Metaphysical Rants

Evil and El Diablo

2011-05-19T21:57:00.003+05:30

Just saw the new Sir Anthony Hopkins Movie - The Rite.

While the basic issue the movie addresses is worthy of pondering on, I don't think many will get the underlying Dystopian twist to the protagonist's psyche. He does not believe in the Devil when the movie begins, not because he can't find proof of the existence of Lucifer and his demons, but because he chooses not to. Which leads us to the point where he asks the demon that possesses the troubled little girl - "How can I fear you, if you do not exist?"

Indeed, one of the main themes of Evil's attempts to corrupt the souls of men is Doubt. If Man doubts the existence of God, he is skeptical of the Devil as well. To him then, there is no fate, no luck, just chance, just probabilities. Doubt leads to acceptance as well, which is not something that you may normally postulate. The greatest weapon of Evil - the threat of an unbelieving soul being cast down to Hellfire for not believing in God. What does not follow here naturally is that if not believing in God leads you to Hell, shouldn't not believing in the Devil lead you to Heaven? Nonsense. :)

Anyway, the main thing that stuck in my mind, is the protagonist's fear of dying alone. The importance that the young to-be-priest attaches to the probable thoughts of his father dying alone (and the demon's playing on this fear) later leaves him. But what of us, who have over time accepted that we came into this world alone, and will leave alone - no matter how lovingly our close ones keep us while we're alive? What of us, who refuse to fear loneliness at the end, whether on the way to whatever divine destination that lies in store for us as a result of our actions, or while slowly fading away to nothingness that probably awaits agnostics and atheists (mercifully).

Are we fooling ourselves, arming ourselves with false courage, telling ourselves that we are strong, willing courage but getting instead made-up indifference, and then using it as a facade for the courage that few truly possess?

Or are we so dead in our souls that ours are finally truly beyond redemption, not because we do not believe not only in our God (s), but not even in our own selves' permanence? Are we untrue to the values that we were raised by, by being true to the values that we have raised in ourselves?

I do not know these answers, but the questions are nice to ask, after a long, long time. The movie is a must-watch on my list.

The Real Song of Love

2009-02-19T01:17:00.004+05:30

There are bands, and there are groups,
Of people who scream 'Rock On' and 'Whoops'!
They gyrate to mad beats, to pure noise,
Drowned away are grace, beauty and poise

There are couples, and there are lovers,
Who think life lies on the bed, underneath the covers.
They work and earn, steal and rob, betray,
Just to live one more night, and waste it the same way

There are no sane people in the world anymore,
Just You and I, just You and I,
There are no keepers of faith and trust anymore,
Just You and I, just You and I

We'll go on like this forever, a day at a time,
Two beads of amber golden, in a pool of slime,
And when the days are done, and dusk approaches,
People will remember, two humming birds among the cockroaches.

And in the realms of moles and gnomes,
Legends will be told, of two butterflies,
And even among those unhappy creatures,
These undeniable truths shall standout against lies.

That there were two, and two only, just two,
Who could take aside, everything the world could do,
And cross distance, time, money and mood,
And be united at first by love of the same music and food.

And when they further met, and met yet again,
Though each had come to the other through much pain,
They gave but love, and comfort, warmth and joy,
She felt again at last as a little cub, who'd found her boy.

They faced a lot of resistance, from out and with-in,
But trust never broke, their belief never give in,
And obstacles were knocked aside, or bowled asunder,
Just as bullies hide under their beds from thunder.

For thunder it was, loud, clear and bold,
That those two exhuded as they grew old,
But forever young were they still, every day,
The shine on his head bright, the glow on hers grey.

Sitting outside their comfortable porch,
He sipping his beer, and she her scotch,
Looking at the sunset, at each colorful stroke,
While around them drifted lazy clouds of smoke.

This is the way they were seen last,
By any who can differentiate slow and fast,
But they say that if you go to Scotland,
And look over a certain hill and when dawn's rays bend.

You will see a road, a yellow brick one,
That you may walk only when your life is done,
And that too if the world remembers you as old,
But only you know that love kept your heart as new as gold.

And if you follow that road down hill,
You will come to a place built with grace and skill,
For those two golden, when they knew they would'nt die,
Built for them a castle, underground in the sky.

And they will live there, waiting, never lonely,
For you, but that too if only,
You too rose up against the slime,
And at last found someone, with whom to shine!

No Smoking

2008-12-16T02:10:00.002+05:30

Pink Floyd would be proud, I hope, as would Slash & Axl:

Clean air, everywhere,
See the trees breathe in peace,
A clean world to smell in,
Sir, don't smoke here please...

Little baby squirrels, playing,
little birds flying about.
Can't you see those children run,
Sir, please put that out.

No smoking.
They said, no smoking,
They said, no smoking,
No more smoking here please.

Factories bellowing out coal-ash,
Rivers choking out villages,
AKs firing around the globe,
As man burns and pillages,

Thousands starve in Africa,
Hundreds die of bombs,
Millions moved by conflicts,
But they say with aplomb-

No smoking,
They said, no smoking,
They said, no smoking,
No more smoking here please.

Trees being chewed into paper,
Ores being burnt into rust,
Oil being burnt to exhaust,
But don't light up, its a must.

Green forest to a gray jungle,
Blue water to a gray sludge,
But they're against blue smoke,
The police, jury and the judge.

No smoking,
They said, no smoking,
They said, no smoking,
No more smoking here please.

Rapes, murders, heists, scams,
Failure to pay child support,
Think you need a drag,
Come, lets to the station report!

Prisons flowing with undertrials,
Orphans sleeping on the street,
But the government has something better to do,
Health quotas it has to meet!

No smoking.

The Cub and the Prince

2008-08-07T19:49:00.000+05:30

Poor cub, was shattered and saddened.
Desperate to have her heart gladdened.
Desperate to have her mind understood.
Desperate to break out from under Vishal's hood.

For the hood was dark and gloomy and slimy.
Though the walls were clean, the people were grimy.
And poor cub, all fresh and sweet.
Had to come everyday into this evil meet.

But God above was not unhearing of her prayers.
And infinite wisdom and mercy dripped from his hairs.
So one day, when evening had taken hold.
He sent along a prince, young and bold.

The prince was rich, though not moneyed.
His voice was sweet, though not honeyed.
His arms were strong, but not unmercifully so.
His eyes were black, but not unkindly so.

The prince met the cub, and rejoiced.
For the cub had set him free from a life oh so noised.
And the cub was so happy, to finally be.
What she knew she was, but couldn't be.

And the prince have the cub the sounding board.
For the thoughts and opinions she would hoard.
And when he talked it out with her, always kind and dear.
To the cub it suddenly all became clear.

She decided to go to Vishal Street no more.
She would do anything but never this anymore.
She would stay at home and teach if this
Was what it took to have professional bliss.

And then there was no fretting on her brow's ridge.
Came along a noble kingdom called authentic bridge.
Came along and took the cub under it's arm.
And the cub was saved from working in harm.

Now cub is happy, content and fat
In her wallet, and only in that.
Oh yeah, she's rich, in money rolling,
And she's rollicking, frolicking and gamboling.

The cub and the prince, live in the blossoms
Surrounded by donkey, peacock and possums,
They are happy, alive and glow a healthy pink,
And celebrate each day with love, food and drink.

Rage vs. Love

2008-06-27T02:09:00.002+05:30

A rejoinder by the Cub Princess to my Song of Rage:

Oh what a night
Of love and serenity
I can see the light
Of hope and assurity

The one I love, is right next to me
Beautiful dreams – together we see
Weave plans for life to come
Looking forward to becoming one

Thinking back to the yesterdays, all those years.
The memories, the love, the thoughts without despair
Content with life, I smile
Our dream is just another mile

I’ll sing and dance, be a cherub incarnate
I’ll make people happy, help them, and guide their fate
I’ll laugh with joy and squeal with bliss
Be the one that everyone would miss!

------

Will you walk with me? I ask
In this glory of love, I bask

Even if you don’t, I’ll follow you
I am just a little cub, what can you do?

------

I care for you now and forever more
Love me, own me, I am all yours
I love you so much and still love you more
Nothing at all, seems like before
-------

I see your face every morning, that’s the way I am pleased
I see your face every night and in your arms I sleep
Love rules and I am confined
Both in my heart and my mind!

It’s a beautiful world, and love is all around me
A content conscience, just the way to be
And every time somewhere, if a little love is born,
I hear the bells, the laughter, the joy adorn

--------

And one day, an angel came to me
She needed shelter as she forgot her way to be
She stayed with us for just 1 night
Was scared coz it felt beyond right in the morning light?
“Heaven” – she said was meant to be above
But she never knew someone more in love!

The angel asked us to come with them
In the name of love she begged
The world should know what it feels like
In this dark age, when gloom compels

She shouted and screamed to the world outside
Now she was assured love will abide
Love will defy these dark rules
They must believe in love - these fools

I assured her this will last
This will stay no matter what
She believed and smiled and I saw that tear
It was just compassion – all in there

---------

Now I sit back in this rocking chair
With your hand in mine
We have grown old yet appealing
Something that never changed – were our feelings!

Just a note – my life went well
Oh what a life – the humming bells
Your arms are still the best thing I can feel
Below the almighty, today I kneel

I kneel to thank him for knowing you
I kneel to thank him for loving you
I kneel to thank him for our beautiful life
I kneel to wish we’d be together in another life
I kneel to thank him for being your wife
I kneel to thank him for a wonderful life

Oh what a night
Of love and serenity
I can see the light
Of hope and assurity

The Undaunted

2008-06-27T02:03:00.002+05:30

There is a line spoken by Edmond Dantes, who masquerades as the Count of Monte Cristo in the novelle of the same name by Alexandre Dumas. I know, he is a frenchie writer dude, but even the most hated of nations can produce an author who writes truths about life hidden in between dramatizations of adventure in fiction.

The line is what the Count says to his long-lost son. His son doesn't know that he is the Count's son. Edmond was taken away from his beautiful wife (who was pregnant) and jailed for a long period, only because Edmond's acquaintace took a fancy to his wife, and wanted her for himself.

The Count returns very wealthy after finding some treasure that a hermit whom he helped spiritually in prison guided him to before dying, and finds his lost family. He however, does not reveal his identity till the very last. He poses instead as a rich noble from a distant land, finally come back to France after a long trip abroad. His son takes a liking and develops what can almost be called as Hero-Worship towards The Count, and that angers the son's legal father, who is infact, Edmond's enemy who caused him to be imprisoned on the charge of treason.

Once, on a trip to Marseille, to see the Carnival with some friends, the son is beset by robbers and kidnapped.

The Count sets out to rescue him, and when he finally does penetrate the lair of the robbers, he does it alone. When the son realises that he is being saved only by one man, even his unshakable trust in the ability of the Count shivers. And he breaks down, cries and confides in the Count - who is trying to untie the son before the robbers return - that he is afraid.

The Count then speaks the line that I have written so much about in the preceding paragraphs. He says :

When a storm comes up and threatens to pull you under, say unto the storm - "Do your worst ! For then I will do mine.... And we shall see whom history records as the victor!"

I believe that is the bravest and the grandest - not to mention the most magnificient - line ever written. It speaks of fortitude, of courage, of acceptance of the fact that all might not turn out to be well, but daring, perseverance, and committing your full self to the endeavor none the same.

This is courage, this is valor, this is the very embodiment of the word "Dauntless".

And that is the ideal we strive for, those of us who think about it. Those of us who want to be more than who we perceive ourselves to be. Those of us who find faults in ourselves, who find something less than perfect, and who recognize that although perfection is never to be really acheived, effort is never to be abandoned either.

These are the stalwarts of the world, these are the doers, these are the strategists who never give up despite overwhelming odds. These are the desperados carrying on for honor's sake against obviously lost causes.

If these people (and us normal people ought to be proud that we belong to the same noun that they do) can hold on to their dreams, their aspirations, their goals, their values, and their guiding lights in such darkness, surely mediocre mortals such as us can bear a little discomfort now and then, even if it seems to pull us under.

Pity the Writer

2008-06-27T02:02:00.000+05:30

Pity the writer, who in the thrall of gloom,
Writes of people in despair and of doom,
Pity the writer, who through experience,
Writes of heartbreaks and old brooms.

Pity the writer, who cannot see the beauty,
Who looks at a house and sees only the windows sooty,
Pity the writer who cannot choose but listen to,
The strains of love and only hear the weight of duty.

But pity not the writer who though not,
Very eloquent with his words and what not,
Still beholds with awe and wonder and hope,
And thus cherishes every little happines he's got.

Pity the writer who in times of testing,
Cannot create a work of literature jesting,
Pity the writer who must use his rhymes,
To overcome despondency and be sadness besting,

Pity the writer who even when in love,
Cannot see the bestowment of miracles from above,
Pity the writer who writes of eagles and ducks,
When all he needs to see is the flying dove.

