilled
veiling beneath that fair form
lying tucked away in the depths of
her bruised, battered and broken heart
and death came as a release from that
state of long-drawn-out agony-called Death-in-life.
On her face no shroud of ghastly pallor
but there hung a faint flicker of a smile instead.
She opened her eyes, a while they say,
whose darling child she was.... that
her tear-bedimmed eyes glistened with liquid of sympathy breathed a hushed utterance
cast about her last lingering look
what message to convey? what secret to whisper?
Thus she bid adieu never to return
to this earthly home
hurling me deep down in the abyss of despair,
to suffer acute pangs of utter loneliness
aching void, a wilderness of stifling woe to stare
me in the face - sans hope - sans tender mercies
sans loving care.
In a bewildered, stunned and shell-shocked state
while contemplating on the tragic fate
that befell me, I heard soft whispers of a Celestial Voice



'Why faintest thou?
............. She cannot fade.
though thou hast not thy bliss
forever wilt thou love and she be fair.'

-these lines are from John Keats' Ode to a Grecian Urn



(A dedication to love through a poor man's pen as great as the taj mahal.)

My Teacher, My Grandfather

My grandfather was the smartest, most well read person I’ve ever known. I had the great privilege to live with him for a little over two years in my pre-teens in India. He died a few years ago but he is now more of an influence on me through death than ever before. I see him in myself now more than ever before. Actually I never really saw him in myself until I stopped neglecting my love for writing about 5 years ago.


He was a college professor, he taught English literature. He would eventually become principal of his college. Literature was his passion, my grandmother was his love. He would read every single day. I would play around him while he sat in the veranda reading and constantly underlining. Only his family and close students knew what a truly loving person he really was. To an outsider he might’ve seemed somewhat stern, rigid and maybe even cold. And truthfully he could be all three at times, actually, most of the time, but we all knew of his soft side that peeked out of its shell at the most unexpected moments. He had an air of importance about him. He would be in a tie and sweater vest by six a.m., even on Sundays when he wouldn’t even leave the house. He was a loner, a solitary man by choice. He preferred the company of books to men. There were very few people outside of family that he would happily sit with. Sometimes he would have visitors, like minded men. They would sit in his library, drink whiskey, laugh and talk. No one dared opened that door to hear what they were laughing and talking about, not that any of us would get it anyway. They would sit and drink and talk in there well past my bed time. He viewed most of mankind to be beneath him. Those around him felt that way too. He bored easy among company (aside from his friends mentioned above). But he always stuck around for the whiskey. He was very well respected by everyone. No one ever questioned him. No one ever raised their voice towards him, except my grandmother, the only one that wasn’t scared of him. The man was barely over five feet tall and still seemed larger than life. He wasn’t intimidating per se but he had an aura of authority. He only spoke if necessary and made sure his point was succinct and clear. He was a mystery to me. I would sneak into his library when he wasn’t home and snoop around every nook and cranny trying to solve this mystery. All I really found were words I was too young to understand. I wanted to be intelligent like him.


As you can imagine, school came first with my grandfather. I never had a problem with that, I was always somewhere in the top three of my class. This was not enough for him. He would make me read text books during the summer so I had a head start when the school year started. He wasn’t Christian but made me read the children’s version of the bible for the life lessons. He sneered at the idiotic Bollywood movies I loved so much and would show me old Charlie Chaplin movies and Laurel and Hardy and old Hindi movies. Even my illiterate grandmother would surprise me with the occasional English or her understanding something I said to my grandfather in English. She obviously learnt from my grandfather. All these things that I hated at that time I would come to appreciate later in life. Seems we all go through something like that with our parents or in this case my grandparents.


I went back to India about five years ago. It would be the last time I saw my grandfather. He was old and seemed a foot shorter. He didn’t talk much and didn’t care if I did but he wanted me in his immediate vicinity as much as possible. He showed me some of his sketches (I think my grandfather would’ve rather been a sketch artist like I a musician). They were good but there was a definite recurring theme, lone cabins in the woods, the solitary wolf, untouched forests… go figure. I now think this might have to do with the love of his life being fatally ill for over twenty years and being completely helpless to do anything about it but watch her wither away. But I didn’t know him before this so I can’t say for sure. When I left a month later I took a little piece of his library with me. I’ve been collecting from it ever since. Whenever a relative goes to India I look forward to the books from his personal library that they bring me back. He literally had thousands of books. (He donated 2000 to his college to give you an idea.) A couple of months before his passing I called him on a whim requesting to hand pick some books for me. I wouldn’t receive them until after his death. The first book I read was the biography of J. Krishnamurti. This book changed my life and much of what I write in my blog is influenced by him, Khalil Gibran and of course, my grandfather.


His library is slowly turning into mine. Fortunately he usually dated when he read them and some date as far back as the early 40s, underlined with his footnotes and all. So as you see, he is still the biggest influence on me even through death. Those books might not contain his personal words but they helped in shaping him and they are now shaping me.

Justification

This series of posts took a huge toll on me emotionally, to say the least. you bastards better appreciate it, :) just joking. it really questioned my reason to have a blog. why am i doing this? why am i letting everyone read my most intimate and personal moments/experiences? i don't know, probably attention, most definitely, attention. my 180 degree turn from introvert to extrovert. my new sick addiction for praise and sympathy and empathy and recognition. self indulgence.

i hope it wasn't all just sap and no substance. i hope i actually expressed lessons to be learned instead of just pulling strings. i hope i helped instead of just extracting tears.

everything i've written and will write is fact as i observe it to be, as i want it to be, as i hope it to be, as i wish it not to be, as i remember it to be, as i see. the term "fact", i guess, is one used loosely here.

i like making web posts with beautiful pictures as opposed to scribbling almost un -readable chicken scratch in my notebook. i'll take this bridge to thank gurpaul (above) and rachel (below) for their amazing pictures by the way. most of the recent ones are their work. i'm going to try to keep it that way. so if you know either of them, encourage them to keep shooting and even more so to keep posting so i can steal them.

again thanks to all the readers. i'm going to try to make sure there is no sap for at least awhile but this february, you will be reading the words of my grandfather and not mine. so it's his fault now, if you want to blame someone.

spring is around the corner!

It's Evolution, Baby! Part 4: The Ocean

My friend ricky died. this is the first time i've mentioned his passing using the verb "die". it feels out of place, it feels non-existent, it feels utterly depressing, it feels like anguish, it represents how i feel.

he was about the most honest and true person i ever met. i met him in grade 6 at richardson elementary, he lived down the street from me. ricky and i would become great friends. our friendship took turns away and towards each other, the last turn was towards. you'll read the complete story come august.

ricky told me he had cancer. i didn't cry, the future was bright, months past... HE BEAT IT!... so we thought... it came back and spread faster and further than before. ricky gave me the details, crying was no longer avoidable. of course, i hid this from him but i cried. i cried endlessly it seemed. especially after reading the last message i got from him. it was a morbid message. not the words, but the vibe was very "un-ricky", it was as if to say, "i'm not here much longer". he said things like, "i'm going to live life to the fullest", "there's nothing they can do". enough to let me know what i feared most was around the corner. he never talked like this before. the tears came almost instantly after reading that message. it's burned into my memory, all the booze and drugs in the world can't erase it. it ate away at my heart slowly like a caterpillar on a leaf. tiny bites awaiting the finish of the meal. dare i say, get it over with.

it was over with.

i was woken up by a phone call to tell me the morning after the fact. it was sooner than i could've imagined. the word "imagine" seems out of place.

"don't drink", i've heard this voice before. i drank. a little bit, over a of lot of hours. i was bludgeoned with reminders of how not to deal. i took the blows as advice rather than threats and it worked out. i hung out with friends that didn't know rick that well except for a mutual best friend. we casually and slowly drank. we went to the beach upon my request. i found a place of solace and contemplation. my friends talked and laughed and had a good time around me. i was distant but grateful for the company as they were for mine.

i stared at the waves, at the ships and boats, at the clouds, at the sun, at the logs, at the sand, at the kids, at the people, at the colours, at my shoes, at myself through glossy eyes. all the while listening to that blessed busker with his harmonica and guitar cooing the most heavenly, heartfelt bluegrass i've ever heard (my condition might've exaggerated this)... i was at peace.

at peace, i felt at peace. it was the most peaceful day of my entire life. there was anger but it wasn't misplaced, it was in place. it faded, it had no choice but to do so. i took my last brush with anger as a reminder to let it fade, let it go. it left, sadness stayed without anger by its side. peace. peace ensued. peace will forever stay me, i will forever stay peace. peace is all i want. peace is all i'll get.

peace.

that's evolution, baby!

It's Evolution, Baby! Part 3: The Rage

My grandfather passed away. (you'll learn more about him in about a couple of weeks. february will be dedicated to him.) surely by now you realize that i loved no one more than my grandparents. they were my heart and soul. they did more for me in becoming a human being in 3 years than anyone else has in my lifetime. i'm sure being at an impressionable age has something to do with it but there's a lot more to it. not to take anything away from my mother but our relationship was and is very different. i'm secretive with her and keep her at a distance. i don't know why, it's just comfortable for me this way but not for her. my father was never really around.


i wasn't sure how i was feeling. he was old and i knew it was coming but that didn't make a difference. i started listening to radiohead. their music usually helps me think things through a little better. i find it to be very soothing and calming. i made a couple of phone calls to some friends, actually i think i might've texted them. that day was mostly a blur but i'll never forget it. it will forever live in infamy in my conscience as a reminder of how not to deal.

i was sitting there with my laptop listening away when the sharpest, thinnest sword pierced my chest ever so slowly as thom so softly sang, "in a little while i'll be gone, the moment's already passed, yeah, it's gone, i'm not here, this isn't happening". they're BOTH GONE! i listened to it repeatedly letting it sink in. already one of my favourite songs, that day "how to disappear completely" took a whole new meaning.

"don't drink, don't drink, don't drink" ran through my mind for about 15 minutes before i realized i was walking to the liquor store in the middle of the day. i was able to wait till i got home to crack that mickey of vodka but i downed it in less than an hour. i sank into this weird state of melancholic, alcohol infused euphoria. i was smiling but the sadness was turning into rage in my mind. i could feel the violence brewing in my head. i was trying to suppress it and i did for a little while but i didn't stop drinking. the violence came out, so i'm told by friends. they didn't hold back in telling me what a sorry display it was. i burned bridges with damn near everyone. they forgave me of course but with contempt. i came home broke things, threw things, punched things. scared the living shit out of the people that love me the most. i have a scar down my middle finger on my right hand which is a constant physical reminder of how not to deal.

it was shameful to say the least. i wish i wasn't there, i wish it never happened.

It's Evolution, Baby! Part 2: The Lottery

I was told i had cancer.

one day i came home after work and my mom asked why there was a huge bulge sticking out of my neck. i had no reply because i was oblivious to it. i went to the walk-in. they told me to go to the emergency. emergency took blood and said they would only call if something was wrong. i never received a phone call. my family doctor thought it was a cyst. she sent me to a specialist. he put tubes up my nose and down my throat. i had to have a biopsy. i was on the gurney waiting to be cut open. i quickly took a peek at the clipboard on the foot of my gurney. "probable hodgkins". i had surgery. i woke up much later in a room with a nurse. she was very friendly. i was very happy due to the drugs. i asked her what hodgkins was. i already knew it was a type of cancer. she ignored the question, she looked towards her feet almost instantly, her face changed from a smile to a sombre expression. she changed the subject, she offered me apple juice. i took it. right then and there i confirmed my very strong suspicion of cancer.

i had an appointment with the guy who cut my neck open for the results. i knew i had cancer. he told me i had cancer. even though i figured out for myself that i had cancer, i was unbelievably shocked and mortified. i walked. i cried during that walk. i thought i was going to die.

from the moment of the first observation of the tumor by my mom till the confirmation of cancer, almost 3 weeks had past. within this time, in fact, my first guess was cancer. for almost 3 weeks i figured i was going to die of cancer. i knew it. i was almost glad. goodbye cruel world. when it was officially confirmed, everything changed within an instant. i don't want to die. i'm going to die. the gosal family helped me beyond measure. they were the first to know because the doctor's office was close to their house. i would sleep there for the next 3 days. my cousin told me of their grandmother who was diagnosed with cancer at her age, somewhere in her 70s - 80s and she beat it. i was surely better equipped physically than her to beat it. my cousin told me to look it up on the net. i could care less. fuck it.

i would meet my oncologist a couple of weeks later. he told me it was like winning a lottery. it appeared just because. genetics is the only thing to link it to. i have not met one person who doesn't know someone else effected by cancer. he told me my cancer had a 90 something percent success rate. i was a little bummed about that. the cancer by now had been fully spread, full blown throughout my lymph nodes. i had a bone marrow biopsy because that was where the cancer would go next to spread further. this would mean that 90 something percent would decline by a huge number. it didn't.

