The Sanctum

Welcome, traveller. This be the realm of Jay Niner, where everything be possible, and nothing ever happens. If, perchance, thou wisheth to tarry, then find thou a page from the Grimoire and read. For we are here in eternity, and we are in medias res.


I'm still bleeding it out

The problem with being a student is that you just can't please yourself. Last time during happy hour my sister burst into the room and yelled, "Fuck! What the fuck! What're you doing!?" at the top of her voice, which is pretty loud.
Then when I was watching a movie, my dad came into the room with this grim stare he puts on, like an old lion which quite frankly has had enough of the pride's younger members busting good kills, and he says to me: "son, you've gotta live. You've gotta get somewhere, and watching movies is not the way to do it!" after four hours of relentless mindfucking at a shitfucked institute for the mentally challenged.
Then my ex calls up. Yes, she's an ex, but the sex is good enough for me to boink her when she's in town. "I'm gonna be in town tomorrow, so no excuses." She hung up on me, before I could get a word in edgewise, before I could establish the tender state of affairs pervading the room I call sanctuary, and then I'll have to listen to half-assed bullshit about me not communicating enough in what's already a broken relationship.
The only consolation I get from all this is one singular thought that comes to me as I lay in my bed on monday morning: "and I thought the world had problems." Suck my cock, world.

A student will, at any time of his education:
1. Have to please his dad, who wants to see direction.
2. Have to please his mom, who wants attendance.
3. Have to please his sister, who won't let him masturbate in peace.
4. Have to please his girlfriend(s) who thinks she's not getting enough time, or if she's not around, thinks he's avoiding her.
5. Have to please the neighbours, who want an example to set their own kids to, or if not so, an object of gossip and grim stares.
6. Have to please the institute, they want alumni they can call their own, and not fucked-up shitfuckers.
7. Have to please the head of such institute, who thinks he needs an attitude adjustment.
8. Have to please the teachers, who think he isn't worth their time.
9. Have to please his education, assignments and tests on time.
10. Have to please the country, patriotism had better be alive and well before we turn completely fascist.

And they say our lives are ours to live. Don't you just love hypocrites?


Road rash and problems besides...

Eating, walking, talking, I came across a rather interesting phenomenon. Is it just me or do people seem even more reckless than usual? Just this morning I found a guy who could have taken perhaps twenty years off my bones if I hadn't swerved aside in time. Why is it that everyone seems interested in partaking in road rage, in turning traffic into road rash? Game fans will remember Road Rash. Traffickers will be able to compare the situation in the game to the one in real life.

This morning that's what I felt, avoiding a dozen tight corners and near misses. Forget Dhoom, this is Ghoom, everyday. Clumsy, whacky and potentially dangerous; it's official: No one knows how to drive, and if they have a license, it's fake.
So therefore the order of the day is: "Maa chudaye motherfucker, I'll drive as I like."
Ah, yes, and this comes not only from biking teenagers, but also from the scooter oldies. I had a seventy-year granny yell something that sounded rather unparliamentary, even to me. I mean, you've got to give the geriatrics some credit, they know their stuff.
Bah, personally I've got no problem with the traffic. What I've got a problem with is the medical bill I'll have to foot if I take part in the midtown madness. I had a friend back home who once said: 'I've got two rules in my life- fast, and faster.' I'll add a pitstop to that- the hospital. Where he landed two weeks after his magnanimous statement.
And not only would I have to foot a hospital bill, but also have to settle with those idiots they have at my bike's service centre. Which would no doubt turn out to be much more than my hospital bill.
Damned fuckers, the whole lot of them. Why wouldn't God do anything about it? I'm an atheist, and my explanation has nothing to do with my faith, or lack of it.
God don't have a problem with it, ya know. He don't have a problem with grass, or tha nuke. God's a homie- he's a gangsta, and a gangsta's cool.
Damn, eh? But that's life.
Let me rephrase that- it's thataway or the highway. Just eat it.


The Danger

I am in imminent danger, once more, of getting a TNG.
How the fucking fuck I manage it is worth studying, but if things continue as I allow them to, my fate is sealed like an ant under shit... I'm a fucking goner.
It's not even the fact that I had my girlfriend over in the first sem, or that I picked up where I'd left off in the third. I don't have any girls around my brain except those I owe money to. But this is bloody hell- I wonder what on earth I'm gonna do this time. My attendance has once more come down, and with the 90% cut off rate my parents have set me, that knife looks even more tempting by every-bloody-minute. I'm desperate, but I'm not gonna show it, because I'm me.
And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Following my book of crazy rules, I "Never do today what I can put off till tomorrow." And therefore not only do I get screwed, but I do get superbly, irreparably fucked up. A sad situation.
I don't even have the heart to bring out some choice hindi obscenities at this time. Otherwise I'd be pretty much shouting my head off at myself. Damned fucking hell, nothing more, nothing less, nothing else.