Pity not the writer but, my friend,
Who can be so, and then turn and make amends,
Who can even having been through so much,
Still see that even the darkest of clouds must bend.

Pity the writer who complains of writer's block,
Who can while the hours away looking at a clock,
Pity the writer who listens to all around him,
And hears only the agony of tick-tock, tick-tock.

Pity the writer who can sit out in a garden,
And describe how they seem, when hearts harden,
Pity the writer who is blind to how the colors run riot,
Such a writer, I implore, please pardon.

But he needs no pity or sympathy,
He who languishes in the throes of empathy,
Who can find the bonds of love and kindness,
Even when surrounded by dry apathy.

To a King

2008-06-27T02:01:00.000+05:30

A reply by the Queen:

To a king, let me write a ballad,

To a king, let me pen an elegy,

To a king, let me dedicate my enclosure,

To a king, in his domain

I was a neat dame all my years,

I danced and was silly and dated and drove,

I climbed the ladders, scorned at the shark,

And like a tigress I liberally rove.

In my twenty-sixth year of life,

I visited a friend for no reason,

Met him next to the Taj, I couldn’t even find,

I saw this guy and lost track of seasons!!!

It was chance, as I could never believe,

Chance of whom you meet at the strangest places,

Chance it was that bizarre eve,

When I meet that man who loved laces!

He looked hot no doubt,

For many must have told him that before,

But I had known heat in anecdotal degrees, (: D)

Yet his philosophy was what I came to adore.

He wrote, oh wrote so well

He could paint me pictures so striking

He had the most astounding taste in music

And I fell head over heels in love with his writings

He told me I was beautiful, not that I dint hear that before

But let me tell you a secret

He made me feel like no one before

It was like these words I heard for the first time

It gave me that chill down my spine

I want to hear this all the time

It feels like that tumult of lemony lime!!

I know it will work out

And my fears will peter out

But I love him so much

That I could shout…..

My king – you are the best thing that I ever felt

My king – you are what I live for today…

My king – you are the shine in my eye and the voice in my head

My king – in your arms I ever so melt!!

To a Queen

2008-06-27T01:59:00.000+05:30

The title says it all:

To a queen, let me write a ballad,
To a queen, let me pen an ode,
To a queen, let me dedicate my pen,
To a queen, in her distant abode.

I was a traveller in my younger years,
I rode and walked and ran and drove,
I climbed the mountains, combed the deserts,
And I camped in many a lonely grove.

In my twenty-second year of life,
I visited a small place of eating,
It was next to the Taj, that lofty mount,
That we had our first meeting.

It was chance, as it often is,
Chance of whom you know and whom you meet,
Chance it was that mellow eve,
When I meet that woman so sweet.

She was beautiful no doubt,
For many had told her that before,
But I had known beauty in varying degrees,
Yet her mind was what I came to adore.

I loved her body, her heavenly body,
That gave me shivers down my spine,
And how I wished deep down inside,
That someday that milky skin would be mine.

But It was the mind, that terrific mind,
And the words that poured forth from therein,
That I rejoiced most, every time we talked,
And it was those words that drew me wherein.

It was joy and tears, promises and fears,
As most lovers will know,
But let me tell you, in this late date,
It was words that dealt the final blow.

She told me I was a man of words,
And that my words wove magic,
And she gave me thus a boost immense,
For I had till then been tragic.

She gave me hope, saying that she,
Believed in me like no-one else ever had,
And she gave me understanding, that cliched thing,
But the cliche this time almost drove both of us mad,

We understood, each the other, we knew
And were vexed at how this could be,
For having been afraid of falling all our lives,
We were mistrustful a little of this epiphany.

God had a plan, as he does for you,
To make a man, as he will again do,
Go through life, always losing,
Till he finds a lucky charm for you too.

And when that time comes, my young friend,
Lean not towards indolence or fear,
Hold on to that charm forever, and ever,
And time will work its way out for you and your dear.

To a queen, I said, a song of note,
To a queen, an empress of heart,
To a queen, a princess of shoes,
To a queen, my lovely cubly part.

Vipul's Rhapsody

2008-06-09T02:26:00.001+05:30

Music, is all around us. The movie started with that line. A lot of people had told me August Rush was a movie not to be missed, especially for someone who loves music as much as I do. I had the DVD version, had borrowed it from Vineesh, but hadn't really gotten down to seeing it. Hell, I had had the avi file on my laptop for more than a month before I finally saw it just now.

It is a story, of a boy and his tryst with music. Much like mine, but more vibrant, more poignant, more larger-than-life. It ought to be - it is a movie, after all.

My romance with music started when I was about 12 years old. It was in an isolated IAF camp in Gujrat. I'd had a keyboard since '92, but had only fiddled a little here and there. I remember figuring out a few hindi songs at the Javalikars' house in Bangalore. I didn't know it was a song, but I was playing whatever came to mind, and a chum informed me I'd figured out some then-popular Bollywood hit tune. I didn't pay much attention then, and we switched the keyboard off and moved to serious business - GI Joes.

A couple of years later, my father asked if I wanted to learn how to play the keyboard. It seems there was a harmonium player in the ranks there, and he had come to my dad's notice. I forget his name at the moment, but he was a kindly old man, just about to retire, and played with metric precision. He taught me the basic hand positions, and a few tunes. I have forgotten them now, but one thing remained over the years.

From the key sequences I parroted, I learnt to associate tones with keys. And I learnt something that my sister - who also tried to learn - never could. I learnt to feel music. Not the way we hear it, but the way it heard itself.

Music has a structure, every piece of it. Music has a flow, a rythm, a hint of discovery, a dash of pride when the climax is finally revealed. It has spice in the serrated arpeggios, it has power in the major chords, it has a sense of longing and remembrance in the minor ones, and it had a sense non-conformity in the seventh-chords.

The teacher never taught me chords, scales, or even that there was a language to music, except for a very basic sa re ga ma finger exercise. He isn't to be faulted - he had a goal, to have me play a song or two so that his senior officer could see quick results. But this jumping over the theory-fence had a long-lasting negative effect on my musical journey. I believed for a long time that songs have to be memorised, that one can't play unless one knows the entire key-sequence by heart.

I practiced the songs I knew day and night, and I could play them perfectly on demand. I played for a number of cultural performances at parties, school functions and what not. But the sense of wonder and joy faded as I grew older.

Then I got my first guitar.

It was a very basic, robust, cheap, no-frills Hobner. I don't think it even had a model number. But my father bought it for me after I badgered him for a month or so, and so began my still-continuing, ever-escalating affair with music.

I had no guitar teacher. I tried to learn from the music teacher at school, but he just told me to take on the banjo instead. I still don't know why. He could play the guitar. I saw him play now and then. But he never taught me to. He would teach others, and I would pluck at the school banjo for a few minutes, and then settle down and read a library book for the rest of the period.

My first association of love and music, was in class 12. Just before we graduated, the girl with the shortest skirt in school asked me if I could teach her a song or two. And I practised for hours to learn the song, to just get it figured out somehow. I watched others play it, I tried to find videos on the dial-up internet connection I had at home. But I couldnt.

So I figured it out myself.

I stopped imitating the others I could see playing the song, and sat down and tried to reason it out. I soon had the basic tune going, but a scale higher than on the record. This was the first time I figured out a tune by myself, deliberately.

I taught her the songs, and those were some of the most pleasurable and memorable hours of my school-life.

Moving on, I started figuring out basic tunes and odd jingles on my own. In a few months I had quite a repertoire. I would sound out a tune or two, run to my parents to play it for them, and then bask in the approval. It was the second time in my life, the first being I had an uncanny knack for programming, that I felt I was more than who I was made out to be. That I was special.

Music has that effect on the person playing it. It is like a perfectly matched lover. It goes at your pace, it drags you to its, and the two of you go along the notes with a languor that a mere listener cannot feel. A musician identifies with every single note, no matter how fleeting, no matter how silent. People who do not play often listen to a piece of music and remember only the dominant melody. They miss or forget the accompaniment, the undertones, the fill-ins. But musicians soak in every single sound, and remember the whole song. And they never forget it, they can always figure it out in a few seconds, even if playing it after years.

I wasn't that adept then. There was a lot of pressure, what with the entrance exams for an engineering course in college. Finally, when I got into a decent (as it seemed back then !!!) college, again a part of my musical brain evolved.

Rohit was a guy who could play a very basic collection of songs. He had learnt them from others, and played the same songs over and over. The song he liked to play the most was the Eagles classic - Hotel California. I watched him play it a time or a two, and then started playing along with him. He played a clean, simple chord structure, and I started adding frills, trills, and tinkles from the very first time I played. It was amazing to see the look on his face when he saw me improvising fill-ins.

I never looked back from then. My first composition was two months later, and I have come a long way since that three-chord format. I have shifted to a blend of modern-rock cum classical western, and have my own sound. I can play anything that I can appreciate. My wildest fantasy was fulfilled playing the soul-bleeding solo from November Rain at sunrise standing on a rock in the War Cemetery in Dhaula Kuan.

I've stopped counting the number of songs I can play. I've written a lot of songs, some of them in a language I'd been learning for only six months. I've played with professional musicians, both Indian, and from outside. I've taught more than a dozen people. I've jammed with live bands in Malls around the NCR. I've stopped my car on the road and plucked the strains of Stairway to Heaven and Summer of 69 with people on the pavements. I've strummed on the subway in the US, in the Boston Airport, on the streets of Mumbai and Pune, on the beaches of Goa, on the rooftops of Delhi, on the hills of Nainital. I've dallied with the violin and the classical western piano. I've learnt to read music and essayed a little Mozart. And the music has never stopped, no matter what happened in my life.
And it never will.

And when I see that smile...

2008-06-04T01:10:00.000+05:30

I've had a hard day,
I've been dragged down every way,
I've had my knees tire,
Can't wait till I can retire.

I've had a long day,
Listening to what people say,
Telling them to shut the hell up,
Just run outside for my coffee cup

And then I see you,
And the world starts to revolve again
Cause when I see you,
Colors seem to resolve again.

And when I see that smile,
I'm just speechless for a while,
I'm amazed, feeling so dazed,
Every time I see that smile.

I got troubles, just lots of troubles,
I got no hundreds, just fivers and doubles,
My bank keeps calling all the time,
Gotta tell them I ain't got a doggone dime,

People around me, all rising higher,
I see them come and go and aspire,
And I don't really want to be that high,
I just want to be a regular guy.

And then I see you,
And I wanna fly high again.
Cause when I see you,
I wanna soar into the sky again.

And when I see that smile,
I'm just speechless for a while,
I'm amazed, feeling so dazed,
Every time I see that smile.

Winters coming, I know I'll catch a cold.
I'm weak in the lungs, always been told.
Wrap up warm, they tell me every time,
But I just want a cold sweet soda lime.

I wanna catch a cold, if that means I can,
Be who I want, be a spontaneous man,
I'll deal with cancer, if I know I'm free,
Right now, to write my own history.

And then I see you,
And I wanna live longer that I ever did
Cause when I see you,
Life means more that it ever did.

And when I see that smile,
I'm just speechless for a while,
I'm amazed, feeling so dazed,
Every time I see that smile.

About a Poet and Some Ducks

2008-06-03T01:24:00.000+05:30

I've been trying so hard,
To be a better man,
To grow up, to listen better,
To see and understand.

And you tell me I'm doing fine,
You tell me I'm great.
You tell me you wanna be mine,
You tell me you can't wait

Let me tell you, my dearest cub,
I'll do anything to keep you here,
My every poem that you listen to,
Will be from the heart and sincere.

I'm a poet, I'm a writer,
I'm a man of letters and words,
I love to see the world around me,
And write odes to plants and birds.

So let me reassure you, again,
Let me calm your occasional fears,
Let me tell you it'll be alright,
And we'll have a hundred happy years.

I'm been trying so hard,
To forget the pain I once felt.
To tell you, you make me happy,
That you make my problems melt.

Let me tell you,my dearest cub,
I'll do anything to keep you here,
My every poem that you listen to,
Will be from the heart and sincere,

I'm a poet, I'm a writer,
I'm a man of letters and words,
I love to see the world around me,
And write odes to plants and birds.

Everytime we talk, everytime we laugh,
I feel I'm a mile high in the sky,
Everytime I see you with that smile,
I can't hold back a wondering sigh,

Everytime we kiss, Everytime we touch,
I feel the blood pumping inside,
I feel my heart start to race,
There are feelings I can't hide.

Let me tell you,my dearest cub,
I'll do anything to keep you here,
My every poem that you listen to,
Will be from the heart and sincere,

I'm a poet, I'm a writer,
I'm a man of letters and words,
I love to see the world around me,
And write odes to plants and birds.

