Untamed Thoughts..

I am, yet i do not exist. What you see is a mirage and you wont find anything when you come closer.
Most of the time, my the thoughts run faster than I can catch them. They race. Not leaving any scope for you to gather them and analyze. From one branch to the other, they jump like a bunch of baboons. And i love it.
After a point, thoughts move, faster and faster and there is no point in trying to trace them. You just sit there wondering, what a powerhouse your mind is.
Try having some chocolate, laced with liquor, you will know what i'm saying. They keep on flowing, some profound and some stupid. The point is, you are at your best and that is what we call 'the flow'.
Sometimes, the mind slows down, and there is nothing you can do about it. Somehow, it induces laziness, which i love. See, conflicting thoughts. Yet, in the dead of the night, when everything is silent, the most purest of thoughts come to mind.
The insects whistle, fireflies glow in patterns, streaks of yellow light moving across the black blanket of darkness. Far away, a bulb flickers and seems like the flies have a party, circling around the glow and eventually, they get drunk on light and fall down on the ground.
My fingers move around the keyboard tapping keys, but the truth is that my mind is finding the keys, yet i believe that its not me who's writing this. Its someone else. Its so quiet and i can hear them walking.
Sometimes, you see too much in life so early, that taking the next step is not difficult at all. Its just 'you' who steps in, without thinking what would happen. Thats what it is, the roads are there, but we stop ourselves from travelling on them. Simply because of fear. And you know whats stopping you as well.
Thats why, 'you' is more important than anything. If a thought is generated, its only because you are inclined in that particular direction. Thats it.
Again, i dont know if what i'm writing makes sense in this post, but still, i hope when i look back at these words, I will feel better at some point in time.....

..racing raccoon...

Ride back home

Time: 00:48 hrs

On the graveyard shit...i mean, shift. Its time to go home.

Its raining heavily. I look out of the window, a cold breeze touches my face. The roaring sound of the rain fills the room and there is thunder. The whole place lights up in a second and goes away, just like a flash bulb.

The rains show no sign of stopping.

I take the stairs to the ground floor. The watchman asks, "How far do you have to go?". I say, "About 15 kms."

Time: 00:55 hrs

I have my rain coat on. I kick the bike to life. Rev it a bit and then some more, till its ready to hit the road. The roads are empty. One or two cars pass by ocassionally. I'm good to go.

Time: 01:00 hrs

I cross the Begumpet Flyover. The rain comes down heavily. Poor visibility. I try hard to see the road. But its of no use. The rain hits like a thousand needles piercing you in a second. I still ride.

Time: 01:15 hrs

I reach a the tivoli junction road. No streetlights. Not a single soul in sight. The wind howls as though its coming to get you. I switch off my lights and ride. Stupidity for kicks. There is an urban legend about that road. Some people say, a woman was murdered here, on a rainy night like this. They say, she walks there alone. I still ride.

Time:01:20 hrs

I cross Secunderabad Club, switch on the lights. The road ahead is inundated. I rev the bike and it sears through the sheet of knee deep water. One more ahead. This time, its worse. But still, the engine hums, ready to go.

Still poor visibility.

Time: 01:25 hrs

I reach home. completely drenched.

What a ride. The rains come as a blessing. I can still hear the howling sound of the wind. Its time to go to bed.

Time: sleeping time

..racing raccoon...

A thoughtless mind

Empty streets and a thoughtless mind. That apart, anger throbbed in my veins. 

What started off as a quiet conversation, turned into an ugly one. And i couldnt digest that.

Provoked. I'm still rooted to my instincts and they didnt know that things could get ugly. I went ahead, on the bike under a carpet of soft moon light and zoomed past everything.

My thoughts were racing too. I had my eyes fixed on the road. I rode, faster. When you build something with your own hands and someone close to you steps over it, i guess it hurts the most. You take the pain and move on, forgiving them. But the situation becomes a thorn, pinching you, drawing blood time and again.

Maybe this was something like it. I had learnt to take enough shit, even if it aint my fault. you forgive the ones you love, because at some point they have done the same. This is how you grow as a person. Accepting your weakness.

