The Storyteller


What do you think they married into,
Was it the way you look or was it your ideals?
The way you talk or your actual thoughts?
What do you think really mattered,
A sustainable future or broken blocks from the past?

Concerning yourself with all that wasn’t important,
You lost your way a little.
You forgot your way to get into people’s hearts,
Battling the voice inside left not a lot,
To overcome your own prison walls.

So, you decorated your walls with paintings,
Cardboard cutouts of your lofty dreams.
Always been a dreamer, but only at night,
The sunshine never able to exorcise,
Your demons from the light.

You make plans, you half arse,
Magnanimous with words, and wanting in action.
And who wouldn’t put up with that at the start,
Your castles and castles of stories,
Promises of a wonderland not afar.

But eventually the day comes, you’re left with none,
Your pandora’s box is empty, you desperately look for one.
You know they’re waiting,
You know that you are!
If not stories, what else have you got?




Fights and Demise

wind chimes

The writing was there on the wall,
We couldn’t see it.
The place had been in ruins all along,
The blindfold’s opening just sealed it.

The endless quarrels, the anguish, the pain,
An understanding that never got two legs to stand.
We were mad at the world and took it out on us,
Hoping the love reserve would save us but we emptied it, alas.

Every fight we had, took something out of us,
Till what remained resembled a skeleton of broken dreams and such.
Each of our arguments had two losers,
The collateral damage being taken out from the memories that made us.

And in the end, who was wrong and who was right?
The love we extinguished in having the last laughs those nights.
If only, had we just stopped and listened,
Us could have lived,
Life been different.

Thor: Ragnarok Review

Thor: Ragnarok is an embarrassment that keeps searching for its identity between Deadpool and The Avengers. The humor is forced, and it successfully accomplishes in reducing the God of Thunder to a comical struct- one not so witty as the Deadpool, not so charmingly humorous as one Tony Stark, and not so straightforward as Captain America either.
The movie is a classic example of Bollywood in early 2000s – you have a couple of hit movies (The Avengers, Deadpool, Guardians of the Galaxy)- and you think you have discovered the formula. Now instead of expanding the horizons in which you can engage your audience, you rinse and repeat. You mix and match. All the while laughing your way to the bank.
If you are a Marvel Fanboy- you might like the movie. Or a lady who just wants to have a good time looking at Mr. Hemsworth (let’s just say if I were remotely like him, I wouldn’t have worn any clothes in my life). Or if you are a kid. It felt like a movie made for kids- or for anyone whose brain ain’t developed enough.
Tom Hiddleston is charming as ever, as Loki, but an actor of his caliber must be getting tired of playing the same one-dimensional character over and again. Cate Blanchett has got to be the finest woman-villain in fantasy for Hollywood. Chris Hemsworth does whatever he’s been told to, not his fault that the studios wanted to make the movie a certain way.

Ah Come on!

The visual effects are enchanting, could have used a little more serious storytelling. I do not want inane jokes in the middle of an intense battle scene- which never reaches an intense level because of the said jokes.


Check out this review of Thor. The one unpaid review that I could find on the internet:



Blade Runner: 2049


There’s something about this world that entices us, and repels at the same time. The concept of replicants, and through that, humanity. Humans breeding generations of slaves to do the dirty work for them, no more endangering or humiliating jobs for the elite race – even when the replicants are better than humans in almost every aspect. Except, as humans believe, having a soul.

The dystopian future has moved forward in the past thirty years. The new generation of replications is bio engineered to be miles better than the Nexus 8 series- which are being hunted down by Blade Runner to be replaced by the Nexus 9s- the ultimate obedient soldiers for mankind. This world is as forgiving to the replicants as the last, Deckard is as he was in the last film, and the new Blade Runner is efficient af. There are so many similarities in his interaction with replicants, which are spread across the entirety of the movie.

Before watching this movie, be sure to check out the three short films that were released over the past few months that depict the progress of the world since the last Blade Runner. Blade Runner: 2049 is a lengthy saga, but one that keeps you glued to your seat till the very end. The music is amazing, the storyline seamless and the visuals- a spectacle. The direction around Gosling’s interactions with the AI was better than La La Land (in my own humble opinion!)- and you gotta see the movie to get what I am talking about. A few of the scenes were nothing short of fabulous and something that I haven’t felt with the big screen for a little while now.
Also, Take a look at Harrison Ford, and you’d wish to grow up old even half as gracefully as he has done- bugger looks better than freaking Gosling in the movie- and I’m not kidding!

On a personal note, we’d discussed ‘Blade Runner’ during our course of Science Fiction in Movies when at undergrad. I’d written a pretty decent writeup on the movie as well, and I cannot believe that I did the reviews that time in a notebook (that obviously had to get lost!). Discussing this one with Prof. ANS would be an absolute joy again!