So everytime you feel you need,
To remind me to not let you go,
Please remember. I'm not blind,
I can't tell you, but I love you so.

I'll take every pain, every test,
And reach out and grasp it tight,
I'll knock down every obstacle I swear,
If the need arises, I'll fight and fight.

Let me tell you,my dearest cub,
I'll do anything to keep you here,
My every poem that you listen to,
Will be from the heart and sincere,

I'm a poet, I'm a writer,
I'm a man of letters and words,
I love to see the world around me,
And write odes to plants and birds.

Now this writer doesn't have much,
To lay before your beautiful eyes,
But he's ecstatic, that you too know,
Love isn't something money buys.

And I cannot promise you diamonds,
May you love them, or like them not,
But I promise I'll never ever give up,
I'll fight for you with everything I got.

Let me tell you,my dearest cub,
I'll do anything to keep you here,
My every poem that you listen to,
Will be from the heart and sincere,

I'm a poet, I'm a writer,
I'm a man of letters and words,
I'd love to have you in the world around me,
And read you poems about ducks and birds

Leaves I

2008-06-02T16:07:00.001+05:30

Part I - Two Leaves

Once upon a time, there was a tree. The tree was green with leaves, and had many sturdy branches to support the heavy weight of all the leaves. The tree was not special, there were other trees around it too. However, our story does not concern them. It, in fact, does not concern that one particular tree to that great an extent either. Our story begins, instead, when the tree shed its leaves in fall, preparing for the coming cold and harsh winter.

Among the hundreds of leaves that fell over the languid weeks of the fall season, there were two leaves that I want to tell you about. These leaves were not very different from their brethren drifting down slowly around them. The first leaf was called Uck, and the leaf that soon became its fellow traveller was called Ton. Uck and Ton were from different parts of the tree, so they had not known each other before they were evicted from their home perches by the self-preserving action of the tree. Yet all leaves have the same language, irrespective of the species of tree, and so they were able to talk to each other when they finally met.

Uck fell first. Having been at the outermost edge of the tree's branches, it drifted by Ton, carried by the wind within view of the other leaf. Uck settled in a clean dry patch on the ground. While other leaves were starting their rituals of death, preparing for death and decomposition, Uck was sulking because it had been thrown down.

Ton came by a few hours later. Uck pretended not to notice, and tried to carry on scowling.

"Stop that sulk. If you carry on for some time, that look will stick to your leaf-face", Ton admonished Uck. "I'm Ton, by the way, from near the trunk where the squrriel has taken over the old hollow."

"Uck, from near where the sun hits first every summer morning", Uck had to be polite to a leaf that was polite. That's the way leaves behave, much better than us fallible humans.

"Well, so now we're out. Life as we know it has finished. What do you plan to do?" Ton prodded Uck.

Annoyed by the intrusion into its privacy and the disruption of a good honest sulk, Uck replied a bit heatedly,

"What do I plan to do? Why, who knows? I have been thrust into this situation, I didn't choose it. I hadn't kept dying in mind when I made plans for life. What can I do, but remember how proud the days were when I was the first leaf that the sun's rays crept out to every morning. Oh, what woe!", moaned Uck. Leaves are good at moaning. They learn it from the wind when it howls in a strong gale or a thunderstorm.

"What's done is done. I suppose you're one of those stupid vain leaves that believe that they will live forever, and that they are special because they happened to have a spot that others envied. But now you're down on the ground, just like old inner-tree plebes like me. So stop moaning, and think about what you want to do now. You must carry on. Leaves crumple and die just because they lose their self-pride. There is much more waiting out there. Let us go out and see."

The leaf named Ton said all this with a smile of patience on its broad dark green face.

"What do you plan to do?" Uck asked after a little while. Uck had been watching Ton's face, and was surprised by a strange feeling of confidence and the passage of gloom rising up in it. It was indeed strange, but this leaf Ton sounded like it knew what it was talking about.

So Uck too, waited right along side Ton.

End of Part I

That Smile

2008-06-02T02:46:00.001+05:30

There are some people who just piss you off. Who can set off explosive expressions of irritation or evident manifestations of annoyance. These are the ones with the tics, the annoying habits, the irritating mannerisms, or even just a penetrating nasal accent of speech!

But then there are some people, who you meet, and they take your point of view, shake it up a little, free it of the cobwebs of emotional stalemate, of betrayal, deceit, lies, conformity, stagnation of thinking, and other strands that hold back the true inner nature of the human being.

For a human being is essentially made not only in the image of God, but with potential to almost match. Yet we never acheive that potential, never fulfil that level of maturity, that we can rise to.

We fail to appreciate smells, we forget the special meaning and feel of colors, we forget the value of the basest of gifts - the smile of a child, we deny the importance of things that we held dear before the drudgery of life sawed smooth the wonderful protusions on the plank of our pleasure-plane.

We lose our sense of wonder, of appreciation for anything not valuable to us. We lose in a sense, our humanity.

And one day, the very few lucky ones meet a special person, who will turn the dark brown leaves and bark of their life's tree, into something green, yellow, turquiose, pink, orange, blue, red, violet, fuchisa, indigo, maroon, crimson, purple...

Those very few of us meet someone who will turn the daily smell of vehicle-fumes, cigarette smoke and cheap liquor around us into tastes of fragnances of lily and peach and orange and chocolate and camphor and fresh rubber and crushed leaves and wet earth and good honest sweat...

When we meet such a person we leave behind the cliched tastes of sweet and sour and bitter and salt, and begin to appreciate the tang of pinapple on our tongue, the bite of chillies and pepper, the sublime melting of cotton candy in our mouths, the chewy substance of latex chewing gums without artificial flavors.

We rise out of our daily rituals of handshakes and perfunctionary hugs, and learn to value the nuances of touching a person's skin. How the temperature and humidity of a person's palm can tell us more about his/her mental state than his grip ever can. How a hug can give insights into what a person is feeling at any given moment. How eye conact can betray what is going on behind those windows to the world.

I have met such a person. A person who defines the world around her, and by association and choice and caring, my world around me as well. It is a cascade of emotions around me everytime I talk to her, feel her hands on mine, or even when I simply see her.

And her smile, oh her smile, makes me so glad I have eyes. I can look at her smile and see a million different shades of what is going on in her head.

Her eyes are bright, as they know what to look for. She knows exactly what she wants, and she knows exactly who she is. She knows exactly who she wants, and she knows exactly who wants her.

A woman they say, is the catalyst to a man's development. Well, I think I've just been handed the mother-lode. Thank you God, thank you so much I cannot say in this meagre vocabulary I possess.

And so another week ends, full of joy, anticipation, healthy nerves, love and love returned. A simple life, a content consciousness, a quiet conscience.

And above all, a beautiful smile. Oh yes, what a smile....

Forgive and Never Forget (A Prayer)

2008-06-02T02:45:00.000+05:30

Forgive us our words said in anger,
Forgive us our deeds done in fury,
Forgive us our sins of passion,
Forgive us as we reach for the sky.

Forgive us our friendships broken,
Forgive us our confidence shaken,
Forgive us our faith diverted,
As we attempt to navigate this world of lies.

Forgive us our works left in despair,
Forgive us our dependents abandoned,
Forgive us our opportunities missed in indolence,
Forgive us our down and averted eyes.

Forgive us our mania for power,
Forgive us our obsession for sin,
Forgive us our infatuation for beauty,
Forgive us as we fail and still try,

Forgive us our deceits conducted,
Forgive us our falsehoods spoken,
Forgive us all our wrongs done,
But never forget a heart-broken cry

Contentment

2008-06-02T02:44:00.000+05:30

What makes two people fit together so well? The fundamental unit of human existence is not of unitary cardinality, but dual. We think in twos. The fundamental marital unit of human society is a pair. The typical family unit also has a pair of children. Since parents are a pair, so are grandparents.

We often pity those who are single, whether through design or through happenstance. We revel in the joy of company, if only when we have found the company we can revel in joy with.

History is dotted with examples of a pair working in synchronity during their progress through the world. The pairs are sometimes romantic - Romeo and Juliet, Jodha and Akbar, Cleopatra and Marc Anthony - and sometimes platonic - Bonnie and Clyde, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Akbar and Birbal.

But the pair is always showcased. We are exhuberant in our celebration of two-ness. The President and the Vice President in the United States. Manmohan Singh and Sonia Gandhi in India. Nicolas Sarkozky and Carla Bruni in France.

So again, what makes two such people fit together so well? Do they have complementary egos, that fit into each others jagged edges so perfectly that they never grate against each other? Or do they experience those grinding moments, and simply chose to ignore them in pursuit of happiness, friendship and love?

This is an important question. For if people really don't need to be perfect for each other to start with, then potential is enough to justify experimenting with any relationship. If they have to be perfect from the very beginning, not even the greatest sacrifices will cut away the friction to comfortable functioning.

I chose to believe that the first is true. That if one will not, two cannot fight. That a little compassion and a dash of understanding can overcome a lot. That love can bind two people together even if they have mis-matching emotional states or positions in the race of life.

That is why we are so often shown that love can reach across backgrounds, races, age, education, experience, personality, and even nature. That is why the greatest love stories of all time, and the most famous friendships of history have all had their share of imcompatible lovers, of unlikely friends.

And that is why I am content today. There is someone out there for me. And for everyone, for every needed role in life. No matter how I change, there will always be someone or the other, who will be able to understand, and be able to care.

I am more fortunate than others, I have friends, I have a wonderful companion for life. I already have those pillars of support that millions keep searching for. And I am reassured, that despite all the un-alluring experiences of my life, now the circle has turned its full turn.

What was that line?

"For I know that everything I really need, I already have, and what I lack will be given to me, when I am best ready to receive it..."

The Journey (Sailing)

2008-06-02T02:42:00.000+05:30

alone alone, all all alone
alone in a wide wide sea
and never a saints soul ever
took pity on my agony

till she came and loved
and understood and tried
and i was never alone then
and from then i never cried

i sniffled now and then
for i hurt her when she loved
but she loved still and loved
and i repented and smiled and loved

and there came many storms
and the ship was thrown in strong gales
but storms never last, do they?
we smiled and loved and again we sailed

and when my hands were burnt
with the passage of ropes or salt
she kissed them and still loved
and i survived each evil assault

and when i was tired at night
she would sing to me often
and on those lonely seas
the rest of the world was forgotten

everyday she'd be there
to wake me up with a smile
and i would just sit there looking
as the forgotten ship sailed mile after mile

was she an angel? was she?
listen those who shout no!
if goodness and love are sacred
how else can you an angel know?

we spoke not words - no
our language was only kisses
and the rocking of the ship despite
there were no near - misses

food we had but little
and water scarce as well
but we had wind chimes that tinkled
every kiss was accompanied by that sweet bell

and so she loved and i too
and though there was hardship
we loved and overcame
as we sailed on that eternal ship

Critique

2008-05-28T02:01:00.000+05:30

There was once a very simple young man. He was unusually quiet, and he was kind. He would agree to almost anything said to him. He didn't always believe things people told him, but he never brooked an argument. He would aquiscence at the time, and move on, not letting what he considered false notions bother him.

Now this young had a very lovely young lady as a friend. They weren't in love, but they were pals, they were chums. They had shared heart-makes, heart-breaks, troubles, money problems, acne, toothache, foot-corns, broken nails, paper cuts, car breakdowns, muggings, dissapointments with the way the world worked, professional problems, problems with other friends, with their bosses, politics at work, problems of crowded buses and trains, and a bunch of other problems with each other as well, including flat tires and running out of shampoo.

This young lady was of a flightly mind, having wild notions every now and then. She would turn into a pacifist and thence to a pro-war demagogue in a matter of seconds. She was possessed of an iron will, but her attention wasn't fixed on any set of ideas or issues in particular.

The young man and the young lady were the best of friends, had been so for years. The young man never raised an objection to any of her proclamations, never argued on any topic, even if it went against his natural beliefs. He was of the bent of mind that says, live and let live for Opinions never change facts.

The matter of interest in this story is when the young lady once proclaimed herself to be a hater of all men. Men were egoistic pigs, she declared. She had suffered a bad breakup, and was venting nearest him who listened the best - the young man of our little story.

"They do and say anything and everything to keep their little egos and pegos satisfied, " declared the young lady.

"Yes indeed, I agree that we are", chimed in the young man. He knew that she needed support, not a discussion on the statistical distribution of such qualities among the male half of the species.

"Women, now are much more stable, they are able to feel better. We are much more sensitive", the young lady added onto her tirade.

"Ah, woman, thou are a saint", echoed the young man.

"You know what, I'm heartily sick of listening to you agree to everything I say. You never have an opinion of your own. Or even when you do, you simply agree with me, and try to let the matter drop. Why do we even talk?", asked the young lady all of a sudden.

