On weekends, they play music on the street just outside my window in my office. Now they are playing Imagine of Lennon. And I feel like writing after some time. The work can wait.

Long long ago, I had this vision of the world where I imagined thing would be like they write in story books. Story books I snuggled up in bed with, the classic like The Count of Monte Cristo, The Prince, Robin Hood or Chander Pahar. And I thought the world is really like it, brave, loyal, and fresh forever, like these classics. A world where we would love to live forever. A world where we could have friends forever, who would die for us, and make us proud to die for them. It was a little strange, for money didnt matter except as means of adventure. I mean all you needed was fifteen men on a dead man’s chest and a bottle of rum. Or Heathcliffe or Edmond Dantes or Sankar. I never believed they did anything more than just enjoy the moment, and the journey to their heroic pinnacle. I imagined all those, but.

Then came the time when I finished the classics shelf of my home, and moved on to move ‘adult’ stuff. Of Camus, Kafka and Milan Kundera. All along I played the cynic to the cynics, I wanted my romanticism back. However, the world around me was made of what these latter guys wrote of, cruel, indifferent and sepia hued. No, I wanted my Long John Silver, I wanted my Robinson Crusoe. But K persisted, so did the strangest or Strangers. I struggled to force myself to believe it is just an illusion, maybe very persistant, but still an illusion. It was just a bad day, or simply blues.


But friends cant be friends forever. Relationships can be quantified. Emails, chats and coffee. (Diego Alvarez RIP) Floating notes of meaningless conversation over wooden tables and plastic chairs. Things can be repaired, things can be replaced. So can people. So can memories. So can all of us that make us. For we are the hollow men.


I have never liked cellular phones, nowadays i only use it for business communications. Like I pompously say, I cant speak to a person without seeing their eyes. Even now.


It is not so good for things(for things and people are same) not to change. For their own sake.

The darkness is not a rebillion against light. For you fools, there is no light. The darkness is the rebellion against the darkness. The darkness within darkness, which is best left alone, best quickly forgotten.