STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN

Lights off. Doors closed. Curtains pulled. Cool wind blowing through the broken window. Trying to block away the noise and commotion going on in the corridor outside. You try to remember when was the last time you did it. How exactly had you done it? How did you feel after you'd done it? But you put those thoughts aside as you're disturbed by the sound of the matchstick striking the phosphoric side of the matchbox. You see that everything's ready. What needs to be crushed is crushed, what needs to be cut is cut, what needs to be rolled is rolled and what needs to be done is being done. There's a bright light which illuminates our dingy room for just a nanosecond, enough time to look at the stern and concentrated look on your mate's face. Looked funny. Eyes open like a slit of wound, nose cringed and lips puckered. The same face you'd make when you'd kiss something or someone disgusting. The only difference is the presence of a thin, long cylidrical thing between his lips. You see the tip of the flame come in contact with the tip of the object. Suddenly, you don't know why, you're applying your school science to know why the flame is orange in color when there's plenty of oxygen around. At this point, your mate says, "Dude, light yours". You clean your mind slate and draw your face towards the flickering flame. Your mate covers the flame with his cupped hands. You suck, you try to suck air through the thing you're holding in your mouth. The air is not only filled with the required amount of oxygen to help you sustain your life but also with nitrogen and other pollutants along with other recently added flavors and chemicals. You know that you're polluting yourself, you're killing yourself. But it doesn't matter because you've chosen not o care. You do it quite a few times until you start to hear the faint grumbling sounds. Before you can realize, you now clearly hear the chord of the guitar, the tap of the snare and the note on the synth. The music starts. But its still not music for you. For you its just a ramble, a coarse jamming of some novice, inexperienced instrument players and obviously out of tune. But slowly, you tend to catch on what's going on. You listen more attentively. Even thought the vocals are just a mumbling of words like they're chanting some African tribe chats in a state of trance, the music starts to make sense. You start to understand the music, what it means. What its trying to tell you, something which you always wanted an answer for. It makes you lose your mind, it makes you forget the world around you. You want to rock your head in tune with the music, but you don't feel like. You just stare and gape at it. You let yourself float. You feel the world around you isn't real everything;s just an illusion. Its all a made up, set up situation of which you're a puppet whose strings are in the control of a greater force than you. you can feel you're weightless body slowly lifting up from the firm ground. Without any hindrances, you reach the zenith of space. You're still sucking on the ignited tube. You float in tune with the music. You fly in and out of the sound holes, ride on the strings hop on the pads. Suddenly the only thing you can hear is the rhythmic and soft tapping on the high hats. You block out all other music. With each tap you're changing your co-ordinates in the vast, open space. The bass hits your heart like the hammer of the gods. You don't see stars, instead you see whole galaxies. Then comes the "only god could;ve done it" lead. This is the closest to heaven you can get. You are climbing the stairway to heaven. This is a moment of bliss for you. you feel like this is what you were craving for all your life. This is what everyone tries to find in everything - peace and happiness. You feel like you're on top of the misty mountain and you're comfortably numb to the materialistic world. You can smell the vivid colors of the music in the whispering wind. And then you stand still. You stand still and the whole space around is flying past you. You're in a starfield and it's just gushing past you with variable velocities according to the notes. Everything;'s on motion blur right now. You start to try to make sense of things again, but you can't. Everything fading away. You feel heavy like lead. You start dropping. Carelessly, you drop into the black hole. You struggle, but you cant get out. You realize, better to fade away than to burn out. You let yourself loose, you be sucked to the epicenter. You realize, life is to rock and not to roll. The last thing you hear is the clanging of the division bell.

MEMORY MANAGEMENT

Every time I keep thinking of starting to write a blog. But whenever I sit down in front of my computer to start tapping on those small keys on the keyboard, I just seem don't to have any patience. I'll have loads of thoughts, loads of views about loads of topics running in arbit Brownian motion in my brain, but I just can't seem to put it down in ink or in print. I look at the keyboard, the mouse, the screen and then before I can remember, I'm trying to save my butt or fragging someone else's butt with a rocket launcher....!!!!
Keeping the stupid computer aside, I'd even thought of jotting down those thoughts on a paper too. But me being a five-point someone, who picks up his pen on just a few special occasions viz. during my exams, to sign somewhere or just to give the lecturer an impression that I'm taking down notes when I'm not...I could possibly have no time to write a blog when I could be better off fragging all over again....
But right now, sitting in this idiotic, irrelevant lecture (cuz he's making no sense of what he's uttering in a language which he claims to be "YENGLISH", filled to the brim with mallu accent), I went down deep into my pit to do some deep thinking and it occurred to my wandering mind, why don't I write a blog right now? It wasn't a bad idea after all as there wasn't any other better job in my life to do at that particular instant. So, picked up my pen, my notepad, placed the tip of my pen on the ruled sheet and thought, what shall I write about? Ok, shall I write about the stupid lecture that's going on? Nah, to boring even to think about it. Even if I tried to fill it with some sarcastic, raunchy, naughty, racist or even gross and black humor, it would be just too bland. Then I thought, shall I write about myself? But then, who can write about themselves without exaggerating. Everyone claims that they are modest, but that's nothing but a over-hyped characteristic feature, an adjective they wanna place when they write about themselves. In short, they think that they're modest when they're not. So I thought against the idea of writing about myself. And even if I wrote, I'd write so much, I don't mean I'd write all the good things and exaggerate some, but I'd also write about all the bad, stupid and nasty stuff which I kinda like and I do. And who wants to get embarrassed or humiliated anyways. Then I thought, shall I write about my friends? Well, not a bad idea, cuz everyone loves to criticize about someone or something behind their backs. I can write whatever I want about them, and they cant do a shit about it. But then, when you say something about someone, you need an audience who agrees with you when you say something nice or laugh with you when you sat something nasty. But since I don't have any audience right now, I thought, it wont be any use writing about someone cause no one will think I'm cool or good at judging people (well, I'm no one to judge people, but WTF, who doesn't).
And then, a lot of other, out of the world topics cropped up in my tiny brain. Music, the stupid relative grade point system, the expanding hole in the ozone layer which is frying up the over-polluted, over-populated home planet, UFO's and people being abducted and to top that, coming back alive to talk about such crap. About reincarnation, that is there is something called as life after death. But I don't see what's the point' Cuz there has to be a death for that life too, so is there any life after THAT death....???? Well, it seems to be a stupid vicious circle which keeps going on and makes no sense (just like this piece of crap I'm writing). About the recently hyped controversy about the Holy Grail, Mary Magdalene and Jesus. Well, I', still in the process of reading about it, so can't say much. About the increasing intensity of internet pornography and porn MMS clips, but me being a desperate 3rd year engineering student, staying in an all boys hostel (hopes of staying in a co-ed hostel...!!!) and studying in a college where the limit of good-looking homo-sapiens of the other sex tends to zero, I don't mind and I'm not complaining until and unless I get those MMS clips asap.....!!
By then I'd realized I hadn't written a single word. The point of contact between my pen and the paper had created a large oculus shaped blot on my notepad and as I admired at the artistic blot I'd made, I faintly heard my name being called. When I glanced at the source, all I could see was an antennae-less Martian staring at me. I could hear it say something in its Martian lingo, "Bwat ju ju mbeen fy memari managmunt?". But I just kept imagining about the zeppelin shaped crop-circle the UFO would have made and who are they gonna abduct next.....??????