Running away

"The most easily deteriorated of all the moral qualities is the quality called 'conscience.' In one state of a man's mind, his conscience is the severest judge that can pass sentence on him. In another state, he and his conscience are on the best possible terms with each other in the comfortable capacity of accomplices."
"Makes sense. We have had this conversation two years back. It would be interesting to see where this conversation would lead to."
"All is well if the mind is good."
"Are you saying mind and conscience are different?"
"Mind masters conscience."
"But where does this differentiation lies?"
"I cant draw a boundary between the two. If my mind didnt work, my conscience will drive me to madness."
"Or the reason for your mind not to work is your conscience?"
"Conscience acts first; almost a knee-jerk reaction. Then the mind dissects the act and confounds conscience."
"Conscience is the personification of an action but not an action itself. Conscience reacts first. The most logical, judgmental and natural reaction for that being comes out first. Mind makes a logical decision on what needs to be executed."
"So you agree to what I am saying."
"More or less."
"I thought you would disagree to the word 'confound'."
"Not entirely though."
"I guess things do have changed huh?"
"A cell is dying in my body every second, I have seen two autumns without you since we last spoke and with our respective lifestyles, don't you think two years is long enough for me to change a little bit of my thought process?"
"I thought in our case Time would be a healer."
"I thought so too. But looks like Time was a killer with us."

GREEN, Your death's colour is Green. Death of the mind. Your heart is isolated within your mind. You seek knowledge. You are very rare.
Take this quiz!

"You don't have to this. Killing people cannot be a profession."
These words echoed in my head as a distant sound of a wave hitting the rocky shore. On that day those words made little sense and perhaps marked the end whatever humanity was left in me. As the cool wind whips through my hair, I looked down from the terrace of a tall building. I have been here for an assignment before. What I did for survival during my younger years, became my bread (should I say cake???) in future. I lived in a place where there was a warped sense of right and wrong; good and evil were phrases which would be written in history books in future. Even after I left that place, the horrors of my past caught up with me like a fellow jogger.
I looked at my feet and saw his body. Bullet in the head; dead as a log; courtesy me. His eyes were open, dead and surprised. Well, he wouldn't have expected me to be his assassin. Was there disappointment in his eyes too? I couldn't tell. I sit at the edge of a terrace where one step further would take me down twenty four floors to the ground. I idly wonder what it would have happened if I had pursued our almost romance. A sob escapes my throat and shakes my body. In few minutes am crying for my dear life clinging to his body. At that moment I would have given everything in this world to go back to the things they were. I know that I had to get out of here soon before someone saw me with him. But for the first time, I didn't care. I take a last look at his face. It looks as though he is mocking me; mocking me for the coward that I am. It starts raining and blood around me starts to wash away. I walk till the edge of terrace and decide to see if I can fly.
The fall is glorious. But the impact on earth is not.

"Would you give me a chance to grow old with you?"
"Sure. Lets enroll ourselves to the same oldage home."
For the first time in my life, I hated my sarcastic come back and not to mention the pathetic line used to cover up my nervousness.

"I don't need you."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You need to know or you want to know?"
"What's the difference? I am just interested in the explanation."
"There is a difference between need and want."
"Please. I am in no mood to learn the language. Just answer me."
" 'Need' is like a river. A river which is taken for granted unless you want the water in it or the peace the banks of a river has to offer you. Its always there for you. But 'want' is something totally opposite to need. The want of something clouds your mind from all the passion your mind is capable of and channels all the desire that your little heart can muster in to one thought, one word and one face. Thats what is want. Need is for living, want is for survival. Need is for necessity, want is for sanity."
"Oh!"
"So, I 'need' others but 'want' you."

Honor and honesty have no real meaning in these buildings with tinted glass, glossy corridors and expensive upholstery; its a place of irony, skepticism and deception. A brilliant facade of intellectual and polite conversations embellished with insecurity enshrouds this campus's inhabitants. This place is its own world, its own society. The flush green landscape covers the blackened soil that is identical of those with the intellectual soul who walks on the cemented pathway amidst the grass. They are indefinitely stuck in an oblivion unscathed by acceptance and fantasy. Their monotony of the life is mistaken for abundance independence, freedom and lifestyle.They are truly lost in relationships with warped sense of romanticism, brilliant career and a stunning financial stability. A bittersweet melancholy that sets amidst the taut muscles of the heart seldom surfaces on their senses and they stop mid-step because of that. A shake of head, a shrug of shoulders, a private smile and that melancholy is lost. They return to the alternate universe of dim lighted pathways and successful business endeavors.
And they adore their lives that way.

I lose my discipline when I go home. Home as in Mysore. Here I have a schedule that I follow religiously. Coffee before leaving to office which is 7 AM. Then two more coffees to hold me till lunch. Lunch would be 3 rotis, dal and a bowl of yogurt. Again, coffee in the afternoon, tea in the evening and a light dinner by 9. Dinner would be a roti and rice with yogurt. Come Saturday morning, there is almost non stop eating till Sunday evening. Papa wants me to eat the sweet he has specifically got for me. Mom makes delicious meals and snacks. I visit my grandma every weekend and she has something in store for me. No wonder, my five day strict diet goes for a toss :-) But I am not complaining :-)