"No, no, I have opinions. I believe in things via my own persuasion as well." rebutted the young man, taken aback and concerned.

"You're spineless, that's what you are, just like all men. And to think that I once thought I loved you." the young lady prepared to leave.

"What? No, listen! Please wait...!" the young man put in desperately.

"What for? You're a sissy. I can't love a man who has no willpower at all. I'm leaving. Don't try showing up at my place ever again." the young lady picked up her things and departed, leaving behind a sad young man.

There wasn't much to say, the young man thought. There never is. People never truly understand. Willpower isn't about believing in your own convictions enough to back them up in public for no real reason. That isn't what it is about, really.

What is willpower then? - A question raised itself in his mind. And though the man was sad that he had lost his friend, he wasn't sad that he was weak. For he had will-power, lots of it. And what could be a greater feat of will-power than to let the woman of his affections for a good number of years hate him for a while, before she cooled down?

Willpower is about bearing things for people you love, even when those people do something you dislike. Fortitude is nothing but keeping things that hurt you, inside, not disturbing the quietitude of others engaged in important tasks.

Strength is when you can afford to bear not using it when you know you can make things go away just with a little effort. That much-cliched virtue, stoicism, is nothing but a paragon of solid and iron-bellied will, that allows you control over that most flighty of human traits - emotion.

So he said nothing, as he never did. Love is letting live, after all, even if noone ever understood.

***

Was he stupid? Was he heroic? What do we know. And who are we to critique? Things, people, hearts, passions, all are inconstant. Love is the only thing that is constant. And that is why true love is based on communication, understanding, and respect. Oh, and space, and accomodation of the occaasional bout of quirkiness or ego. :)

But then again, who am I to know? or to critique? I'm just a guy.

Atlas Shuddered!

2008-05-27T01:21:00.000+05:30

All the men who have vanished, the men you hated, yet dreaded to lose, it is I who have taken them away from you. Do not attempt to find us. We do not choose to be found. Do not cry that it is our duty to serve you. We do not recognize such duty. Do not cry that you need us. We do not consider need a claim. Do not cry that you own us. You don't. Do not beg us to return. We are on strike, we, the men of the mind.

John Galt, Atlas Shrugged, by Ayn Rand.

Just HAD to put it up here. I love this book, and this quote.

So, who is John Galt?

random thoughts

2008-05-27T01:09:00.002+05:30

Relationships are like laptop batteries. They

need recharging every so often. Sometimes,

when you draw on the relationship on times

of need, the relationship needs to be

recharged a lot, for a long time.

The best part is, again like a laptop battery,

is that if you look for the best deal, you will

probably end up never finding the ideal one

for you. And eventually, if you forget about

the battery for a while, and concentrate on

the other aspects of a laptop (meaning here

the other aspects of life, sans relationships),

you will end up with a laptop that has a

great battery too!

***

Seek, and you will find, says the Bible. I

sought not, and found what I could never

have searched for.

***

What is luck? Good fortune is often called as

a perhaps coincidental accumulation of

favourable odds on one side of an equation.

So how can a guy sometimes get so lucky?

Life was hell before, and is better than

heaven, as it seems now - What made the

difference? How did this chap get so luck?

I'll never know, but I look not a gift horse in

the mouth.

***

Speaking of horses, I was thinking about the

Roman legions. They have been called one of

the best organized fighting forces in recorded

history. But what of Sparta? I did see 300,

but I'd read of their feat a long time before

anyone ever thought of putting it to film.

What is that epitaph?

Go tell the Spartans, stranger passing by,
that here obedient to their laws we lie.

***

To bite or not to bite is the question. What?

Bite the bullet. A lot of people talking about

marriage in the last few days. Great!

Wonderful! More parties for me!

***

I wonder, does Carlsberg need a poster-boy

for de-alcoholism? Hmmm, I've been told

today that I'm not bad at looks, even

potentially handsome. Heh. Heh.

Muahhaahaahaaahaa.

***

Women's Lib we say. Pro-depressed caste Reservation we clamour.

Pro-social-so-called-reform they demand. Assorted Bollocks, I declare.

Its the single Indian male in the middle class that needs the most

support from society. We alienate the very

segment that will form the basis of the

collectivised social empathic reservoir of the

future.

Put down unemployment! There are an

increasing number of very deserving jobless

who can not even get to the interview stage,

because they cannot fulfil the increasingly

ridiculous requirements imposed by the

growing population and pressure on

selections.

Earlier, heck, even till a few years ago, there

was usually a CHOICE in terms of careers. But

today your career is more or less decided on

what marks you get through high school, as

that determines the subjects, section,

teachers, etc that you are assigned in school,

which in turn affects how you get through

college, and how you get into professional

life. Which in turn affects how high you can

reach to, never once looking at what you might be good at, what you might be happy doing.

I want to play the guitar and read novels for a living.

***

Ah... my back is sore, and that tailbone is acting up. going to sleep....xzzzzz

These Eyes

2008-05-22T00:01:00.003+05:30

These eyes that have seen,
Much of love and lust,
That have seen what could be,
What had been, what must.

These eyes that have seen,
Much of greed and love of gain,
That have seen the frustration,
The jealousy, the anger and the pain.

These eyes that have seen,
Also many hearts yearn and ache,
That have seen pairs twisted by fear,
And mistrust of what was fake.

These eyes see only the beauty today,
Only the wonder and amazement and awe,
And the love, above all the love,
The most true and frank these eyes ever saw.

These eyes.

These eyes that have seen so much,
These eyes, they hope will see much more,
These eyes that have wet so much,
Will cry only for joy now and forevermore.

These eyes.

The first ever long song on this blog

2008-05-21T00:11:00.000+05:30

To be cared for, to be treasured.
That is how the worth of a man is measured.
To be thought the world of, to be loved.
That's how you get to heaven up above.

And I know that your prayers are with me,
As are your hopes and your wishes and your dreams.
And so I know I'll sail through this tempest,
I'll overcome, no matter how hard it seems.

What was and has been is now all past.
I'll just make sure what comes now will last.
And I'll take every pain, I'll make every try,
Just to make sure that you never cry.

I'll wring water our of the stones of this world.
When it seems to tough for you to go on,
And I'll hold up my hand, as high as I can,
And say, Look here I am, carry on.

And I'll do everything in every way,
Every way I know how.
I've messed up my life, and run away from strife,
But I don't have to run anymore now.

I'll write poems for you on every birthday,
And every other week besides.
I'll sing you sweet songs, I'll learn to play along,
And make sure, happiness abides.

In your heart, and my heart and our hearts,
And we be one pair in two exact parts.
We'll travel and sail and play and read,
Cause you give me everything I'll ever need.

In the end all I can say,
Is that I love more than I
Ever though would be possible again,
But here you are, the apple of my eye.

I love you, need you, adore you,
As much as a heart can adore.
And sometimes I think that that's not all,
I love you even more.

IRIS

2008-05-20T23:50:00.003+05:30

After a long time, long long long time, happiness came into my life. And it is called R.

I've known many people, and many people who've known many other people. Yet I can say with complete honesty, complete lack of hyperbole, I've never met anyone quite like her.

It takes depth of character to appreciate a depth of character in others, and so in knowing her, mine has been restored. I, like so many across the globes of time and the earth, have lost much. And I declare with complete veracity, it all ended on the day I met her (by chance, as always with these things!!!).

Thank you Vera, for showing me how nice a person can be, even though you be in Riga right now, and probably haven't read this blog even once. And thank you R, for showing me how nice a person can be when he has such a nice person to know.

***

Why IRIS? It is, among other things, the title of a song that she gave me, and which has stuck in my mind ever since. This, along with Society, You're a crazy breed, seem to me the truest songs in the world.

It is safe to say that even though I've put the song on repeat on my car's CD player, I cry once every day when I hear it.

So here are the lyrics, I hope someone (maybe charu or even rahul) can appreciate what I found to be wonderful.

And I'd give up forever to touch you
Cause I know that you feel me some how
You're closest thing to heaven that I'll ever been
And I don't want go home right now

And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breath is your life
And sooner or later it's over
I just don't want to miss you tonight

[Chorus]

And I don't want the world to see me
Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming
All the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
Yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive

[Chorus]
And I don't want the world to see me
Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

This is the song. Iris, by the Goo Goo dolls. And Though I'd heard it before, I'd never listened.

The Death of a Friend

2008-04-29T15:11:00.001+05:30

Recently, a close, close friend of mine left forever. This is my little contribution to what was, and what could have been, but never will be. Inadequate, but we fallible humans can but try -

The wonderful years go past,
Flashing by your teary eyes,
And you sob while remembering,
Your last goodbyes.

Your friend is gone,
And gone with her are,
The memories of jokes made,
Riding around in your car,

It is the death of a friend,
A part of you is gone,
No more late-night calls,
No shoulder to cry on.

Now it is even too hard to think of,
The happy times that were there,
The silly pranks, and those scandals,
The putting of gum in her hair.

The heart-makes, the heart-breaks shared,
With her in your confidence,
Now she has left to her new home,
And left you to do your penance.

It is the death of a friend,
And part of you has left,
Left for ever, can you imagine?
How to carry on so bereft?

The Man who Lived Alone - Tribute to Johnny Cash

2008-04-16T00:38:00.002+05:30

There was a man, not so long ago. His name was Johnny Cash. He could put feelings into words and music, and tune his songs to the hearts of millions. And though his heyday is long past, I remember him, in all his greatness, in all his glory, and I remember all the sorrows of his life. I miss you, JC. Always will.

There was a man, long ago,
Who loved no one, woman or man,
And turned down all, the proposals,
And said, I'll live alone, for I can.

There came many beauties, one by one,
Tried to charm him, Oh how they tried,
And they left then, when their charm was done,
And left, and in shame they cried.

Yes the man, was really me,
I turned them down, with no pity,
I lived alone all by myself,
I lived alone in this city.

The man never shook, in his resolve,
For he knew that love brings,
Sorrow, and pain, and above,
All it never leads to those two rings.

The man, he lived alone,
In health and when he was ill,
Friends took care of him,
And he paid his health bill,

Yes the man, was really me,
I thanked them, and was glad,
For their care, their concern,
Such great friends I had.

Till one day, he grew weak,
Till one day, he slipped,
Till one day, he met a girl,
They went out and they kissed.

They fell in love, oh they fell,
And there was so much to say
There was so much, to tell,
They talked their nights away,

Yes the man, was really me,
I loved that woman so true,
There was nothing I wouldn't say,
There was nothing I wouldn't do.

But though this story should have ended,
In that happy, happy way,
Their love broke, it never mended,
And the man was alone from that day.

And the man, who was once strong,
Was not that strong anymore,
He tried to carry on, get along,
But he couldn't, not anymore,

Yes the man, was really me,
I loved and lost, never loved again,
And my woman, moved on to another,
And I stayed a broken, broken man.

His friends, they all tried,
To cheer him up, to laugh again,
But he never smiled, never cried,
He was one of those, hard, harsh men,

Beauty excited him no more,
He never played his guitar from then,
He would sit looking at his door,
But he never wished for love again.

Yes the man, is really me,
I care not for anything,
I'll just live my, years in peace,
Whatever my life might bring.

If - A Tribute to Kipling

2008-04-16T00:35:00.002+05:30

For those who have read If, by Kipling, and who have been moved by the poem. I am nowhere as great at Rudyard, and probably never will be. But here is my piece, I hope he would have found it worthwhile:

If you can bear to lose all you ever had,
And learn to take it all in stride,
If you can see all your sacrifices go bad,
And never lose an ounce of your pride,

If you can learn to walk again after you fall,
And learn to live for weeks as a cripple,
If you can see life ahead, after you've lost it all,
And soothe the suface of your pond after every ripple,

If you can lose your friends to misunderstandings,
And forgive them their words said in fury,
Or stand to see your brother on the gallows, hanging,
And still not be angry with those who sat on the jury.

If you can lose all you ever built and cared for,
And see it trampled on by those you loved the most,
If you can tread lightly on their feelings, or,
When faced with vengeance, forgive them for what you lost,

If you can listen and learn from the monks who preach,
Forgive those who trespass against us,
If you can listen and learn from those who teach,
Love, for hate will only kill you thus.

If you can take all your pain and anger and sorrow,
And learn to keep it walled up in your heart,
Though you need help, you never ever borrow,
My friend, you will have made the best possible start.

The Conversion of the Preacher

2008-04-12T18:57:00.000+05:30

The night was dark, the sky was cast,
Now and then came a lightning blast,
The clouds flashed pink, and the ocean's drink,
Passed through many colors very fast.

The boat was quaky, my knees were shaky,
My eyes were red,
So far and far from bed,
And my fingernails were chipped and flaky.

