(Discarded post from a long time ago)

Would you rather be angry or apathetic?

Or is that a false dichotomy?

To my friends, family and the sole reader or two of my blog, my political stance and obsession with the current news wouldn’t come as a surprise. But I have always stopped short of writing about it because a) I am woefully ignorant on the topic despite being strongly opinionated and b) I am exceedingly aware of the echo chamber that I live in. As I keep trying to joke unwittingly, one is predisposed to have a certain type of opinion if all of one’s news comes from the Twitter feed of highly emphatic British musicians and humour column writers on The Guardian.


From Orlando to Nigel Farage to Istanbul and Donald Trump, the newspapers read like a dystopian massacre. Earlier this afternoon, I happened to listen to Radiohead’s The National Anthem in the background when a BBC News video started playing. This song that has been described as a jazz band matching up a brick wall as all hell breaks lose was a befitting soundtrack to the destruction and futility that all the Breaking News of the week are.

I swore to stay away from American politics a few months ago after increasingly bitter fan followings of Bernie Sanders poured vile remarks on Hilary Clinton in an attempt to berate her. And as the Republicans dug their own mass grave in the Primaries and the media flooded the spotlight on the monstrosity that is Trump. Even the commentary that *the joke has gone on far too long* has gone on far too long. Yet, here we are, with all cliches alive and kicking.

I begrudgingly tried to stay away from writing about Indian politics as well as every attempt at a discussion ended up in what I call a Whatsapp war. (I truly believe that the existential purpose of Whatsapp is to provide a platform for me to instigate arguments with my cousins). From JNU to Raghuram Rajan and the beef ban and the honourable Prime Minister — these have all been highly volatile topics. Any attempt to discuss this on social media has been met with confrontation and abuse and this brings me to the bigger question.

What is the point of talking about opinions on social media and armchair philosophising? What good is a few hundred more words of whining about how crappy the world has become? I would be falling into the same trapdoor of instant outrage I have been warning (read tweeting) about. I am yet another filthy hypocrite, I freely admit. Let me not kid myself. I am serving no other purpose than scratching my own itch of helplessness and inaction by this rant and all those Whatsapp wars and every time I bring up the headlines. There isn’t a higher noble purpose.

And this is the question that has been raging in my mind for the past few days. How much longer do I have until I reach the breaking point which will tip me over the invisible line dividing anger and apathy? Would you rather be angry or apathetic? Does being angry help in any way? Sure, you can hope that you find out a way to direct your anger into action.. But what if you don’t and all you end up is wasting your life in the process? Wouldn’t you be better off being apathetic?


Rightfully Impatient / Late Night Drive

The synchronized dance of traffic lights
catches me unaware
as I stay frozen in the left lane,
lost in a strange parallel world.
The driver behind slams on the horn
rightly impatient
and I blink, rudely awakened.
In the fraction of a minute that the left turn takes
my mind traverses vast expanses
of desolate subconscious wasteland
back to the living world
with all of us driving and driving
to everywhere and nowhere.

Drunken Malaise

Let the tears flow
down the cheeks
washing away the guilt
and erasing the memories
of the dingy old bar,
intertwined bodies
pushing against the wall,
stench from the dumpster up the alley,
passionless kisses
in a drunken malaise.
Let the tears flow
down to the floor
cleansing the soul
in cathartic glory.

The Final Remedy

I lay awake late into the night
starting intently at a patch on the ceiling
in deliberate conversation,
distracting myself from the possibility of sleep.

I’m afraid I’d wake up and find
it was all just another dream.

The voices in my head
can’t seem to comprehend
this unfamiliar state of mind,
scarless and sinless;
They can’t seem to explain
the warm head on my chest,
the arm wrapped tight around me.

A feeling of inexplicable tenderness
takes hold as I process you —
perfectly imperfect
the way you carved into my hollow being;
alive and intact
always welcoming.

The patch on the ceiling fully understands.
The two of us can hardly wait
for the day I’d tear you expertly apart.
Our blissful ignorance cannot last
and you’d have no choice but to despise
the depths of this morbid decay.
There is no way to reverse
all that has been said and done.

Stay still, my love
Don’t try to resist, it won’t be long now
Watch the pain fade far away;
one final remedy to my disquieted existence.

Now Playing: The Fragile by Nine Inch Nails

Fading Twilight

I watch the passing landscape
with one hand on the steering wheel
one on the rolled down window
In the fading twilight
trees turn into silhouettes
and the world turns black
A long time passes
without a soul in sight

From the shadows
a town emerges
Its glittering street lights
penetrate the silence
As if a switch flipped in my mind
a horde of memories swoops in
in a myriad of vibrant colours
red, yellow, green
and all shades in between

The memories they are each
as heavy as the next
and as eager for my attention
I devour them all
until I’m possessed
I relive every minute
just as I have a thousand times before

But it’s no different this time
for I’m every bit as powerless
to make them stay any longer
All I can do is to watch them fade
back into the darkness
where their ghosts will remain
until the next time.


Who are we the ones who say “MeToo”
If not just nameless entities adding to the statistics
We waded through our youths voiceless and powerless
Taken on wild rides we seldom cared for
Lost, at birth, a bargain we never asked for
Our stories were lost in the pages
Of insignificance and banality
We were raised to ignore and trained to forget
Too bashful and reluctant to protest

But there is power in the multitude
Undeniable and irresistible
What one cannot do, ten thousand can
And so we add our voices
Feeble as they may be
For in the process we might lend
A helping hand to another hapless soul
Who in turn can raise their own voice
And say MeToo!

Broody Ale 

Broody Ale listens to a song
A perfect way to start
Just another passing day
Reflecting a shadow in his heart

Broody Ale could be a beer
But he would rather not
Could be fun, I insist
Disassociation would do its part

Broody Ale gets a flash of a memory
Something familiar and beyond reach
Scrolls through the collection that was
Oh, the things the memories would breach

Broody Ale won’t question why
Far beyond the answering point
There is a time and place for everything
A multitude of existences disjoint

Peachy Boy and Raspberry Girl


I’m writing a letter to my past self
The one that wondered if she would ever find love
I’m telling her that I’ve found them now
Over here making fruit ranking lists on a Saturday morning

He likes peaches, pineapples and nectarines
He likes them too much and cries over the ones he left out
She likes berries, in black, blue and red
Lemons and limes though not on their own

Call us dumb but we love it
Call us happy and you would be right
They don’t tell you when you are fifteen
That to be in love is to share the pleasure of simple things.

I’ll Stay

I’ll stay as long as you want
to make up for all the missed years
back when I did not know you
back when I was bruised and alone

I’ll stay as long as it takes
to make it all right
to overwrite the bad memories
with pictures of a worthy future

I’ll stay with you now
Won’t let you slip away anymore
won’t let you forget this promise
even on the days you will walk alone

And when winter arrives
like a picture on a postcard
We will have to part but I’ll leave behind
my memories to keep you warm.


You may have left
you may have ripped me apart
but you can’t take away
the shiver that ran down my spine
when you called me by my name
or the flutter in my heart
when I think of the way
you used to look at me
piercing through my leaded soul
you can’t take away
the way you held me
when I woke up shivering
from my recurring dream
or the impression
of your wet lips seeking mine
when I woke up to your sound
my fingers reaching
to caress your quivering throat
you may have left me
but you can never take away
the memories you imprinted
in the shards of my broken heart.