The Hazy Road

I don't know when I fell for your music. So many words were skipped in the playlist of life. We left worlds un-described, so they crumbled into memory, cocooned by the natural memory eraser: life. There was comfort in not saying, no truth in saying now anyway. It was late, no, too late. Far too late. So many lost songs, midnight sparks of eureka, half-asleep moments of revelation, all remarkable points of life's elevation: when this energy you feel in your body makes you feel alive all over. A truth in plain sight, revealed. The intimacy of night makes the heart revolt against its inclinations of day. It happens slowly at first, and then all at once, and before you know it, the night is your new inclination. A road just meant for the wanderers. The seekers. What did we seek? What did we skip? Where did we slip? I should know, but then, sadly, I don't remember how we got here. I only remember wandering away, not wandering to. I don't rememb...

With mad purpose I break tonight, remembering the phoenix that died trying to rebirth. It is the same story, the one with a different character, but the same actor. Night has broken. Shambles of mental monologues have disintegrated into complicated dialogues with no point. This is the syncope I keep trying to pronounce — the loss of sound from within the words, where one eats up parts of the word in course of habit, and I eat up parts of my sentences, in course of poor habit. An incomplete nightmare, always leaving the possibility of its completion as a prospect of horror. Desolation inviting loneliness. A melody that glitches in the middle, a song that sings to itself, recalling its words from the echoes, but never quite getting them right. This is most definitely a trance. I am not awake. Silence hears the universe call out for hope, the distance fading it all. The universe continues anyway. The coherence still broken. The words still haphazard, but not quite. ...

// All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts // The curtains close. The Act ends. Scene. They are all you. You see your bloody face. They don't have different faces. Bloody mirrors around you on all their faces. Reflections held up against you. The faceless crowd sees you. Who are you? Deaths are fixed points in time. Your lips cannot move. Your eyes are screaming. The tears are burning. You're sweating blood. The sky is too bright. The mind is too dark. They forgot to close your eyes. You are a dead man arriving at your last destination. You're carried by strong, crying figures. Your hands hurt. Your legs atrophied, but they don't know. You forgot to breathe. Headache. Alive. (now read from the bottom to the top) smoke and mirrors Written by Yash Raj Talan

​Choose Life. Choose a college. Choose a career. Choose your soulmate. Choose bigger smartphones, choose cruiser bikes, cars, Bluetooth headsets and electric kettles. Choose good shape, low fat, and dieting. Choose easy pay credit cards. Choose a 2BHK apartment. Choose your friends. Choose binge-watching, guilt-snacking, and window shopping and make yourself feel what passes for happy. Choose stories, snaps, and double tap; human interaction reduced to nothing more than data. Choose thirteen reasons why Salman Khan is better than everyone else. Choose screaming about illogical statements. Choose beef jokes, unrealistic ideals, blackmailing and an endless tide of depressing misogyny. Choose this life is a lie, and if it isn't, Rick and Morty is God. Choose memes on T-shirts and matching bags. Choose a three-piece suit bought for one-time use in a range of fabrics. Choose home delivery and wondering who the hell you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting...

​Har dastak par hasil aaina hu mai Har maksad e saajish ka saiyaara hu mai Dhund tu naqaabo ki aakhon mein chamak Na jane, shayad vo aaftaab ka aks bhi hu mai. हर दस्तक पर हासिल आईना हूँ मैं , हर मक्सद ए साजिश का सैयारा हूँ मैं ,  ढूंढ तू नक़ाबों की आखों में चमक ,  ना जाने , शायद वो आफताब का अक्स हूँ मैं। Translation: I am the mirror you find at the end of your calling, I am the shadow of the grand game of purpose, Go, seek for the spark in eyes of masks; Who knows, maybe I am the Sun's dark reflection. journey Written by Yash Raj Talan [note to self: paradoxes keep you alive. aerodynamically, the bumblebee shouldn't be able to fly, but the bumble bee doesn't know it so it goes on flying anyway]

In the light of knowledge, all but the worthy are cast into darkness. God made man. God disappeared. Man seeks God. Man decides He is everywhere. God created the universe. God made man. God disappeared. Man seeks the universe. Man decides He rules the universe. God created truth. God made man. God disappeared. Man seeks the truth. Man decides He is the truth. Truth? Truth must be an absolute. Versions of the truth are nothing but lies. Nothing makes sense. Until we believe it does, in a version of our story. Our lie. Maybe God never disappeared. Maybe He lurks in the shadows. Maybe we are drawn to all darkness because we know Him. Maybe our towns are too bright, and our hearts not dark enough. Man's temples shine with beautiful light, so we can see Him. The dark temple's gates close at night, so God can see himself. The version of Himself. And when He does, if He does, in the little light, he'll close his eyes, and smile at his creation, and Man w...

It takes a hand To salute the flag, But a heart To respect the nation So spit your Paan, Stamp your cigarette, Throw your wrappers away; Show your hand To the oncoming traffic, And run across the way It takes a hand To salute the flag But a heart To respect the nation So push in the green Under demanding tables And wear your fair face; Pee on the green You see in the open, And run your bloody race. It takes a hand To salute the flag But a heart To respect the nation So rant along As social mobs, Taking sides furiously: Unfurl your screams! Complain! Question! Abusing everyone merrily. And most importantly, Enjoy your public holiday Sleeping, wasting it away, For it takes a hand To salute the flag But a heart To respect the nation. independence Written by Yash Raj Talan [note to self: idealism may be dead, but action isn't]

This is the worst post I'll ever write * . Ever since man has known Facebook, he has learnt to laugh at a glaring screen. He has learnt to cry at the screen too. The social animal that he is has learnt to be "more" social than ever before. Today, one can talk to someone miles away through instant messages and share emotions reduced to certain emoticons (which don't even make sense at times). Our feelings, opinions, ideas are reduced to a random Facebook post or comment. People read on. I wonder how many of them bother to understand. I wonder. So, are times so bad that we need to advertise our feelings today? Are people so selfish that they do not bother to even ask us about ourselves? We're spending a large part of our lives doing stuff that does not make sense. Stuff that does nothing to evolve us, improve us, prepare us for tomorrow. I check my News Feed. I see sad people. I see others making fun of them. I see ideas. I see others mocking those ide...

I have a question for you: is bravery the lack of fear? Let's find out. Bravery is by definition " feeling no fear ". However, it is far different from the definition. Take an example of the November 2008 Mumbai Terror Attacks that devastated parts of Mumbai. While there were terrorists with dangerous weapons, the army and police fought valiantly against them to stop them. Were they not brave, caring less about their own life for the sake of other people who were stuck in the terror-stricken buildings held under captivity by flames and weapons? Of course they were. Patriotism at its best. Were they fearless? Did they not fear death? Did their hands not tremble when they saw their fellow soldiers getting gunned down one-by-one? Of course brave people feel fear. If you were held at gunpoint, would you not plead for life? As they say, (almost) everything is relative, even truth. What we widely accept as the perceived truth the definition of bravery is ...