The boat pulled to this way or that,
And underneath, the sea's swells came fat,
And the foam was salty, in my eyes,
And the very depths of the abyss seemed to rise,
And now and then would heave and knock me flat.

There was no other soul in sight,
As I fought on that unforgettable night,
Praying to heaven, praying to my God,
To leave me alive tomorrow to catch my cod,
And let providence lead me back to the shore's light.

I was foolish, I admitted in my prayers to Him,
And humility filled up my heart to the brim,
And I prayed for safety, or if not,
My family's welfare was the only other thought,
And while I prayed, the light seemed to dim.

I heard a voice, did really a voice I hear?
It must have been an illusion, but oh so clear,
I could hear a voice so heavenly and strong,
That prayed with me and carried along,
My words to those far off heavenly ears.

And as the prayer of two went on,
I could feel that the dread was gone,
The hope was clear,
Salvation seemed near,
And in two my fear was sawn.

The storm in due course, it died,
And then tears of joy I cried,
For like the very few, the some,
From atheist to believer I'd become,
And forever to spread the word I tried.

An Old King's Musings

2008-04-11T01:26:00.001+05:30

I think about all those bands, that in their heyday, had it all. And then slowly faded. Where are the rockstars of yesteryear? What do they think when they listen to their music on the radio when driving? Do they ever look back to the golden years, and relive them, thus keeping themselves alive, feeding only on memories? Here is my tribute to those who made it, and who had it all, if only for a while...

Often, when I'm feeling low,
I think back, to the years ago,
Just sit back and let the feelings flow,
Reminesce, about what my memories show.

Those great years, when we had it all,
Those nights after nights, when we had a ball,
Those well-lived months, when we used to say,
We loved life, and so we lived it everyday.

And so evertime I'm feeling lonely,
I think about all those past things,
Let my memories then take me,
Back, to when we were kings.

Love and hope lose their appeal,
When you deal with what life brings,
So sometimes I try to feel, (what we had)
Back, when we were kings.

And now its all gone, it'll never come again,
Cause we lost hope, we were broken men,
Each dying his own slow death,
Each tiring of one more breath.

I have lost the will, to even try,
Give up, or even just cry,
It doesn't matter, no not anymore,
It did once, but that was long before.

And all I do now, with my last days,
Is think about my six strings.
As I watch the raindrops play, (Think about)
Back, when we were kings.

In the City

2008-04-11T01:24:00.002+05:30

I seem to write a lot about this so-called city. But reading so much, so often about the cities of India, and how they are turning into pits of crime, I guess that's the stimulus my poetic license gets...

Alone in the city, with an iron heart,
Subdue mercy and pity, it's the only way to start.

Cause in the city, there ain't no flower garden.
Cause in the city, people are killed in lover's park.
Cause in the city, all soft hearts harden.
Cause in the city, a june afternoon is always dark.

Alone in the city, that's the only way to live,
Learn how to receive, forget how to give.

Cause in the city, girls are raped in daylight.
Cause in the city, men are shot at noon.
Cause in the city, only bloody streets shine bright.
Cause in the city, every corner has a goon.

Alone in the city, how long can you survive?
When your very right to live, depends on the right bribe...

I Think of You

2008-04-11T01:23:00.001+05:30

Another short one, written almost two years ago, discovered in an almost tattered writing pad. Probably written on the train to Nainital...

Up on the roof above,
Clambering on the tiles,
Remembering your smiles,
I think of you.

Down below as I go,
To see the river gentl flow,
Remembering you heavenly glow,
I think of you.

Walking by on the road,
Heading off to love's abode,
Striding in my lonesome mode,
I think of you.

Seeing the nearing gate,
Hoping I don't get late,
Dreaming of a merry fate,
I think of you.

The Devil's Jest

2008-04-11T01:21:00.002+05:30

Welcome to my city, said the devil to the soul,
Welcome to the jungle, to my pit, the hell-hole.

This city of sin,
Where the wicked always win,
Of the unbearable pain,
And scarring acid rain.

This city of darkness,
No roses here grow,
No pity just indifference,
No hearts here show.

Its the most wonderful place he said, atleast for me,
For you, find out, he laughed, you have eternity.

Sad But True

2008-04-11T01:20:00.000+05:30

Everybody cries, 'cause everybody hurts,
You need a shoulder sometimes, More than just words.
Like your best friend's wedding, for him you're glad,
But there's no one for you, and so for you, you're sad.

But it's not just the sadness, there's helplessness too,
Couples are made in heaven, but no one was made for you,
You take a walk in the rain, with your heart subdued,
And accept that its sad- Sad, but true.

Look at people all around, svelte bodies and pretty faces,
Blue liner beneath the eyes, skin showing at the right places,
Well they really got just a house of nines,
When they go around thinking they all got aces.

Then it hits the fan, and they're all broken-hearted,
And start to wonder, if they were wise to start it,
But you're spared such pain, and it makes you glad,
Except that the rest of the time, you're lonely and sad.

Lonely and sad, but mostly its just lonely,
And you wish it weren't so sad if only,
And anything you can think of you'd do,
If it weren't so sad, if it weren't so true.

A Limerick Un-Witty

2008-04-10T23:25:00.001+05:30

There once was a girl so sweet,
That if she and you were to meet,
She'd take you for a ride,
Around the countryside,
And she'd sweep you off your feet.

There once was a boy so naive,
He'd stick his hand into a beehive,
And get stung and cry,
But would still get up and try
And say golly do i feel alive.

The boy and girl both met one day,
All was jolly, merry and laughter gay,
But the union was short,
The girl said with a snort,
I'd much rather you go away.

The boy was stung, and not by bees,
He cried, and begged, got down on his knees,
But the girl would not hear,
And the boy did fear,
That she'd cast him aside with ease.

The boy was struck, how easy it was,
For the girl to break his heart because,
He'd falled in love with the girl,
But she was merely looking for a twirl,
And left him without a pause.

The boy cried all day and night,
All his friend were struck with fright,
Cause the boy never laughed again,
He was just one of those broken men,
And shied away from daylight.

He locked himself in his cabin small,
Came out in neither sun not squall,
For seven years, till one spring,
Came a minstrel with tales to sing
And set up tent near the cabin wall.

The singer sang of joy and beauty,
He sang of what was right and of duty,
He sang of soap and dental floss,
But atlast he sand of love and loss,
And the boy peered out of a window sooty,

The boy had grieved for seven years,
His eyes no longer gave out tears,
And though he was now much older,
Inside he was no more bolder,
And was much afraid of the people's jeers.

But the minstrel sang of a boy's love,
And how a cruel girl killed that dove,
So the boy listened from his window,
So newly cleared of the winter snow,
And listened to the tale of a battered nub.

The nub was all that was left,
Of the heart the rest was cleft,
And he heard of the heart that cried,
Every day, till atlast the hero tried,
To again try to learn to be deft.

The boy in the song learnt to live,
Grew up to learn how to give,
And in giving know joy,
And so now the listening boy,
Tried hard to forget and forgive.

The boy opened the window to listen more,
Till atlast he had the courage to open the door,
And still trembling with self-pity and grief,
Decided to try just one soujourn brief,
And see if he could be what he was once before.

He came out into the spring sun,
And before long he began to run,
For he saw birds in the trees,
And felt again the cool breeze,
And felt his grief was finally done.

The boy never again locked himself in,
And slowly got back his innocent grin,
And though you could sometimes see the shade,
Of the wound the cruel girl once made,
It would hide mostly in his secret bin.

And one day many summers from the minstrel's song,
He saw a beautiful woman on the path come along,
And the talked and sang and ate and drank,
And with each other were honest and frank,
And agreed on what was right and wrong.

The fell in love, but not the kind,
Of first-sight nor blind,
The knew each other first and,
Decided it would be truly grand,
If they got into a wedding bind.

The feast was set, the guests were met,
And boy was in eternal debt,
Of his wonderful wife,
Who gave him another chance at life,
And at the alter, both their cheeks were wet.

They lived for a good many happy days,
Till all their hairs were either gone or grays,
And were truly happy as they could be,
And each morning were glad to see,
Each other with dawn's fresh new rays.

And what of the first girl you ask?
Well to tell of that is a sad task,
She went on her charming way,
Leading many innocent boys astray,
Living with each with an actor's mask.

But one day she was pretty no more,
And could not do what she had done before,
And so she tried to find,
What she had so often left behind,
But love no longer knocked on her door.

It is a sad tale and a happy one too,
For you shall suffer as you shall do,
And I now hope that you realise,
The truth dancing before your eyes,
Love back someone who truly loves you.

I too have a dream.

2008-04-10T22:56:00.001+05:30

what makes us human? Is it the ability to make our own way, without regard to the environment we exist in? Is it our power to shape our world around us to fit our needs? Is the feelings we possess, the things called emotions? Is it that we can come to care for other human beings, not of our own family?

Animals do all of that. In recent years, experiments and more importantly, unbiased observations have shown that animals can also possess languages, instincts, emotions, urges, those basic indicators of sentience.

But surely there is more. We can't simply be another species, living our way from birth to death, from emergence, to domination, to evolutionary death or transformation, can we? There has to be more to this life and humanity business than meets the eye, something inside us insists.

Some use the tool of religious beliefs and spirituality to further their postulates of the argument, saying that indeed, humanity is better, or atleast somehow MORE, than the countless other species cohabiting the planet with us.

Yet my question is exactly that - why does it have to be? Why do we think that human beings as a species are fundamentally different from other species? Sure, we have chainsaws to cut down the trees, harvesters and tractors to help us grow our food, and computers to help us with our species-special traits of communication, administration and justice. But in the end, we create our tools from those forests and the earth, we grow our food from the soil, we make those computers from plastics made nature and its gifts.

So then how are we fundamentally different from the others? I would rest my argument if we had special powers that let us create out of nothing, that let us alter the world in ways that other species possibly could not, even if they evolved to higher ratings on the scale of sentience.

Still, can we clap our hands and create lightning? Can we sing rain into a drought? Can we concentrate and change the shape of a mountain? Can we even lift a pebble in ways that a monkey cannot, if he learns to?

We cannot. So is there really a difference? I sincerely hope so, even if I fear there might be none in the end. Maybe someday, when we have left wars and pettiness behind, when we have learn to see others as human, and not as Caucasians, or Mongloids or Aryans and Dravidians. Maybe someday when communities as a whole in Southern California and the eastern Gangetic plains save food and wastage to help feed the poor in Nigeria and the Congo, not as a measure of pity, but as a realization of neccessity for keeping the human race human.

Maybe when we have left behind the material plane to the management of machines, along with distrustfulness, envy, greed, and insecurity of our identities. Maybe then we will find the true purpose of being human. But I fear not. I fear that we will never reach that goal. And I fear that even if someday we do, it will remain just that - a goal, not a path to the true destination. I fear that there will be no destination. I fear that when we reach our station on the subway, we will find that there is no way to get out of the underground, because there is no home to go to, just the subway to live in.

But if we never get to that state, if we never reach that subway station, we will never be able to know if that gate to the outer world is there or not.

So prove me wrong, prove my fears groundless. Show that I am being naive, when I fear that the Shias and the Sunnis, and the Catholics and the Protestants, and the governments and the Naxals, and the "terrorists/freedom fighters" and the security agencies, and the admnistrations and the people will not be able to put aside their differences.

Like Martin Luther King, I too have a dream, that the turn of the next millenium will not only see us still living on this planet, but also living together, not fighting together.

Humanity has had a long, long adolescence. I hope we don't shoot each other before we graduate from high school.

Here comes the summer.

2008-03-26T13:41:00.002+05:30

The fans are being switched on, the woolens being shut away. The damn birds waking me up earlier every day. People are smiling more often. Summer's here. So here's my two bits on it.

There's a pointer to the music also, if you can play an instrument.

D D D G
Its a dark and dry early March night,
D D D A
And I can start to feel the summer coming.
D D D G
And the heat hasn't even started yet,
D D D A
But I can start to feel my passions burning.

I'm sitting on the roof 5 stories up,
And I'm picking songs and sipping beer.
Waiting for the long and hot days,
Man I can hardly wait till summer's here.

We'll go to parties late in the night,
And we'll drink and dance ever friday.
Our Weekends will be spent making music.
And singing all our blues away.

There's something beautiful about the summer,
The summer more than any season.
You can start your life on a whole new note,
And you can change for any reason.

Heartbreaks, pink slips, Sour bosses.
All the bills, hospitals and career crisis.
You can leave it all behind at home,
And go to the beach and sip ices.

Or you can go to the cool mountains,
You can revel in out of season chills,
You can take long walks in the snow,
And ski down those white white hills.

You can go down to the side of the sea
You can go to see the pretty lasses.
You can go to see their thin pink straps,
And pretty faces hidden by sunglasses.

You can try your luck at a summer romance,
You can see if you got what it takes.
Don't have to worry if its gonna work
Cause these things always melt like snowflakes.