I had always scoffed at the idea of writing diary. Till I started that is. In school I used to hear most of the girls talking about this. Especially after one finishes reading the chapter about Anne Frank. Overnight, writing a diary was the in thing. And yeah, I started writing in a diary too. And quite frankly because I was always left out of the conversation. Anne Frank names her diary as Kitty or something. Since we are religiously following the art of diary writing, we name ours too. Thats the hot topic of discussion during evening snack on roadside. The girl with the coolest name is the uncrowned queen. In one month, writing diary was so famous that it was getting annoying to talk about only that. And like every other fad, the shelf life of this fad was lesser than I had expected. The fad now moved to tennis in school but I somehow got stuck with diary writing. It was not a daily journal. Just a book to keep note of odd ideas, silly jokes, pictures of then crushes, dried Gulmohar flower, rose petals, dried leaf, news paper clippings, a black and white passport sized photo of me in my crisp school uniform and of course my dreams. I wrote in expensive glossy books as I grew older but that 12 rupees notebook is still dear to me than the others. And its pathetic that most of the things are written in my laptop than in any notebook. But then again, I have all my thoughts and ideas and forgotten dreams and dumb ideology password protected :-)

Working for two hours and not at all talking is exhausting. I never knew till date that I can stay quiet for more than two hours while working. I generally hum a song or talk to myself while working but today there was silence. Yesterday evening too I spent in silence as I was totally engrossed in reading. I was animatedly telling her about the article I read in paper about words of the year. After couple of minutes she apologized and told me that she can't seem to concentrate on what I was saying. I shrugged and went back to my reading. I don't know why it bothered much but I kind of realized that I speak a tad too much. Now planning to make an extra effort of keep my mouth shut. :-) Lets see how it goes.

"What power would hell have if those imprisoned there could not dream of heaven?" - Dream

I seldom cry. There were times when I cried because the hero in the movie I was watching was getting beaten to pulp. Of course like our true Indian movie, he always fought back in the end and there was the normal happily ever after ending. In those brief moments, I truly felt sorry for the hero, for all the goodness has possesses, for all the justice he has done and being the man that he was, was being treated unfairly. I got out of this attitude much before my peers learned how to spell television. (Yeah, I started watching movie when I turned 4, so sue me!). After that perhaps I have never cried for the death of a fictional protagonist. They ceased to bring out that effect on me. Well, that was until I read Sandman. I suppose I have read "The Wake" about 10 times by now. Every time I finish the book, there are tears at the end of my eye lashes and a lump in my throat. I believe Sandman is the biggest flawed person in the world; flawed in his own pessimistic way and screwed by his own choices. Maybe thats the reason why it was so simple and easy to get involved in his tale and grieve when he dies. (Well, Dream doesn't exactly die, but the point of view of the Dream - Morpheus dies.)
Maybe thats the reason why we like people who are much like ourselves. A little flaw here, a small catastrophe there, some mistakes, a handful of dreams, a bunch of friends, couple of bad habits, very rare obsession, knee deep passion and full of life.

"I don't look into mirror when I am getting ready to office."
"You don't?"
"I have never felt the need to look into a mirror when I get ready to office."
"But aren't you worried how you might look in the end? I mean there is a probability that some of the lotion that you use might not be applied properly. Or your hair might not be proper."
"I don't change hairstyles. Its mostly wet anyways when I start for office. So I just let it be. And the face part. I don't think its such a big deal."
"There is a probability that you might look downright horrible."
"People who know me would laugh at me and tell me that there is something wrong. I would correct it and move on. If a stranger looks at me and laughs at me, I personally don't care."
"Why give an opportunity to someone to laugh at you?"
"Why care if some random guy in street laughs at you?"
"Because appearances tell people what you are. Looking as good as possible is not an effort but a duty towards yourself."
"Definitely. How many times in last 6 months have you noticed my face with badly applied lotion?"
"Umm....not even once."
"QED"
"Thats only because you are confident that you would do that job very well."
"Thats another QED for you."
"Oh!"
"When I look into a mirror, I start looking at my flaws. Its simply pathetic."
"But I don't. I see a face that is loved by the family and liked by friends."
"But I don't need a mirror to see that. I already know."

I have spent last evening wallowing in unconditional sympathy, delicious misery and deep melancholy. Melancholic about a line of poetry, pity and misery for the dark protagonist in the graphic novel - Sandman of course. Well, its not exactly poetry, but lyrics of a song;but it has poetry written all over it.

And I was in love with things I tried to make you believe I was
And I wouldn't be the one to kneel before the dreams I wanted
And all the dark and all the lies were all the empty things disguised as me

What caught my eyes was the last line of the song. This song was actually referred in some fan fiction I was reading last week. The lines were so alluring that I had to get that song. I spent about 2 hours to find the song, the singer and finally a video of it in Youtube. I loved the song would be a total understatement. The song is Sympathy by Goo Goo Dolls, by the way.

The mood is still melancholic. Still, there is a spark which seem to break through the iciness of the sub conscious. I am not sure what it is. But then again, patience has never been my virtue.

Everyone is less mysterious than they think they are. The more one wants to be mysterious, the more they are obvious. :-) Its funny. All I had to do was pay attention to small details without the other person noticing that I was not paying any attention and am being totally indifferent and not question anything. Sometimes, not asking the right question will get you the right answer. Are people really this easy to read?

Its been quite a while since I have watched a brainless comedy and have enjoyed it too. Maybe I show too much of skepticism on everything I watch, hear or read. Its never been with me to read for the sake of reading, to watch a movie for the sake of laughs or even read for the sake of killing time. Perhaps there are instances in the reading department where I have deviated from the norm. There are times when I miss the old studying days when all us friends met up for some mindless chatter. Somehow time has become too precious for doing something that is not a part of some agenda. I have preferred staying at home reading or watching TV rather meeting my old friends. Its pretty scary as it would be the initial steps of being a sociopath. Not to mention the fact that most of the times loneliness is rather a choice than a forced meal.
I wonder what its like to be brutally honest about everything? Shredding myself to an extent that every shard screams of truth?