Somehow, the ride was pleasant. The weather had calmed down thanks to the rains. The roads were clean and sweet smell of dirt filled the air. People were walking back home, long journey i suppose. They walked in the dead of the night and i zoomed past them. My veins still throb with anger, confusion and animosity.

Scared as a cornered animal, i still have the courage to move. But deep inside my heart, i know that this too shall pass. But somehow there is a sense of discontent, something broken, torn apart and chopped into pieces.

I'll go back to sleep. Probably when i wake up, i'd realise that this was just a dream.

..Racing Raccoon...

Dark Corners

A prisoner of thought. All of us are. Aren't we?

There is something about dark corners that are attractive. Not to mention wooden boxes, that let u breathe.

I often sat in dark corners when i felt low. It gives you a kind of solace-- that you are away from everything. This is what cheeni says. But i think it gives you strength to face the world in your own ways.

Like a warrior. For him, the sliding sound of the sword when drawn from the scabbard is enough to let adrenaline flow. He's set and ready to kill. Ready to face an army of soilders.

We have our own battles to fight everyday. Bits and pieces. Sometimes u fight alone and sometimes there are ppl watching your back. Guardian Angels? Maybe. For the time being.

I remember when i lay awake on the bed during nights. My grandma was sitting at the edge of the bed, smiling down on me. She passed away a year back and the memories are still new.

She always called me on my birthday. To look back at it, her life was a fight in itself. Not a good one. But still, like everyone, her life was a story worth telling. 

As I write this sitting in a dark room, the overwhelming sense dawns, that someone is staring at the screen from behind my back. It must be grandma. For some reason, when people didnt treat her right when she was alive, my heart went out to her. I hope, if you are somewhere in the relams of this plane called earth, i want you to know that i will miss your phone call the most this year and in the years to come.

A fight, even if it is a small one, it is worth fighting with all your heart. I dont remember how many times i've backed out from a situation and i look back and see that i didnt have the nerve.

Well atleast today, i know where i stand. Ready. Maybe its a struggle in itself. Waiting for something to strike and then strike back. 

This is what dark corners do to you. When you know that enough is enough, we change. Ready to push back with double the force and clear some space for ourselves. Jenny, i hope u are reading this. 

For what seems like a lost battle, remember, you have enough crap to swing that sword one last time. And do that with all you got! 

I dont know if anything of this makes sense, but somehow, i know, someone will connect with some of the lines written here. 

..racing raccoon...

Composure

Nut
Originally uploaded by swaroopa25

The heat wasn't a deterrent factor, yet its task was done and the roads were there....all burned up and smooth....leading home, for a good night's sleep- at last.

As i write these absurd lines, i remember some, someone told me a few months ago..."the racing raccoon doesn't need empty roads, the roads are already empty"...
- Its the way we see 'em...

How empty ?

I've often wondered. How empty are these empty roads. When you go out for a spin, the faces are a blur.
My mind does the talking and eyes lead the way. The roaring sound of wind is the only sound that fills my ears. The roads are not that bad, maybe its just the way we see them. A perception.
Last week i met a poor drum maker who makes less than 10 dollars a month and feeds a family of 15. In the end, his perception of the road was a different one. I looked at his beaten leather slippers that have helped him walk endless miles selling drums across the city. And then i looked at my addidas sneakers, they were starting to wear away. Both footwear were for the same purpose, but in different places and situations -It was the roads that we traveled on everyday.
I wouldn't complain in anyway after seeing the conditions the 60 year old drum maker lived in. As i write this, i'm more closer to earth than i was before. He knew too well the roads of destiny had chalked out this meet and i asked him about his life right from the start.
He told me a story of labour, hardwork and poverty. Something that i'm beginning to see at close quarters. Little things such as the next meal is of concern to them. I see kids bugging their parents for a happy meal, i did that too. But i guess i was lucky enough to meet the drum maker, for his story was a revelation of all sorts, one that makes you think in a more practical and sane manner.
In the end, its the road, its the situations that have become a way of life for all of us. You, me, to everyone reading this.

..racing raccoon...

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