17,377

Days are going like crazy, and I feel the need to keep running at this pace just to survive.
Entrepreneurship is tough, challenging but at the same time rewarding.
we have a long way to go.

I have 377 days remaining on the current projects.
There is a good line I read today.
Get out with 12 fucks and come back with a dozen.

Also, if you keep thinking about what you do not want, that is all you are going to get.
You need a radical shift in your philosophy and ideology to make this work.
But man, if you make this work, you are done for good.

You just need to push yourself harder.
You just need to make things happen.

And you will be done.

You are the shepherd of all the others involved.
you need to give them a purpose.
you have to trust yourself, your team and your product.

Trust.
Be a product manager.

17,379

Well, one day went since I realized the number of days I might have with me.
It was good. I have become more sincere. I saw Martian today.
I want to do something in space. At the very least, I want to see the Earth from the outside, very soon. Imagining how the world is to us, and how people live in this huge ball, it would be an exhilarating experience.

What is the worst that could happen today?
What is your fear?
That loan? Or that girl that is slipping away? Or that hairline that is slipping away too?

That is scary. I know. But what then?
Thinking about what scares you doesn't help in removing the cause altogether, does it?

this is no good.

Now you have to think about what is the best that could happen?
I would win.

I would be rich, famous, well on my way.
Crava would become huge. BI would have outlets, a lot of them.
Fly Alfred would be doing millions in revenue.

Does this not sound awesome, if happened.

So you have two choices here,
to let go of all the fears, and work hard to achieve the dream. Like a shark.
Or to decide the future trajectory based on your fears and settle. Like a sheep.

You have a choice here. Both will be okay.
But what would make a good story?

Option one. And here I go.

I need to get my shit more organised.
I have fought the yesterdays trying to get a hold on my future, but this ain't happening.
I am starting a new endeavour to make my life more organised.

Everything.
I will go slow and steady, but I will go.

To test out how it can be planned, Just organise your wardrobe today, and we will see how that happens.

see, I have the talent. I have the kidneys to take the risk. I can build. I can build an awesome company. this is the goal, create the goals in the next 379 days. And then dream even bigger.

Dreams go step by step.

Revolutionize this industry first.
Learn from your mistakes. And then go for more. never settle.

A life without a title

All my life till now I have been waiting for that orgasmic moment to dawn upon me, that will take my life from simple to extra ordinary. from something I am to something I not. I imagined that moment to come with an element of surprise.

I could not have been more wrong.

this is not coming.
I have waited for it since 8209 days.
You have 17,380 days remaining. that counter is clocking backwards.
imagine the day you will see this counter getting 0.
you just have to be afraid of one thing and one thing only. that on that day, you feel as worthless as you feel today.

everything else can be achieved, bought or fucked.

restarting my life today. with a counter clocking backwards.

what you make of these days, each of them, will define how you feel at the end of it. you only have 17,380 days remaining. you might feel as if the days are enough, but these are the only days you have.

feel the life. feel the speed. feel the swiftness and change.

Life's goals

there is something better than this out there, i know. All this hustle, is nothing. compared to what waits for you out there. you are fucking 22. you can take risks. see the life around. everyone settling for way less than what they can achieve. you just couldn't be that can you. you are not a loser and you would not be one. fuck it. fuck everything. you are set on a goal. you wil lmake bawa indori huge. you will make flyalfred huge. AND YOU WILL MAKE CRAVA HUGE.

you don't need to be afraid. you are a ghost. you live. as long as the pulse is beating, there is hope. and when there is 1% hope, you can beat the shit out of it. and that 1% is the basic principle.

Now. 

Paper Thin Trajectories

It doesn't happen that often. You don't get many chances. We are living on paper thin trajectories, Rose. And that's how it is between us. It doesn't happen that often.

If you are very lucky, someone will walk into your life and divide the time. divide your life. That's what I had heard. I was on a borrowed time in Russia, and an old man whose face was wrinkled with regrets told me this. He smoked long on a pipe, adjusted his artificial leg, and went back in his past to tell me this.

That's how you walked in, Rose. You divided my life, into the time before I met you and the time after I met you. One second of my life after you, and the whole time before you doesn't stand a chance.

I have always imagined us humans as the by-products of the universe. Now you would imagine who talks like this to a pretty girl like you, and that is the difference between your world and my world. The world where I come from. We don't say nice things. We say real things.

So where was I? 

Humans are the by-products, Rose. Of the universe, the creator. Imagine, it created the cosmos, the stars and the deep valleys. It created the snow. It created the deserts. It created the beauty that stares at your face, looks into your eyes. And with the same hands, do you think it created the lying, stealing, robbing, disgusting humans too?

Nope. I don't think so Rose.

But, if we don't love each other, we prove our unwanted existence. If we don't look into each other's eyes and see the love, we are done. Our love should scream back to the universe.

Wanderers of rock and all beneath

She had that something in her face. Or maybe it was her eyes, I don't know. But when I looked at her, I saw a beautiful soul. Not in the sense of perfection, or symmetry. In the sense of randomness, of uncertainty, of brightness. And in her imperfect eyes and messed up hairs, my world was weaved.

I could go on and on, but the words maybe fall short to tell her essence. She isn't a paint drawn carefully, curve by curve and color by color. She is a splash of all the colors and all the curves, and in one splash the beauty is created. In careful sketching beauty is manufactured. And that splash has colored my gaunt white soul with all the musics and melodies of the universe. Now I understand why painters paint, why dancers dance and why writers write. That is their prayers for more colors and more curves.

I fail with words, but only if I were adept in channeling my heart's voice, I would look into her eyes and make her understand what she does to me. I will tell her a story maybe. Or a poem. I will sing maybe. I will let her know that she matters. more than the universe, she matters. More than the creators and the ancestors and anything that matters, she matters. I wouldn't expect her voice, nor I would expect her eyes in mine again, but if she does for one more second she would know. She would gasp. She wouldn't have seen the truth before.

There must be something more to life than just what is seen. And I think about this when I see her.

My kind of peace

And again I found myself turning the same pages and repeating the same lines. Its a subconscious clock maybe, that makes me fall to that same trail of messages that I failed to send. To the trail of words that are still stuck at the tongue, unable to find voice. And every word that I failed to utter now pains me like needles, that start from the skin and reach far underneath.
              Every man has a story that he lives by. A story that he lives for. Something that eases out a man in turmoil. And that story hardly ever pans out. What only pans out is music. You are musicians, humans. You are not here to write stories. You are here to write music. And music is not written by hands or guitar picks. Its written by the soul, its howls and laughter and cries. And you know no bounds of a soul's fantasy.
              Maybe this was where I failed. I was trying to utter words, write sentences. Maybe I should ask her to listen to the songs of the heart, not the flexes of hands. Maybe.