Go watch it. Best movie I’ve seen in a longass time! And if you are a science fiction fan, you’d be making plans of a second viewing already, as I am.








Lovers’ Quarrel

lovers quarrel


The impossible arrangement,
Love in an unimaginable disguise.
The fallacy of distances,
echoing a silent lovers’ cry.

A harbor’s longing,
For once the waves (to) subside.
An ocean of endless emptiness on top,
with creatures of emotions inside.

Incandescent desires,
There’s no way out.
Every second, they wait for a dawn,
But only twilight
reverberates deep in to the horizon.

Their only respite,
Lovers’ quarrel.
Their raw animal feelings,
A manifestation of suppressed love
In their personal dystopia.







We should have listened,
When the brain yelled a resounding no.
But at stake here was the heart,
And we just carried on and on.


It was beautiful, it was glorious,
The time we spent together and the rest in waiting.
There were nights when you just couldn’t sleep alone,
And you would know I’d be there waiting
For my girl to come home.


There were no promises, but a hope at heart,
This needs to last forever, what is here cannot be stopped.
Even with that knowledge, the brain tried to take precautionary steps,
A few goodbyes from you and me that landed back on our heads.
What were we thinking, if at all were we?
A life without the other and see what it comes to be?


You suffered, and so did I,
This constant yearning and no one to pass a word of comfort by.
Well you know you’re truly screwed
When you feel alone even when surrounded
by like minded fools.


But as every tide, the sadness passed,
The sunshine returned, and magical spells were cast.
You had your smile back, but I couldn’t pass one in return,
For the hand you held in the picture wasn’t this one.


Hope for the despondent



A tragedy is worse, if you can’t mourn,
Day in, day out, night comes through the back door.
You squirm in your bed, let a few tosses down the side,
A lonely house, a big bed, and a struggle to survive.


An unfulfilled mind, a poison’s chalice,
The voice inside your head is unkind.
You laugh it out when someone sees you,
Knowing you can’t afford being looked in the eye.


All these jumps, you had your quota,
Maybe it’s time to take it slow.
Be gentle, a little kinder,
Maybe take a walk again under the first snow.


You’ll be careful, rethink every move,
You know now wounds take longer to heal.
Else a quick blast to the forehead, a needle with little extra,
And there would be no pain lingering in your spine to test.


It won’t matter to you, but to everyone else,
And that’s something you can’t have on your soul.
What can you do, when you can only wait?
Cross your heart, wince and shudder,
And hope,
For the very best.


Nonsensical senses


Oh this is not a love story, not a heartbreak. If you have come here for that, please turn away- there’s nothing other than disappointment for you here. There’s enough material for your melancholy night on this blog- just look at the last two posts and you will have your hearts fill! However, this little post is something of a self-roast brought to you by a premier wine that the author had to drink alone.

What’s better than being bald, unattractive, single and 30 years old? Nothing much, I tell ya! You wake up with no expectations, nothing to look forward to- you can live life as you have always wanted – in the fucking moment. Those moments, that in the past have done absolute wonders for your mental and physical health, uplifted you from being a somber sober chocolate boy to the doped motherfucker others warn their sisters from, “Ye dekho, saala charsi”. Nasha kar ke to dekho bhenchodon, it’s not poison.

See, if you are anywhere like me, anywhere in this predicament, you can always take solace in the fact that you will be the saving grace for someone. Someone is going to be desperate enough in the coming few years to like you enough to make the call- and let’s face it, you don’t have the balls to do that. Like fucking ever. Some beautiful damsel down the line will be falling off from a cliff- a failed marriage, a failed relationship- and you will be the olive (lmao!) branch that she hangs on from! You just need to do one thing- be a stable source- emotionally, financially- like whatever. I mean, ek cheez to karni padegi na yaar life mein. You were not born with a silver spoon, you have had to take care of your own shit. You tried to do that, you failed. You missed the first train, but you sure as fuck are going to be ready for the blowback.

When I was a kid, I saw this movie with the Indian actor Nana Patekar when he exclaimed, famously, “ek macchar aadmi ko hinchda bana deta hai”- one mosquito can render a man transvestite. Bandiyaan bhi yahi karti hain bhai. You weren’t born a Brad Pitt or a Hritik Roshan, you need to calculate every step that you put forward. You looked into an eye and thought that, that is it. Life is fucking lit. Aankhon aankon mein kya dekha chaar baar, ho gaya pyaar X hazaar. And you know that you are going to fall for those eyes like you have always done- with every single girl that has made a mistake of looking into yours- even if it were eyes of concern- “is everything right with this guy he looking at me like dis”. But you are a romeo bought up by empty promises of a SRK or a Tom Cruise.

