Posted in freedom, justice

Becoming Raskolnikov: Wilfully Antisocial.

Is it possible to remodel yourself in a certain way to distance yourself from the society you live in? Existence is painful, and you eventually get to a point where you get tired of being a faked up piece of crap. You smile at everybody, you force yourself to be nice to everybody and every single defining factor that makes you a person begins to stand in question. There is a violent side of me. I’m being super open here. I believe in disorder. I believe in how it is necessary sometimes for disorder to exist, to tear open the veil of ignorance that drapes over the eyes of every single individual that stands against the edge of the Earth and smiles. But I also hold that it is not everyone that gets the right to instigate.

They called Socrates ‘gadfly’, but they also held that he was an emissary of God. Is this a valid enough excuse? Could I label myself as God’s messenger and use it as a pretext to grant myself the leave to violate the fundamental principles of natural Justice? Call me an anarchist, but sometimes, radical decisions are necessary to restore order in society. There is a reason why the scales of Justice are a balance. Lady Justice stands up there with the veil of ignorance, carrying the balance.

The world is not all good, it is not all bad either.

It is both, and that is the idea I’m trying now to piece together. When we learn of St. Augustine speaking of God granting humans the right to free will, what of the government we seemingly elect, “freely” mind you, a decision we make completely free from society’s environmental effect on you, the voter?

The irony is that we even give out an opportunity to these politicians to tell us why we need to vote for them. We literally allow them to abuse the sacred words that have been the cause for concern, world over, since man ever came out to stand forth. We call ourselves rational individuals and distinguish ourselves from every other living form, but it is the written/spoken word that has given us the right to make ourselves rational. Give dogs proper words, and they would take over the Earth in no time. This I believe would happen because their belief in faith and morality currently stands to be the same, for every dog, which unites them in ways we couldn’t imagine. But that’s an analytical argument for another day.

Words, and our lack of response, our intellectual structure, our physical structure, and Dale Carnegie’s goddarn book, all culminate in our ability to go stand wherever we want and make the people see what we want them to see, and in a way, make them believe that that is the way we want them to see us.

This distresses me. I hate the way we change the way people perceive us.

I’m someone with some one, and I’m someone else with someone else. I’m a different person with different people and the ‘me’ I like the most is my self, that is consistent with my soul, my mind, and every other intellectual aspect that frameworks every individual’s conscience.

When I’m that ‘me’, I’m free.

But, sadly, I can’t be that me with everyone else. There isn’t just a Slim Shady side to everyone. There’s five hundred of them, and I believe there’s one of them I’ve identified to be the most ‘me’.

I wish I could be that version of myself with everyone. Then, I’d probably conquer the Earth.

If we could be one version of ourselves, our most confident, virulent and bombastic versions. The version of ourselves we feel the most comfortable as, then we would transcend the insecure fabric of society and the rest of it. Our lives would flash between our eyes in a millisecond, and we would probably die.

Maybe that is why we are forced to undergo a tumult of changes, constantly becoming different people. I say, figure out what that ideal form of you is, get to it you goddarn fools.

Posted in orange juice, time

A Dying Return.

I died a while back. I seemingly couldn’t fathom the thoughts that hit me on my head as the rain that would hail down would hit one without an umbrella. At least, that was how I saw my writing process. But it stopped raining. The storms were subsidised. I couldn’t write anymore. Until last night.

Life’s been painful. Painful and unpredictable. I wish I hadn’t stopped writing. But I had to, and let me tell you why, a) I was writing to keep the routine up b) Creativity had hence died

These two reasons told me to stop writing. I essentially gave myself some time. I wasn’t in hurt when I stopped. Everything was fine, until it all started back up again.

It took a few months, and I found myself in a new place, amidst new people, I found myself a part of a new society. And while previously my mental health was at its top notch, I have reason to believe that it was my writing that had kept me going, turning a blind eye against all the negativities, and focussing on the positives alone. Mark Manson and his Subtle Art had grown on me well enough for me to cut out the distractions and fixate on what was necessary.

And then my better half, left. She didn’t leave me and go away, she would never do that, but what essentially happened was, there was a distance between us. A distance that wasn’t there before. While originally my subconscious knew that if there were a natural calamity that sought to destroy the world I lived in, perhaps a sudden tsunami or a sudden earthquake (god forbid), or perhaps even the sudden unquenchable necessity for a hug, I always knew that I could untie the bicycle and get to her even if it took forty minutes. Now, there are no chances of that happening. I’ll have to get a flight to the capital. And the Universe knows that isn’t as easy as it sounds.

