Two Zero Eight Four :)

I stood on the edge of land.

“I’m back, baby,” I whispered.

“I missed you,” she said.

“I missed you too.”

She responded by gently swirling around my ankles, gurgling as she withdrew and made way for another of her waves to wash over me. I had a smile the whole weekend in Gokarna. I’ve written about what it means to me, so I won’t do it again. I missed the sea, her warmth, her cold, her whispers and her screams, her love, her fury and her caress.

I made two wonderful friends this time in Gokarna. Here’s a shout out to Mahesh and Chris. Hope life takes you both where you want to go, and I hope Gokarna has been as therapeutic to you as it has been to me.

I was born on August 20, 1984. Or, in other forms, 20-08-84. A contraction of the same – 2084 – has always been a special number to me, at least for the past few years when I discovered it. It’s a perfect contraction, and aesthetically speaking, it feels beautiful and complete.

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So, all my contemplation and thinking and chickening out ended on Saturday. I got my first tattoo, and I think it beats the shit out of any abstract designs!

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When Ponies Ruled The World

It was a time of peace and tranquility. The world turned ever so gracefully with nothing to worry about and nothing to frown upon. The citizens of the planet led a peaceful life with no complications. Ponies and unicorns, roses and posies, rainbows and pots of gold were abundant in every corner of the globe. The sky was bright blue without a hint of gray. The houses were pink and gold and yellow and blue – the colors of peace, love and happiness.

There was not a single diseased thought in the world. There were no deaths, no tears, no sadness and no pain. There was no swearing, no abuses, nothing that would make someone cringe. There were no bad odors, no killers, no thieves, no rapists, no thugs, no criminals. Courts and justice were unheard of. Police forces, armies and mercenaries were non-existent. The countries and cities were happy places, peacefully co-existing with each other with no jealousy or fear.

Then I woke up, looked around me, rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and said to myself, “Oh fuck, I’m late for work.”

Going through the motions of a normal day with Stephen King’s legendary motto running in my head – SSDD (Same Shit, Different Day) – I realized with a jolt that something from that dream had seeped through into the real world. Something strange and unnatural had happened and something from that dream world of peace and tranquility had managed to worm its way into my world. I didn’t know how it happened, but I started seeing signs everywhere I went. I thought I saw a unicorn glide past my window – I did a double-take and checked again, but all I could see was normality. People arguing, shouting, smoking and drinking. No unicorns.

Sometime late last night, I thought I saw a rainbow and a pony waltzing under it. On closer look, it turned out to be an abnormally colorful advertizing hoarding. I actually thought some asshole smiled at me as I walked past him. For no apparent reason, he smiled at me. I stopped in my tracks, ran back to him and saw that it wasn’t a smile. His face was permanently contorted into a sinister grin.

I couldn’t help but think that these weren’t just coincidences and signs that something pure and pristine had escaped into this world through my dream. Something that was making my life miserable by just being. Something that was tainting me, something that was trying its best to make me aware of its existence. I couldn’t help but be a bit afraid. I tried to put these thoughts out of my head, but then I read this.

“Fuck-a-doodle-doo,” I said to myself. “I feel sorry for them.”

Message In A Bottle

Her memories still haunt me sometime. It has been half a decade since I last told her that I loved her, and it has been less than a year since she told me to die a painful death. Its strange how the heart works – it seeks out the unobtainable and covets it. I sometimes lie awake at night thinking about her face, her smile, her lovely hair, her scent, her eyes – and feel this incredible amount of pain coursing through every sinew, blaming myself for what happened and wondering what might have happened if things had turned out differently. I reach out to touch her lips and clutch at thin air.

I have caught myself wondering at times, whether she were the pinnacle of my existence. Whether everything I’ve done since she left, everything I’ve achieved or failed to achieve, all the adolations and the accusations that came after her, was just an insignificant grain of sand on a beach. I have caught myself at times, going through all those mails and letters we wrote to each other back then, expressing our undying, everlasting, unconditional love for each other. Maybe I was too young to realize what love really was. Or maybe I was too stupid to believe in its idealism.