This morning, in my drowsiness, I began to clean a drawer without having any idea why. I took out a few CDs, games, movies, etc, until I reached one labelled "personal data". Interested, I opened it up and checked the properties. The date on it was around four years back- 2008. March. So I opened the files. 
Mostly standard stuff; old novels, half-finished articles, saved games that wouldn't work, songs that didn't play, until I found a folder, ominously marked "AK". I opened it up, a slight tingling at the back of my head. Something told me I should be remembering what it meant.
The first word file I opened was Kane and the Bloody Bullet. 
Then it hit me. Six finished and two unfinished stories, all on the antics of Ajay Kane, a would-be detective who chases after every red herring and leaves the thinking to his companions. 
I remember what my uncle told me when I showed it to him- and I quote, "the only detective to bullshit a clue." My uncle laughed his head off, and told me if I wanted to write, I was right. 

 I put up the first one. This is the address, if you're interested-


Exit, followed by the Bear.

So here I was, bullshitting a cup of tea.
In much ado I was sunk to my knee.
Good poetry ko maro goli,
Ye bagwaspanti nikli.

At such times I deign to agree
And instead I only see
That which I wouldn't like,
Like a petrol-less scooty and a ten-mile hike.

One fine morning I up and said,
What the fuck am I doing in this bed,
On such a beautiful morning, glorious and free.
My better half got me back without a query.

Life, in all its beauty is a bitch.
And although nine may be saved by an early stitch,
We're mindfucked just doing that one alone.
And then, in my case, I complain and groan.

But the old Bear, my old man, he won't leave me be.
He's determined that his layabout of a son should something see.
All the time nagging, threatening, ah, his heart's in the right place.
Mine ain't. It's been locked away 'neath a solid, solid case.

And it's gonna stay that way.
If I have any say.
Which I never do. Who does when family's involved?
It's a familial society that never evolved.

No one's free to make their own choices, nope.
So instead we cracked up and took dope.
We all go our separate ways, down and out.
Friendship's a farce, love's poison, and rhyme's a bitch.

And when we all go, there's a following,
The past never forgotten, the future wallowing.
The point of no return, silenced without care,
And so we exit, followed by the Bear.


If Only...

The skies are blue and white, and I raise my goggled eyes to them. It’s beautiful in the morning, and I can understand perfectly well why my grandparents would stand in the balcony and welcome the new day at six-thirty or earlier, I could never tell, being a late riser myself. An old tradition, but one shared by so many people of so many different cultures and religions. This is the true meaning of “carpe diem,” a latin saying incredibly common in the populace. Even those unfamiliar with its meaning will swear by those two words. They mean, simply, “seize the day”. Robin Williams, in Peter Weir’s Dead Poets’ Society, captured audiences with that simple statement: “Carpe diem, boys. Seize the day.”

Talk goes around of the master plan to take the world by hand, to take the government by storm, to bring around a new revolution. Unfortunately, those who talk the talk don’t always walk the walk. They’re busy being cool, and it’s an adage, “the world bores you when you’re being cool.” There are very few people who actually step up to the challenge, who will face the music for something they believe in. And when they do, history has proven a rough taskmistress to these individuals. Look at Mahatma Gandhi, or Subhash Chandra Bose, Abraham Lincoln, Kennedy, even Rasputin, if I want to go that far. They all fought for what they believed in. And they died for it.

Death, at the end of the day, is too permanent for most people to risk it. On the other hand, most people don’t take life seriously, because it isn’t permanent. A true paradox in the perfect sense: life is an organized mess. Disney released an animated film many will remember: The Incredibles. At the very beginning, Mr. Incredible, the main character, says: “Every time I save the world, something always goes wrong again! I feel like the maid! I just cleaned that up, could you keep it clean, for, like, ten minutes?”

Sorry, Mr. Incredible, you never did hear of Murphy’s Law. Anything, anything at all, that can go wrong, will, with an inevitability that defies death. A friend of mine once remarked, and I quote, “There is no limit to success.” It fell to my evil temperament to immediately reply, “Or to failure.” The Titanic is widely known, the ship that was supposed to be invulnerable, but of course, wasn’t.

One thing is certain, though. “No pain, no gain.” The gain isn’t always materialistic, of course. It could benefit either an individual or humanity in general. In the end, the government is just a bunch of bullies trying to compare the size of their sticks, and the general populace is just the ants at their feet.

That’s when one ant decides he’s had enough of being crushed and decides to sting back, and the higher-ups realize that there is someone below them after all, and that someone has a lot of power in them.

If only they knew it.

If only.