This was the spark that lit the fuse that yesterday exploded into a million pieces. The next was the gradual agony of not knowing where I’d end up. Too much was going on, and it wasn’t easy to comprehend. College is overrated. It isn’t as amazing as they make it out to be. But I wouldn’t say it isn’t fun.

To put it in a nutshell, you finally find yourself doing what you’d always wished you would find yourself doing, provided you slogged your arses off trying not to fuck things up. But then, you enter a new ballgame. You think you finally get somewhere where you might just belong, but it isn’t as homely as that. You need to always prove yourself. Especially considering the fact that you find yourself with people, who are at most times, better than you are. You need to step things up.

Anxiety issues that result from a mental claustrophobia, do not always bode well for someone who is subject to a stress-explosive reality on a daily basis. It is a very well known fact that I’m super hard on myself when I’m not on the top. This is especially considering the fact that it is sometimes important to wake the fuck up and sit down and actually study.

I compete, but I never prepare. Most of the time, I still manage to scrape and scratch my way to the top. My mother’s wonderful voice comes ringing out at me stating, “You did all this without any preparation, think what would happen if you opened the book for an hour at least?”

And I usually just smirk at her and sit back into reading Dante’s Divine Comedy and marvelling at the stupendously maddening words held within (I’m usually too lazy to do that too, I just like the idea of reading Dante’s deadly sins, and that’s pretty ironical considering the sloth sin that literally defines my frigging existence).

But what I’m trying to get at is, you suddenly find yourself in a place where you just can’t be lazy anymore. You can’t procrastinate. You need to buy tiny green flip books to fill them up with the things to do on every single particular day. This, eventually gets to you.

This was about the time I started screwing up everything I took part in. The insecurities that were a result of these, were of no help either. You ask the people that know me, and they’ll vouch for how many TV shows I’ve started but never ended. How many books I’ve opened but never closed. How many people I’ve befriended but never remembered.

This landed as an explosion.


You’re a winner. You get lazy. You lose. Pretty simple. But this is what swirls into the vortex that I’m having difficulty getting out of. I read in a book once, the author had said, “You lose once, and you get used to it.”

This scares the living hell out of me. Insecurity appears. You start questioning your previous triumphs. You start questioning everything you Love about yourself. Trust me, this fractures your confidence like nothing else I know can. And you lose, and you lose, and you lose, until you die.

I set expectations for myself. I don’t know if that’s a good thing, but when I don’t get there, even though I know I’m at fault, I beat myself over it. ‘Beat’ is an understatement. I kill myself over it.

That’s the second issue. Now comes the third one. All the Nirvana teen spirit that I had had simply died away. I couldn’t sit back and get high over my thoughts anymore (like I always could). And I finally realised one day, that I needed someone to talk to.

I didn’t have anyone. (If you actually got all the way down here reading, you’re probably one of those pieces of shit I forgot about, remind me lol)

That hit me like a truck. Everyone is always so consumed in their lives today that it is sometimes impossible to get them to listen. It took me a while until I found someone. The rant helped.

Two days later, here I am pouring my crap out on the blog. I had had quite a few anxiety attacks until last night. Then I wrote a poem.

Now I wrote this. Take it, throw it away. I don’t care. If you got down all the way here, the world deserves you. Don’t ever frigging change. Because I myself wouldn’t read the entire thing.

Adieu. Until next time.

Posted in death, justice, time

Ashwatthama : Chapter Five

Krishna appeared, from the edges of the screen

And his eyes were a blood red.

The avatara of Vishnu cursed me with the curse

That finally left me how I now am.


He wrenched the gem off my forehead

The emerald I had been born with

And the blood poured out,

All over my face and pulsated

And formed a sore.

He condemned me, to roam the earth,

Alone and in pain,

With this endless blood shedding off

Until the end of the age.

The kaliyug, ends now, and

I send these words forth

And I hope they speak of, my repentance

And how the Gods are never truly fair.

They ended a life, that I made them pay for,

Fully knowing I deserved,

My death,

And instead that dastardly God,

Did not let me die,

The price I had to pay, for a guilty conscience,

Was my quick death

And immortal, I wander the earth,

Trying to salve the pain,

Trying to forget, I wander the earth,

Hiding, hiding from the rain

Trying to forget, I wander the earth,

Trying, and trying, to change.