I don’t know where she is, I don’t know what she is doing right now. I don’t know if she is married, has kids, is working somewhere or stydying something. I don’t have her email ID. I definitely don’t have her phone number. She doesn’t follow me on Facebook, Myspace or Twitter. And I don’t have her on any of my IMs. If it weren’t for the old email and letters that I have saved, its as if she does not exist. As if she had not existed in the first place. Someone as pure and as beautiful as her must have been ethereal, a figment of my imagination.

Just in case, hoping against hope, that she is out there somewhere, and hoping that she can read this, then all I want to say to her is that I do understand what love really is. This is probably my message in a bottle for her. I am keeping my fingers crossed and I hope that it gets picked up. I remember those days quite clearly. I remember those days so clearly that I wish things were that simple again. I wish life had not gotten in our way. I wish life would have remained so… completely musical.

Gokarna & Why I Go There

This one goes out to all those unfortunate, uninitiated and uninspired individuals. Get off your high horse and read this.

There may be a hundred reasons why a person goes to Gokarna. People looking to get laid, people looking to score and get high, people looking for a nice, secluded beach and people wanting to offer their prayers in India’s most sacred temple. I don’t know if there are any other reasons, and frankly, I don’t really care why people go there.

I go there for a totally different reason, and its none of the above.

I lead a difficult life. I need to balance my passion to work, my unceasing urge to travel and roam aimlessly across the country, my singularly fierce attraction to beaches and my bank account. Juggling these four volatile substances while playing air hockey with the family, the bosses, the peers, the juniors, the friends, the foes, the creditors, the goons, the loons, the whackadoodles, the geniuses, the crap, the stench and the slippery slopes of bankruptcy, unemployment and loneliness around every corner is taking its toll on my nerves.

There are very few things I’m passionate about, and those that I am passionate about, I am so with a vehemence unseen in anyone else, for anything else. I do not go to Gokarna to ‘do drugs’. I do not go to Gokarna to ‘sleep with women’. I do not go to Gokarna to ‘drink drinks’. I do not go to Gokarna to visit the temple and offer my prayers. I do not go to Gokarna for the sea food. I do no go to Gokarna for the rustic beauty of the village. I do not go to Gokarna to ogle at half-naked women lounging in the sun. I do not go to Gokarna because I love beaches and water. I do not go to Gokarna to swim in the ocean. I do not go to Gokarna to live. I do not go to Gokarna to die.

I go to Gokarna once every three months because I need to get away from the Greek tragedy that my life is fast unraveling to be; to clear my head of all thoughts – good and bad; to reboot myself. I go to Gokarna because its the only place on Earth that welcomes me without judging who I am or what I have done. I go to Gokarna because that is the only place on Earth where I am at peace. Completely.

I have a sea rock, which I call my own, ten feet out into the ocean, at Om Beach. Its a bit of a hike to get to the top of the rock, and once I get there, I sit, looking at the waves crashing into me on all sides, rising twenty feet high and spraying me with a mist of cold, salty water. I listen to the rush, the gurgle, the power and the wordless songs of the waves and as I stare out into the horizon, imagining a place beyond comprehension, where the sky kisses the ocean, I realize that I am peaceful, within and without.

Gokarna - kudle beachNothing of what is happening in life matters here. Time stands still for me, for the 48 hours I’m there. I put my feet up at a cafe, sipping sweet tea and reading a good book, or people watching on the burning, golden sands. I take a nice pleasant trek up to Kudle through thick brambles and open moors and I wade in the white sands until the sun starts to set. I walk back amidst the gathering darkness to Om Beach, walk all the way up to Half Moon and back again. As night descends around me, so does the peace, deeper inside me.

I need this. I can’t do without it. For the unfortunate, uninitiated and uninspired individuals, I recommend it. The only thing I get high on, when in Gokarna, is Gokarna itself.