But I'm sitting right here on my friends roof,
My buddies and me, sippin cold beer,
We all worked hard all the rest of the months,
And I sure can't wait till summer's here.

ch:
G G G D
I can stay up all night in the months of june.

And I can party all day long in may,

Cheer up my friend, here comes summer,
A A A G D A
Its gonna blow all your worries away...

Cheerio.

Insomnia - II (The medical & philosophical aspect)

2008-03-19T10:26:00.003+05:30

So once more, here I am. Sleepless in Seattle. Only I'm in New Delhi, and that doesn't make for an as good aliteration. Numb in New Delhi is better, but only slightly.

My ex told me to go to a physician, to get sleeping pills or something. I'm losing weight, and she's apparently worried that I'm being pig-headed again (no offense to anyone with porcine affections) and just plain stubborn. Maybe I am. Whatever. I don't like docs, I don't like medicine that much. I figure we all know about health, diets ( the simple basics atleast, no debate on Atkins here) and sanitation, and if we fall sick, its our own damn fault. Oh sure, things that you don't have control over, such as Cancer, or systolic heart murmurs, fine. We need the docs for that. But general physicians are basically trying to sort out our own messes aren't they?

If I smoke, I shouldn't complain of shortness of breath a decade later. If I drink to get drunk, I shouldn't complain of liver damage a few years later. If I do heroin or cocaine, I shouldn't complain that life is weird and nothing seems to make sense and that the government is watching every move I make, not to mention the flying saucers coming to bombard my house cause I know of the big coverup.

Heck, if I did all that, if was my own fault. So grin and bear it. I deserve the pain then, I deserve the suffering - I brought it on myself. I know I'll get glasses if I don't read in proper light. My parents have been telling me that all my life. If I'm still getting glasses because of my eyes getting weak, maybe its because I'm too stupid to know what's good for me.

And even if I am, and I realise later ln life that it was my own fault, why cry to high heaven that I was ignorant, and it shouldn't be this way! You did what you did, whether you knew it was wrong or not. YOU did it, take responsibility, carry the burden now.

Fair? What eactly is fair? Some of the older societies in the so-called Third World assigned responsibility to the doer, and only the doer, circumstances or not. You did it. No one else. Why run away from the fact?

But the coddling of infants, making toddlers laugh off breaking mommy's valuable vase (which is a fairly common and I think extremely over-used aliteration, by the way) is what's letting on this culture of escaping blame.

Oh fine, the child doesn't get "traumatised" (note the quotes, I'm making a subtle point with them as well). But the lack of "trauma" I believe, is what starts inculcating the behavior that makes one shy away from one's actions. That is where it starts, and we start running away from things, blame, responsiblity, facts, hard choices, and finally truth.

I'm looking at things straight now. Certain things in my life have been my fault, others have not. And it is only because I'm looking at them objectively, can I have the strength of not even feeling responsible for the things I didn't cause to go wrong, or gloating in the glory of rights I didn't propagate.

Accept responsibility. What is the big deal about it. The sooner we learn to do that, the sooner the world is a better place, from all angles. And the sooner we do away with diplomatic intrigues, the mire of politics, and deception.

And the sooner people stop telling me to go to a doctor because I can't sleep. Maybe it's my own damn fault! Heck, I'm used to 24 hr workdays after B-school. And I'm choosing to stay awake, I could get a pill anytime. Please, stop telling me something's wrong, and I should get a 'remedy'. Its my own choice.

And what the heck, losing a little weight never hurt anyone close to the higher edge of the BMI index.

The Third Shot

2008-03-18T22:39:00.000+05:30

Another composition, put to music in the wee hours of the day, just before dawn. The product of a fatigued mind, plagued by thoughts I really oughtn't to have had. But I had them anyway. So here, world, I thee inflict this!!!

The Third Shot.
*****
I'm looking into the fires of doom.
Sulphur burns into my nose.
I'm looking for the sinner I loved.
Who left me when she chose.

She went away for eternity.
She went and left me alone.
She calmed her soul thinking.
That I'd to stop to hurt and moan.

ch:
I've heard just two before.
I'll never hear two more again.
I'm gonna hear just one more.
Surrounded by doomed men.

She was right, but not all the way.
She was bright but she didn't realize.
I never gave up my love for her.
But I loved her with blazing eyes.

I loved her but I wanted her hurt.
I wanted her to know the pain.
I wanted her to know the loss.
And never know any joy again.

ch:
I've heard just two before.
I'll never hear two more again.
I'm gonna hear just one more.
Surrounded by doomed men.

So I flew over to the other city.
Caught her with her new squeeze.
They were at it on the couch.
And then time just seemed to freeze.

I pulled out my gun and pointed.
Right there between her eyes.
Said enough of this betrayal.
I've come to end all of your lies.

ch:
I've heard just two before.
I'll never hear two more again.
I'm gonna hear just one more.
Surrounded by doomed men.

As I looked on right at her.
I saw it dawn in her eyes.
She went white in the face.
Just as she realized.

Time was moving slow as glue.
The first shot went on for an hour.
I sent her away for her sin.
I sent her to Lucifer's power.

ch:
I've heard just two before.
I'll never hear two more again.
I'm gonna hear just one more.
Surrounded by doomed men.

And then the man tried to get up.
And screamed at what I'd done.
And I figured I'd killed one half.
Might as well do the other one.

So I shot them both that night.
And since then I always knew.
Even though I'd sent her to Hell.
I would be going there soon too.

ch:
I've heard just two before.
I'll never hear two more again.
I'm gonna hear just one more.
Surrounded by doomed men.

Did I regret it what I did that night?
No I'm here looking in the pyre
Searching for the one who made me.
Wind up in this torturous fire.

It was her fault we're both here.
I don't care even if it was not.
I've got my gun and when I find her.
Hell will hear another shot

ch:
I've heard just two before.
I'll never hear two more again.
I'm gonna hear just one more.
Surrounded by doomed men.

The Passing

2008-03-18T22:28:00.005+05:30

What don't parents mean to us? Recently a friend of mine lost both of hers. I can't help but think what that would be like. She's an only child. She was sobbing on the phone, and then later in my arms. I didn't know what to say. I've tried to put that into words, but I know it doesn't do the loss justice. This is for you K, and for all the others who have gone through the heart-wrenching pain, and those who will:

The passing.

I thought that you'd never leave.
I thought you'd be there always.
To tell me when I was wrong.
To brighten up all my days.

You brought me into this world.
You brought me up to be a man,
You made me who I am now,
And now that you've left, I don't think i can.

Go on.

You taught me how to walk,
You taught me how to survive,
I don't know how you did it,
But you taught me how to thrive, and

go on

Every time I scraped a knee
Every time I slipped and fell,
Every time I failed a test,
I'd wait for you to tell, me to

Go on.

I thought that you'd never leave.
I thought you'd be there always.
To tell me when I was wrong.
To brighten up all my days.

I'm alone now, I'm all alone.
There's no one whom I can turn to,
Encouragement, or advice,
No one there to tell me to.

Go on

I guess I'll always carry,
This pain in my heart.
Maybe someday I'll marry,
And raise kids and play your part.

If I have a little boy,
I'll tell him about you.
I'll tell him just like you did.
When he falls, I'll tell him to

Go on.

Insomnia.

2008-03-18T01:42:00.000+05:30

So here I am, not having slept in God-only-knows how many hours. I'm having bouts of sleeplessness these days. Its 11 am on a sunday(I'm writing this in a Barista, will post it later), and I last slept for about three hours, two days ago. It was on friday afternoon, after having been awake for what I think was another two days or so.

So anyway, I think its weird. I mean, I'm one of those people who used to prioritize sleep and food over love, you know. Never felt sated or content just to be in love. I needed lots of food, drink, and Zzzzzzs. It was fine, I understood when I made do with lack of rest while I was doing my stint (turned out to be just a stint, heh) at B-school. Things were fast, there was always too much to do, and too little time to do it in. But now, I have lots of time, I am working on my own terms, and not more than a few hours a day. Still I find myself an insomniac.

And mind you, this lack of sleep isn't because of caffeine or even nicotine. All those '-ines' aren't what's keeping me going. In fact, I usually drink coffee to give in, and get hyperactive for a while, so that I can get hyper-tired afterwards, and drift off to sleep.

And surprisingly, this lack of sleep isn't affecting my moods or my capacity for lucid thought. It is making me take multiple showers in one sleep-cycle though.

Man, this coffee is bitter. No-one knows how to make my cold coffee extra strong and just the way I like it, except for my fav Cafe Coffee Day in South Campus. Hah. Pity it opens later than this place, and a bigger pity its so far off from Vineesh's place.

Yeah, this coffee really isn't my cup of tea. But still nice for a change in taste.

So what do you think is the matter with my biological rythm? I mean, I'm working every day, I'm having fun every day, I'm drinking enough fluids. I'm eating when I'm hungry enough to drag me away from whatever it is I'm doing at the moment.

I have everything I wanted a few months ago, when I was going through the most recent of my moments of truth. And I find satisfaction only after having been awake for a long, long time, having completed more work than I could possibly do in one day, and basically dallied with all possible activities for a day.

Still, why do I never feel exhilirated anymore? Is it because I'm not in a relationship anymore? Is it because I've not been at my job for a longer time? Is it because almost everything I want is within my reach and so I don't get really happy at acheiving something that I thought I wouldn't be able to do?

Why do humans suffer from insomnia? I think in my case, I'm just trying to push myself to the edge beyond the edge.

Ah, atleast the little chocolate sprinkles are little drops of sweetness in that bitter liquid.

Anyway, so as I was saying, I'm pushing myself harder each day. Harder than I can do. I go for long, long brisk walks, I run part of the way, just when I start to feel a little tired. I am listening to music that I would ordinarily switch from on the radio. I'm learning new songs on the guitar, figuring out riffs I'd have given up as too tough some months ago.

I think I'd become too complacent in my old life. I had everything. And now I'm not sad when I say that. I had everything, and I lost it all on less than one pitch of turn and toss.

So I guess I've managed to start again, from new beginnings, and am learning not to breathe a word about my loss. And I think that's why I'm pushing myself. So that I won't ever get complacent. So that I won't stop trying and trying harder the next time I think I have everything again.

You can't stop trying once you have everything. You have to try harder to watch out for signs of it starting to slip away. And harder still to not let it fade away completely. I hope I will have the strength.

ps...You know, the coffee isn't that bad. I kind of like the bitterness of the aftertaste. :)

Marital BLAZE!!!

2008-03-14T05:50:00.002+05:30

I first read about Reuters in a story in my high school english book. It had the whole story about how the news agency would hire super-fast ships to cross the atlantic with news that reached before anyone else.

And now we have the internet, and the news is a click away. And Reuters has maintained its lead as one of the fastest and most prominent news agencies, even after having lost the advantage of faster ships.

Kudos.

One of the best sections on their site, and one i often end up clicking via the Gmail web clips section, is Oddly Enough.

And the title for this post comes from this incident, which reinforces my disbelief in relationships anymore:

http://www.reuters.com/article/oddlyEnoughNews/idUSGOR25682020080312?feedType=RSS&feedName=oddlyEnoughNews

Hurrah for Reuters. :D

The Valley of Death

2008-03-09T20:37:00.001+05:30

So here's another mediocre composition written at 4 in the morning, in the grip of a sleepy-cum-disoriented haze after muddled sleep patterns for a week. Man!

In the midst of the mountains,
Far to the North of here,
You'll find a valley in shadow
Its the valley of fear.

The damned live there,
Looking for souls to feed on,
I'd stay away if I were you,
But I know you'll keep on,

Riding to the valley of death.
Riding to the valley of death.
Riding to the valley of Death.
Riding to the Valley of DEATH.

There are no trees in that place,
No living things there abide,
There's just death in the mountain,
And death on the outside.

You can go on foot, or ride,
Go at midninght or early morn,
It will pull you like a lodestone,
And I know you will go on

Riding to the valley of death.
Riding to the valley of death.
Riding to the valley of death.
Riding to the valley of death.

Only one has ever returned,
Only one with a tale to tell,
It was like being buried alive,
He said he'd rather go to HELL.

Only one soul they let go,
For they know what makes a man,
Where one has made it out,
Many will think they can.

Go on...

Riding to the valley of death.
Riding to the valley of death.
Riding to the valley of death.
Riding to the valley of death.

They have fed on us for so long,
They will go on this way,
They will lure and trap and deceive,
And you wil fall under their sway.

So go on...

Riding to the valley of death.
Riding to the valley of death.
Riding to the valley of death.
Riding to the valley of death.

Night-Outs in Delhi

2008-03-09T00:43:00.002+05:30

So me and some friends were out late last night, hitting the road with hard rock and classic disco music blasting in my car. We had my guitar along, and ended up playing to a very appreciative audience in Saket, outside 24x7, between 1-4 AM, Saturday.

It was a blast. Haven't had this much fun in so long. My two amigos had downed quite a bit of rum (testament to their Forces childhood), and were singing in incoherence with the often totally incompatible music, to say nothing of the tempo.

We stated off with some classics like Fear or the Dark (Iron Maiden), Knocking on Heaven's Door (GNR), played not a few requests - November Rain (GNR again), Yellow (Coldplay), The Scientist (Coldplay), I still Miss Someone (Johnny Cash), Folsom Prison Blues (Johnny Cash), Country Roads (John Denver), etc etc

Then the real interesting part began. High with allthe spirits coursing inside, the trio decided to do impromtu compositions.

Here is something that I remember singing off the top of my head, after having been awake for more than 24 hrs, and being tired, but happy :

If you've got the guts to be that guy,
You can learn how to rise up, to fly.
If you've got the gall to be the man,
The man who can be, can do, who can.

I'll be the man who'll fly.
I'll be the man to rise up,
I'll be the man who'll leave behind.
Rise out of this daily grind.

I'll go away from the hurt,
I'll leave behind the pain,
The wonder at a rainbow,
The innocence of walking in rain.

If I have the guts, I'll leave you behind,
If I can, I'll try to make a fresh start.
If I'm not afraid, I'll begin over,
If I can, I'll go away and play a new part.

There was music to go with it, and when I can find a way to make some clean recordings (minus the background hiss that my phone's mike puts in), I'll try and post audio's here. (If I can figure out how to do that!)

And that's not all. Have a lot of songs coming up. The guys and I get together and compose like anything. So be back here soon with more. :)

Over an Out.

Wonderful verse

2008-03-04T23:11:00.002+05:30

A true masterpiece by William Blake, that I came across at Vineesh's place. Worth sharing. The images come out as a background to the words, no direct visualizations, but abstract colors painting pastels in the subconscious:

Never seek to tell thy love
Love that never told could be;
For the gentle wind does move
Silently, invisibly.

I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart,
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears –
Ah, she doth depart.

Soon as she was gone from me
A traveller came by
Silently, invisibly –
O, was no deny.

V for Vendetta

2008-03-04T17:10:00.002+05:30

This, I think is the most stylish quote I have ever come across:

"Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin van-guarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition."

And delivered with such panache by Hugo Weaving. Bravo!

A Poem

2008-03-04T17:00:00.003+05:30

One more about rage, agony, hopelessness, despair, loss, betrayal, and many more emotions along those lines, all swirling, and taking from me the ability to think.

This was written not so long ago, some of you know what series of events inspired it. Some of you don't. For those of you that do, please keep it to yourselves.

There was a time, for just a little while,
When I knew what happiness was.
A few weeks, streching into months,
When I knew how lovely life was.

Memories of that time, come flooding back,
Flashbacks are common now, they come.
Resilient no longer, i defend the blows,
That time refuses to cease on my heart.

I wake up each morning not remembering,
That my wounds have bled away love,
And for a little while each sun-up,
I go again through the pain and hurt.

Nausea shakes me up every now and then,
I stop in the middle of my step, struck.
Was it good? Was it not? Was it worth?
Or was it indeed all for naught?

Its like a serrated edge running through,
From my heart to my head, to my eye.
Running through the scars again and again,
Pulsing, till it is tears of agony I cry.

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?
The question refuses to fade.
What did I do wrong? Err?
Go! My wounds cry. Leave me and begone.

But Don't go, please, I also say,
I'll die, I'll live, I'll know. I won't.
The fight rages inside. Stay, STAY!
But gone is she, not to be seen.

Gossamers, slivers, vestiges, traces,
Raise their heads again, the unfairness
Goading them on, does God like men so?
Hurting inside, hurting, raw, numb, hurting.

Words, just words, grammar is dead.
Fear, of what? What is left? No, no fear.
To die, to die with no more pain to others,
Use. To be useful to those who love still.

Use, what is the use? We are all doomed.
Primary premise refuted, rebuttal impossible.
Pneumonia, accept one more lover,
Please, someone, accept one more lover.

To touch my lips to another living thing,
I shudder, revulsion going through my spine.
The tears on my eyelids frozen white.
Rhyme? What rhyme. There is no rhyme.

There is nothing, nothing but nothing.
Memories. What a curse, What a curse.
What a curse. What a curse. Memories
Memories, building memories. How foolish.

Memories. Tears everywhere. Memories.

Someone. Where? why? no more please.

Hero of the Nation

2007-06-27T03:24:00.000+05:30

Here is a dark, ironic story that I would like to share with the faithful who still frequent this e-space even after my so long a hiatus. Rest assured all, the copyrights have been taken care of this time. And so, no copying this time, you lurkers. Enjoy.

HERO OF THE NATION

***

The old man shuffled into the warmth of the store, making his way to the counter with a slight limp. He was tall, but so thin so as to appear wasted from some disease. His face was drawn, the skin tight over sleek features that must have once framed a handsome enough face. Now though, the face was cast in shadow by the look of long suffering it perpetually wore.

Leaving a slight trail of snow falling off his clothes, the old man made his way to the desk in the center of the store, thinking no thoughts of making excuses for being late. The owner of the store, did not believe that a more than usually reticient employee would not be racking his brains to make up a story for his tardiness. He pre-empted any explanations or alibis by snarling...

"And just where do you think you have been? God, if all my workers were so incompetent, we would not have made out as a simple tool-shop, let alone grown into one of the most well-stocked hardware houses in the state! No, dont make any excuses, I'm not going to forgive you this time. You've been late three times this month, and that is simply not acceptable anymore at a premium business like this. We at Dad's Shed have held a tradition of loyalty to our customers for the last twenty years. I have been running a tight ship here, marred only by your performance at times. And before that, my father ran it the same way. I won't have any more of this. Go on, get out!"

The old man did not get angry, did not get sad. He simply stood there and looked at the young owner of the store he had been working at ever since it began. When he made no move to depart, the young owner, infuriated, launched into another full-winded session:

"I said get out, and I mean get out! Go on, what are you waiting for? Do you think you will get any sympathy for your limp? I don't care if you were wounded in the war. I simply cannot tolerate you here anymore. If you had the basic decency of a man, and the courage of a soldier with an honorable wound, you would come here on time, no matter how much your leg hurt. Ha! War wound indeed. Sometimes I think that is all a story you made up to gain puty to excuse your disgusting lack of punctuality. Why, if my father were still running things here, God rest his soul, you would have been fired years ago. Now go on, scoot!"

Still unmoved, the old man turned and walked out. He walked slowly, as always, and with a noticable limp. He didn't say much, and had not had anything much to say to the store owner anyway. He walked on along the street, his coat wrapped tightly about him.

It was cold outside. The snow had been falling for almost the whole night, and the wind had a bitter sting to it. All about the walking old man, the street was covered in the white billowy fluff, exuding a chill that cut through to the bone. His old worn clothes didn't help much.

Walking, the old man reached the room he called home. It was in a dingy building, the stairs littered with refuse dumped there by the occupants. The elevator stood with its doors open on the ground floor, it's floor slightly below the level of the ground. The metal cage stank of urine and other human malodors.

Limping along, the man began to climb the stairs to reach his room on the third floor. He met no one on the first floor, but on the second, he met a little girl sitting outside a door. The girl was about five years old, and was leaning against the wall next to the room just next to the stairs leading up the to third floor. She wore a faded pink dress, that would not have been pretty even when it was new, which would have been atleast six to seven years ago.

Her face was lined too, but with tears against dirt, not with age. The old man stopped his ascent. Crouching down close to the little girl, favouring his limp side, he could hear voices from inside the door. The voices were loud, and were raised in anger. It seemed the man and the woman of the house were fighting, and the child had either fled or been left outside.

The look of woe left the old man's face, and it cracked in a wry little smile.

Careful not to reach too close to the little girl, he asked her, "So, little angel, they left you out agin?"

Staring at the old man with a hint of suspicion, she just nodded slightly. She had seen the old man before, and he had always smiled when he saw her, but this was the first time he had spoken to her.

"You're afraid 'f me, aren't you?"

The little girl, now almost on the verge of tears, shook her head stiffly.

"N', y'aren't? Well, that's a brave little girl. Don't worry, I'm not going to hurtchya. An' before you think that all strange men say things like that, I'll jus' leave. So don't worry."

Speaking, he rose. The smile never fading from his face, he turned and walked up the stairs. Pausing halfway at the landing between the floors, he looked down at the little girl.

"Don't worry little angel, things'll be alright. Life ain't that bad, y'know. You'll see when y'grow up."

Waving once to the little girl, he moved up the final few steps to his floor. After opening the reluctant door, he moved inside. Having been careful to avoid soiling his worn, wet shoes on the rubbish on the stairs, he paused in the doorway to wipe the soles thoroughly on the mat there. Satisfied that they would dirty the room no more, he removed them and placed them by the door.

The room was just that, one room. The toilet and bath were in one corner, partly shaded by a tattered curtain. There was a small window on the wall facing the door, with the pane covered with cardboard salvaged from cartons.

Along the wall with the door, as far away as possible from the window, was a lumpy mattress on the floor, covered with old and patched blankets. There was one chair, with a small table that looked to be almost as ancient as the man. Those only two items of furniture were next to the window.

Brushing the snow off from his coat, he hung it on a rod on which the rest of his few clothes hung. A clothesline arced across the room, from window to doorframe.

The old man pulled on an old jacket. It was fat, a used air-filled garmet that he had picked up at a sale of hand-me-downs. It was ugly, its original color having been acid green, but now having faded under layers of grime and use to something like the underside of a rock in a garden.

He picked up the pipe that lay on the table, and filling it, proceeded to light up. Puffing to get the pipe going, he looked up at the two photographs in the room. They were hung next to each other, almost touching. The pictures, while being of the same size, portrayed scenes completely different.

The photograph on the left showed a young man and a young woman, hugging each other. While the fuzzy photograph wasn't very clear, the young man could be recognized as the old man staring at him, in earlier times.

And happier times too, it seemed. The couple were smiling, the love between them evident, needing no words to explain their relationship. There was no look of worry or grief on the young man's face. The woman seemed to glow at the propect of living happily ever after with her love.

The old man sighed, used to staring up at the frame and wondering of what was and what would have been, if not for the fire that night that swallowed up his hopes for the future. The fire had claimed the woman staring down from the photograph, and the smile that now lurked on the young man's face in the photograph had transformed into the look of long-ingrained gried and acceptance on the old man's.

The second photograph was clearer, and in sepia instead of black and white. In the second photo, there was a group of young men, one of whom could be recognized as the young man in the adjacent photograph. The young men were all smiling too, but there was a look of determination and confidence in those smiles.

The group was in uniform. the scene clearly one before the start of an important mission. Soldiers could be seen hurrying in the background, loading equipment and stores into their backpacks.

What was more, one of the men in the photo, his arm around the young man who looked at them both after so many years, seemed familiar. If one looked closely, he looked a little like the store owner the old man had left a little while ago.

The old man's pipe was going full blast now, and he put on his shoes while puffing on it contentedly. As big a shock as getting fired from the Dad's Shed was, he needed to move on. It was time to ask a friend for help, however much he disliked asking favours. Locking the door, he moved down the stairs.

The little girl was still crouching next to her door, but the tears had dried off by now. Seeing the old man, she gave a little uncertain smile. The old man, waking from his walking reverie, saw her, and smiled back.

"Hey now, little angel", he said, taking the pipe in one hand, "Feeling better now?"

The little girl nodded self-consciously.

"Well isn't that jus' the greatest thing? Here, this is for you. Don't be off and cry again now, y'hear?"

He handed the girl a crumpled little currency note, almost all of his meagre savings. The girl's eyes widened. She had never seen that much money before.

Kneeling down beside the girl, not heeding the dirt on his trousers, he whispered to her with an expression of conspiracy.

"Now y'keep it all t' yourself, y'hear? Don't be giving any 'f it to yer ma or pa. I want you to keep it, till you want if for som'thing real special. An' when you get that real special som'thing, think about me, and what I said about the world not being so bad all the time, ok?"

Smiling broadly now, the little girl nodded cheerfully. The old man stood up, puffing on his pipe once more to keep it from going out. He moved away, towards the stairs leading down.

The little girl waved to him, still mute. He waved back while limping down.

"Goodby little angel. Take care 'f yourself."

The old man walked slowly out of the building. He made his way to a cleaner part of the city, walking almost alone in the still falling snow. Cars passed sometimes, but they were few. Not many other pedestrians could be seen.

The cold was getting stronger. The old man began to feel it even in his warmer jacket. Hesitating about if he should go on, he looked up to the sky. It was a solid wall of dark clouds. They seemed to mock him, daring him to go on.