Am I making any sense here? If you are having an existential crisis- fuck it- knowing you, you’ve probably seen worse. If you are having a tough time with a loved one- know that she might probably leave you and let’s face it- you are not the most prized possession that this world has every bestowed on someone. As Tyler Durden puts it, “You are not special. You’re not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You’re the same decaying organic matter as everything else. We’re all part of the same compost heap. We’re all singing, all dancing crap of the world.”

You are all alone, And nothing is more beautiful than that. You have survived the worst that life has thrown out at you, and you came on top. You are here, you are alive, and you are successful.

You, my friend, have already won. Any doubt- look at the picture accompanying this post again!





If I say it aloud,
Will it serve as cathartic?
If I let it flow into words,
Will that help me heal?
Will it stop me from visiting you in my dreams?
Make it pause for a little while, help me breathe?


“It will be if it is supposed to be”, I know you said it,
And I waited in my purgatory hoping you’ll see this.
No one else can ever put all your details in a simple order!
The taste of your wine and the munchies that goes with it,
The food that you like and the exact spice levels in it.
The type of kiss that you enjoy and that little spot behind your ear,
The smell of your body and the perfume that you would not wear.
The kind of coffee table you’d have and what you like in the morning,
Or when you’ve had a long day and the kind of sleep for which you’ve been longing.
Can anyone else whisper the words in your ears what exactly is it that do you want?
Have you close your eyes and make you feel how you wanted to, all along.
Tell me these and I’ll accede to our separation,
Else the feeling of denial might never leave its gestation.


You tried to move away and I was jealous,
And there may have been small little parts when I’ve acted nothing but callous.
I don’t have a drive and what carries me around is the passion,
A burning desire to not let things escape and all I have now is that too familiar desperation.
I know we laughed about out not forgetting our love and all that jazz,
But tell me if you believed it were  remotely possible that this won’t leave me mad?
I cannot let you go I cannot let you leave,
The door is always open and the window is up by a creek.
Your home is waiting for you, the bed unmoved, not a cobweb has crept,
The place and my existence denying you ever left.




Inner Demons


As he lay on the floor with yet another neat little soldier of death burning slowly between his fingers, he wondered if he could have done it all a little different. The whiskey clad breath emancipating from his nostrils heaved another sigh, and the man in the mirror on the other side of the room hung his head in shame. Such promise, such talent. All going down the drain. He used to be a poet, had in grasp a semi-decent hand at the guitar, a mind that could have gone places if not haunted by its own demons. A life that could have moved in a direction so different, a love that he had in his grasp albeit for a fleeting second.

He had never been a hard-worker, and, you know, that was just fine. His passions used to pump him up, and when he took upon a project, the only thing he could see in the complete spectrum was what he wanted to do, and he stayed on with it till he ran it to completion. If you go read his earlier pieces, you’d know what is being talking about here! His only driving force was the fire that was within, be it writing a new story or coming up with lyrics for a new song, perfecting that one kick when he played football, winning someone over. And people around him saw it, the light that radiated from within, the smile that sometime lay plastered on his face. And it made them happy, to be with him, to be around. As he tried to push his sorry ass off the floor, all he could think of was that fire, and whatever transpired that extinguished what remained of it, leaving him hollow. Was it because of it that they all left? Or did the fire die when they did?

He had always been haunted by voices inside his head. He had pushed them deep into a vortex where they could not touch him anymore, but that, that was before. That was when he could distract himself with everything going around, but being alone, they slowly broke away. And he could not help but listen to them. They were coming from his head, they were real! And they took him to her. Talked about her, dug up a beautiful memory and place it in front of his eyes and make him fall far far away to a world that was nothing but her. It revolved around her smile, and the walls were painted with their love. Far across, there was her, and in between, the memories they made together. To go to her, he would carefully swim into each of them, and just as he thought he’d made it, just as he dared to touch her, the walls crumbled down and he woke up in a jolt of reality.

As he looked across of what remained of the man in the mirror, he wondered for how long could he keep trusting the voice inside? For how long could he hide himself in the pretext of the life that passed him by? Hang his head in shame after whenever the voice asked him to put his hands inside his pants and give a little yank in the middle of the night, or have another glass of spirits when he knows that the night has been done before a long long time. Then another, and another. And again, he was back, wanting to touch her, feel her, caress her. Indulge in sloppy kisses, place a hand on inside of her thighs as he prepared to go inside. “No wait, wait, NO! stop! STOP!”, he screamed at his head to not go there for once as tears streamed out of his eyes again.

Will it ever stop? Will he ever be home when he is alone? Will he ever find his peace or it’ll be yet another sad case of a bright light gone ashtray? If at all, for him, will it ever cease to hurt? Will the demons go away? Will the fire come back? Can he smile again?

Shine on, you crazy diamond.