Link: Part 4:

Part 3:

Part 2:

Part 1:

Posted in death, justice, time

Ashwatthama : Chapter Four

My father had taught him, that mantra too,

And he responded with the same

And soon, we knew, with the end of this fight,

The world would never be the same.

The Gods fell upon us, and pleaded us to,

End that bloody war,

And Arjuna remembered

How to stop, the meteor descend into Earth.

My father had not taught me

How to stop the Brahmashirsha and I did not know

What to do.

I directed the brute force, of the astra

On Abhimanyu’s unborn child,

For then I would end, the entire lineage

Of the Pandava five.

Link: Part 3:

Part 2:

Part 1:

Posted in death, justice, time

Ashwatthama : Chapter Three

As night fell, like a guerrilla

I snuck into the pandava camp

And in that tent, in that darkness

I found life.

I was in an anger that I could not myself control

And my sword fell upon

The cradle

Where tiny babies lay.

Yes I knew. There were tiny, innocent children

Sleeping blissful sleep,

And killing the brothers was not enough,

Their children also had to go.


I left the tent, with a bloodied sword,

And finding not the brothers, fearing their wrath

I made away into the night,

And in no time, the brothers descended

Upon my quarters, to challenge me for a fight.

That fool, Arjuna, my father’s favourite

Shouted at me in anger,

I looked into his tearful eyes,

I calmly lifted a blade of grass,

And spoke a mantra that ordered the skies

To rain on them their wrath.

Link: Part 2:

Part 1:

Posted in death, justice, time

Ashwatthama : Chapter Two


I was alive, and when reproached, they told me

That Yudhishtira hadn’t lied.

There was also an elephant

That held my namesake

That had been killed in battle.

He had shouted, that blasphemous white lie,

That “Ashwatthama, the elephant was dead”

And my poor father,

Gave himself up, and let his blood pour, red.


The anger that bubbled, within me then,

I cannot put into words,

I believe that I wished, the world itself

To end and take everyone away,

For the so-called good men, the bloody pancha-pandav

Were liars and thieves and crooks

And I knew then, they deserved

More than just their deaths.


Is it okay, to lie in war?

I really do not know,

But a single unjust act,

Can be replaced by another,

And this truth I believe to be so.

An eye for an eye, an ancient saying,

I set out to wield.

A word as a sword, a hilt of gold,

I sheathed into its sheath.

Link: Part 1:

Part 3:

Posted in death, justice, time

Ashwatthama : Chapter One.

“Ashwatthama is dead!” came the cry,

And the tone with which, this lie

Was spoken, in the midst of war,

I will never forget.


People can’t hear me anymore,

And I’ve screamed and screamed

Into the light, hoping my voice will be heard

But here I stand, condemned to this darkness,

For a sin I will not be forgiven.


This age, draws to a close,

And with it comes my death.

So I will these words to flow

Off the voice of another,

Into the realm of man, to tell him

It was never in my control.


My father, I remember,

Heard the cry that spoke and sealed my death,

And he got off his steed,

For I was his son, and he now believed me dead.

That bloody, godforsaken fool,

Yudhishtira, the so called Dharmaraja

That goddarn son of the God of Death,


To kill my father.

To kill his dear guru,

The man who taught him everything,

The venerable Dronacharya

Because there was no other way.


And I watched this blasphemous act,

Take place, and saw all the light die from

My father’s eyes

Before he fell among the dead.


(Hey y’all. This is a five-chapter series told from Ashwatthama’s perspective. It’s an ancient mythical legend from the Mahabharata and it explores many aspects, such as Love, Loss, Revenge, Death, the Passage of Time, and a numerous more. I will be posting the second chapter tomorrow. This is to give you guys some context, the Mahabharata is a legendary war between brothers, the Pandavas and the Kauravas. It’s a classic story of the good over evil. Within this epic tale, Dronacharya was the teacher of the Pandavas but he was forced to support the monarch the Pandavas chose to defy and he fought against his own proteģes. Killing him, was impossible. Ashwatthama was Drona’s son, and the Pandavas faked his death, to catch their acharya off guard. This poem is Ashwatthama’s revenge, narrated as he would have seen it.)

Link: Part 2: