He was bored to the bone

Never picked up his phone

Said he would talk to nobody

Plug out the speakers of your party

He was bored to the bone

Lazy hours went by too soon

Got up and on a long holiday

Big Daddy’s credit card could pay

There was silence in the crowds

His ears bursting inside out

New language hit the town

The world got upside down

He’s a wasted, lazy log

He ain’t got no paying job

Mama’s searching a rich doll

Happy to marry her slob

He was bored to the bone

Did nothing but whine and groan

Youth is wasted on the young

A case of philosophers’ syndrome


Hello there!

   It’s middle of March and I have still not finished reading the books I had bought for the holiday break around New Year. Only yesterday I found a small paperback of Jane Austen’s which I got from an old book store. It’s a thin book with yellowed pages whose rusty ends speak of the length of time it has survived. I have always been keen on getting new books, their thick white glistening pages, heavy covers and the characteristic scent. But recently, I made my way in to the old book stores and every time it has made me nostalgic. Rusty books, torn out pages, underlined sentences. Piles of under-appreciated outcasts. Who must have read them first? What must the reader have thought when he underlined those words. At what time and in what settings must he have shuffled these pages?

   My train of thoughts was again on the same track when I found something between the pages of Jane Austen’s book. It was a greetings card-being used as a book mark apparently. The book was published in 1984 so the greetings card must be nearly that much old.  How oddly intimate that it should wish a happy new year.

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      (I could not completely figure out whats written on the back but here is what I think it is:

My dear Elaine and Peter so sorry we didn’t get time to send any Xmax (Christmas) greetings this year, we were upto our eyes finishing the tour of ‘When we are married and moving at the same time it was hell. However we are settling down now and at last have the phone on. A very happy new year to you both and of course to ……. ……. love ……. and ….. .)



You could read my mind,

in a blink of an eye.

Oh my treasured friend,

what blessing to have you by.

I knew you once,

I knew you so well.


And then a queer moment of delusion.

We solemnly parted, without goodbye.

Your resolute indifference, my becoming blase’,

which was worse? I could never decide.

Suns kept setting, with no regrets.

Your reminiscence too, a tale gone by.


On Wednesday last,

I saw this lad.

With a cheerful smile,

he had nodded his head.

‘Who are you?

Have we ever met?’


Its not one world with countless beings. Its One being and the countless worlds

  I was too young to remember the first time I had thought that, ‘What if I find out that everything I see and everything I hear, is not the same as what others see and what others hear?’ Every time such a creepy idea came to my mind, I would shake my head and distract myself with anything that regular kids do.

   But, I never got rid of this particular thought. Some things have a way of keep coming back.  The only difference is that the idea is not so creepy any more. ‘Perspective’ is the friendlier term for this concept. Why should I be afraid to know that not everyone is seeing things the way I do? Why does it have to be such a bad thing? Maybe, it is so because we are naturally afraid to be alone and to accept this idea means to accept that we are after all ‘alone’.

  I have started accepting this idea for quite a while now and what I have found is not loneliness but solitude.