i made amends with it. i was somewhat content. i did a bit over 6 months of chemotherapy. i did a month of radiation. i did some serious time on the couch. i felt like shit a lot more than i ever felt ok. my hair thinned considerably. i eventually went bald. i had constant canker sores. i had pins and needles in my fingertips for the entire 6 months of chemo. my taste buds were shot. everything tasted like cardboard for 7 months. food was disgusting, even pizza. i never had energy. i felt sick all the time. i slept a lot.

i still went out every now and then. people cried for me. people told me they loved me. people didn't know what to do or say. people deteriorated in front of me. people noticed me. i told people i was fine. that was not a lie. i comforted people. i accepted people.

i didn't go through a life changing spiritual awakening. i didn't change much at all. i grew more compassionate. i grew more attentive. i grew aloof. i grew my hair back. i grew.

at that time in my life i didn't feel i won the lottery. i do now.

It's Evolution, Baby! Part 1: The Transplant

In honour of the new year i'm going to share with you my evolution in a 4 part series filling the month of january. a way to celebrate 2010 and new beginnings.


3 devastating events have defined me. the outcome of these 3 events subsequently made the 4th and most devastating of them all become the least detrimental to my physical and mental health. if not for the early 3, i honestly believe the 4th would've left me blind, numb and dumb. thankfully i evolved.

My parents got divorced when i was fairly young, about 7-8ish. I saw and heard things, children really shouldn't. it was confusing. it was bad. i realized much later that the divorce was definitely for the better but at that time i wanted nothing more than for them to stay together as would any child. memory and privacy and fear of seeming to lay blames is stopping me from elaborating further on this, so i'll move on.

needless to say i was heartbroken and scared as hell. i became heavily introverted as i was a shy kid to begin with. i was never that kid that went running into the hands of adults. once i was comfortable with you, though, i would be pretty hard to shut up. i stayed this way well into high school but a slow transition took place into the extrovert and somewhat exhibitionist i am today. my mother was always hell bent on sending me to counsellors, they never got anything out of me. i just didn't want to talk.

my brother and i were then shipped off to india to live with my father's parents. i still don't know for sure but i'm assuming it was to protect us from the messy divorce and also spend quality time with our dying grandmother (which everyone but my brother and i knew about). this turned out to be the most valuable experience of my lifetime. i lived there for 3 years. the last 1 being spent at a boarding school. the thing that hit me the most and right away was the poverty in india. nothing like orphans with missing limbs and dirt caked faces, begging for change to make you feel lucky. the affect of which sticks with me to this day and i'm sure will not leave me for the rest of my life.

not only did i learn to be grateful but also i now gained 24 hour access to my brilliant grandfather and my ever loving, sweet grandmother. my grandmother was adored by the entire neighborhood and was called "biji", an indian nickname for grandma, by everyone including those around her age. she was very kind and was rewarded for it by the neighbors with their constant help and support at the drop of a dime. sometimes the house would be full of women from around the neighborhood, helping with chores and meals when my grandmother's painful fits got really bad. she had breast cancer, by the way, i forgot to mention and she lived with it for over 20 years. (it wouldn't occur to me until after her death when i was told of what was going on that she didn't have breasts, they had to be cut off) while all this went on my brother and i were kept in the dark. we knew she would get "sick" but that's about the only thing anyone told us. "she has a headache" was the most common explanation. my grandmother taught me a thing or two of community, kindness, patience and real, unconditional love towards mankind. i can keep going on about the life lessons in india that i came back with but we don't have all day and some will be talked about in more detail in the future.

back to canada. i came back hoping my parents worked things out. and truthfully, they tried. we lived together as a family for a few months upon our arrival even though they slept in different rooms. they gave it a shot, it didn't work, i accepted it. it made more sense. my pre mature maturation from the experience in india gave me the foresight to realize somethings just can't be and are better for it. at this point i was in my pre-teens and still introverted but somewhat content. having to adjust to what felt like a new lifestyle but in a familiar way was more of an obstacle. my mom still obsessed with me seeing a counsellor. i didn't talk.

a couple of years later, my grandma called. my brother and i still in the dark, wouldn't know until later that that phone call was her swan song. i can still hear her voice and i'm terrified of forgetting it. she sounded full of life.