Wrapping his arms closely about him, he shrugged, moved on. The cold was getting frigid now, and the old man began to wonder if he had not been stupid to challenge the fury of the storm. But nothing had scared him from going on in his life yet, so he would not stop now.

Struggling, his limp leg starting to drag, the old man realized that he could go on no longer. He had to find shelter, and wait out the storm. Moving on, he started looking for a place to get out of the wind and snow. The side roads were no help. This part of the city was inhabited by the rich part of society, and they liked their roads open and wide.

Searching desperately after a few minutes, the old man stumbled. He fell forward, and tried to break his fall with his arms. But those arms were no longer populated by the strong sinews that had once carried a wounded man out of a combat zone in the last big war.

Cursing as he fell flat on his face into the snow, the old man waited for a moment, trying to gather enough strenth to let his aching arms push him clear of the ground. But they couldn't. When he tried, he felt a spike of hot pain go through his right arm, and his left was partially numb from the cold and the fall.

Wondering about the numbness in his left arm, he turned over, back to the ground, and slowly got up to a sitting position. Looking at his left arm, he found the jacket was torn in a long slash from under his left armpit to the middle of his chest.

Now frantic, he looked about for a place to stay warm. He knew that he might die if he didn't get out of the snow right now. Looking around, he gradually became aware that he had reached the house that he had been making for all along.

Smiling a bitter smile, he tried to crawl towards the gatepost to press the bell-button. But the instant he moved, another hot spike stabbed through his right arm. Feeling very tired, he decided to rest a while before trying for the gatepost. He searched for his pipe, and discovered that he had lost it. The falling snow had hidden his last treasure.

The old man shrugged, drawing a deep breath. He would just rest a while, and press the bell-button. It was just next to him. How hard could it be? He was safe now. He would just rest for a moment, get his strength back and press the...

***

Clip from the 8 AM news:
"... And now we move on to our next story. Last night an old man was found dead outside the house belonging to Colonel. J. S. There was a tear in the man's jacket and one arm was fractured, hinting that he fell and then succumbed to the cold.

As our viewers will be aware, Col S, though now retired, is one of the country's most celebrated war veterans. When contacted about the discovery, Col S responded that the deceased was one of his best friends, and another war veteran. Infact, Col. S said that the deceased, now being identified as Captain N A, saved the lives of five soldiers in the last big war, for which he was decorated with the country's highest medal for courage in combat.

'Cap. N A was one of the best men I have ever had the honor of knowing. He saved my life, carrying me and four other wounded men out of the combat zone at the risk of his life and limb. He could have left us there, no one would have said anything. But he risked his life, and went in after us. And that is what defines a man, not degrees and money like the young people of today think...'

Cap N A was shot in the leg twice while rescuing Col. S and the others. He crawled back the last time, with the Late Cap. P W on his back. Cap P W passed away ten years ago. He was the founder of the state's largest chain of hardware stores Dad's Shed.

When contacted, Cap P W's son, who currently runs the business, said:

'He was a hero. My dad always talked about him. Me and my sister grew up listening to Dad's stories about Cap. N A and how he saved Dad's life. If I had only known that he was injured. I wish I could have done something to help him. If I'd known that he would be out in such bad weather on foot, I would sure have driven him there.

Col. J S often visited us. But Cap. N A never did. I never met him. I will go to his funeral tomorrow, and finally come face to face with the man who saved my father's life. My sister is on her way back to the city, with her husband and children. The whole family will attend.

We at Dad's Shed have alway had a special place in our hearts for war veterans, and give out special prices for them. Why, even the man working at our biggest store here in the city was wounded in the war. There is no service that any member of the family would not have performed for Cap. N A. We will be there to show how grief-stricken we are, and meet the others whose lives he touched...'

The funeral for Cap. N A will be held tomorrow at 10 AM. The mayor and the city's councillors will be there, on behalf of the city's grief over losing such a cherished and loved soldier of the nation.

Moving on, our next story is..."

Midnight Strolls

2007-04-14T17:18:00.000+05:30

Having recently shifted to yet another address in this city, I find myself having the opportunity of going out for long ambling strolls in the night, unfearful of the dark or the dangers that habitually lurk within it, in Delhi.

Walking seems to be one of the recent habits I've picked up, not having been much for physical exercise before. And Indeed, I do not walk for my health, but to think and reflect.

I now live at Raksha Bhawan, smack in the middle of the line joining India Gate and the Indian President's Estate. Going by the norm, it is one of the poshest areas in the country's capital, and it does live up to that image. Mostly.

I go for walks around India Gate's lawns and the other heritage-like buildings that dot the area. Starting out of my house after about 10 in the night, I often stay out till 0030 or so. As the hour grows later, a kind of peace seems to descend from the air. To be frank, I guess I go out for this feeling.

But India Gate at night, isn't vastly different from India Gate by day. The crowds are almost the same. Crying babies, happy families playing on the lawns, couples taking quiet walks away from the bustle of seething humanity, Police PCR vans patrolling and making sure the visitors from overseas aren't hassled too much.

A good many people taking photographs of the imperious monument even after the night-time shutdown of the huge banks of stage lights, the innumerable masses of vendors selling everything from stuffed toys to ice-cream.

In the 8 years or so that I've lived in this city, India Gate's environs haven't changed that much. In the evenings, as night throws her blanket of darness over the scorching day of the famed Indian Summer, the only new thing visible in these Central Parks of Delhi, are a new brand of ice-cream being sold, and a few flashy battery-powered devices emitting a kaleidoscope of colors, to attract the young ones.

And yet, when you visit the place for a week, everyday, you start to see things that were rendered invisible by the novelty of the attraction. The Police smoke beedis in their PCR vans, the ice-cream vendors and snack-marketers puff away great clouds of smoke, and the famous India Gate Boating Club is hosted in a pond filled with filth (no pun intended).

Yes, the ponds are really dirty. In an image I took a few nights before, an entire corner of the shallow pit of the water body is choked with plastic bags and bits of unidentifiable rotting mass. And this just next to a high-pressure Gas Pipeline. When I was trying to find a good angle for the snap, in the dim light, a few local tough-guys came around to ask me what I thought I was doing. Not wanting a confrontation, I blithely told them that I was looking for a good spot to hold a photo shoot for the Youth Chronicler (which is a figment of my imagination, in case you were wondering).

Thus having escaped the clutches of misguided vigilantism, I then proceeded to look around the whole place with a bit more of perception. There are trash cans overflowing, vagrants sleeping under trees, and young men on bikes performing stunts that I thought were crazy and suicidal.

You often see drunkards at India Gate. While I was not foolish enough to try to film the antics of one particular duo of boys (they seemed to be about 15-16 years of age), their ambulatory motions and unbound speech shall remain engraved in my memory for some time to come.

This particular, peculiar couple, named Jay and Ajay, from what I could gather, had had enough to have considerable difficulty walking. They achieved this otherwise indomitable task by literally hanging on to each other. Thus supported, they managed to walk an entire five meters in about fifteen minutes, yelling, screeching abuses and singing (somehow all at once) all the time.

While I was highly amused (and secretly sad at this sort of display for ones so young), the real kicker didn't come up untill both of them tumbled onto each other and lay panting and making other sorts of weird noises. Then, Jay I think, proceeded to take out a mobile phone ( a nokia N73, if I wasn't mistaken) and dial a number. When the person on the other end turned out to be a male, instead of the girlfriend he was expecting, he yelled and said a good many things I was hard-pressed to understand. This sort of thing went on for a minute of two. The person at the other end of the phone (the conversation was on speakerphone, with the volume turned to ful) kept trying to fugure out just who was calling.

After about 5 minutes, it turned out that Master Jay, in his hurry to profess his love to his girlfriend, has instead held his heart (and his rather admirable store of invective) out to the poor lady's elder brother.

Now, this seemed to sober Jay a little. Meanwhile, Ajay had been lolling about the place, trying to sit up, and generally failing to do so for more than fifteen seconds at a stretch. When Jay tried to help him up, presumably to lead his now less sober companion home, Ajay promptly kissed him. Screaming as if he'd been bitten, Jay then started to run away from his hitherto beloved companion. Ajay wouldn't let his lady-love go, so there proceeded yet another scuffle, which let Jay's short spell of clear-headedness pass, and the two then slumped back on the kerb.

I then left these two to their devices, not wanting to disturb their privacy further.

Apart from this interesting incident, my stroll that night was mostly peacefull, except for the omni-present mosquitos.

India Gate is a wonder. Even in the night. Even with not many rules being followed, there is virtually no crime, not even indecent behaviour towards others.

In short, it is an ideal place for me to go walking in the dead of the night, and feel good about it. I shall go again tonight. Hope you can experience the same pleasure sometime.

PRDB Syllabus

2007-03-31T14:22:00.000+05:30

SSP Notes

2007-03-31T00:29:00.000+05:30

For Class on Friday (30th MArch 2007)

PRDB Notes

2007-03-31T00:23:00.000+05:30

Notes for PRDB on Thursday (29th March 2007) and Friday (30th March 2007)

8Th Sem Time Table and PRDB Class 1 notes

2007-03-23T23:56:00.000+05:30

Hooray for two days a week...

Hmmmm...

CCASE VIII SEM Stuff

2007-03-23T23:49:00.000+05:30

Page 1:

Page 2:

Fire

2007-03-02T20:28:00.000+05:30

Fire is intriguing. This element has been loved, admired, hated, persecuted, worshipped... but always respected. Fire has the potential to reduce us to what we were before we became humans - dirt. And I think that is one of the prime reasons that human (and indeed all animals) have an innate fear of fire.

Forest fires destroy hundreds of trees every year, across the globe. The burnt materiel includes such tit-bits as squirrel babies, and leaf molds.

Aren't the little squirrels afraid of the fire? Sure they are. But they can't do anything about it, except to burn. I remember there was this one story of the Boddhisatva, about The Buddha being born as a baby squirrel, and being engulfeg in a forest fire. The Buddha, even in his Squirrel avtaar, waxed eloquent, and talked of Dharma to the fire. The fire honored him by burning him to a crisp.

And so indeed shall we all pass from this world. What will be left, but dust. What will remain, but ashes...

As indeed many have, over the centuries. Humans have died in fires, some unwittingly, some unwillingly, and some uncaringly. The great fire of london (1666) officially claimed 8 victims. Officially, while the real figure is estimated in 4-5 digits.

The Chicago fire of 1871 was another conflagaration that burnt for more than three days, destroying a city rising to its pinnacle, claiming another couple of hundred lives.

And yet, we humans continue to play with fire. We have tamed it, to our purposes, and let it get out of hand only occasionally. What is this obsession with energy, this mania with burning, this hypnosis of the flame?

Look around you, and you'll see someone smoking. Cigarettes burn at about 700 Celsius. And we keep them a bare couple of inches from our bodies. In the cold regions of developing cointries, peasants (and indeed higher-ups too) keep buckets of hot coals wrapped up in their clothing. Fire is warmth, fire is life.

Yes, fire is life, for life is based on energy, and fire is the most primitive, the most crude, yet the most ancient and the most persisting form of contact with direct energy that homo sapiens have come up with.

The sun is a mass of fire. Guns are called fire-arms. We have cultural fetishes of the Phoenix and the multitude of Fire Gods & Goddesses. We pray to fire, some of us, and we bow to it.

We sing songs about it, and we write poems about it. We dance about it, and we tell stories about it. Let me hope we just don't forget about it, and stop respecting it...

Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

2007-02-22T20:07:00.000+05:30

Twinkle Twinkle little star,
How I wonder who you are,
Were you a knight journeying wide,
Or a sailor on the evening tide,
Did you you errand complete,
All with victory replete,
Did you rescue the princess fair,
The one with the moss-golden hair,
Did she fight your intent then,
Waiting for wealthier men,
Did she snort and sneer and snoot,
And deride you for a hair-brained coot
Were you implacable still,
Of sound mind and iron will,
Did you wrest your sould from loss,
Shunting aside Gloom's gloss...

Twinkle Twinkle little star,
How I wonder who you are,
Are you all that remains now,
Of that brave soul's brow,
Who set out to the impossible do,
And confound it! succeeded too,
In going against the world all,
Showing his cheek with all that gall
Upsetting the customs worldwide,
And ne'er taking it on his hide,
Ignoring the laws - upholding own will,
Asking questions after the kill,
Wandering, rambling, ambling, gambling,
Mangling, dangling, shambling, dabbling,
Taking 'em up on every dare,
Walking on ice with nary a care..

Twinkle Twinkle little star,
How I wonder who you are,
Are you the spirit of an old man,
Killed under an astronomer's ban,
Do you over mankind watch yet,
Part of some cosmic bet,
Daring us to prove you right,
Keeping vigil throughout the night,
Catching the eye of every young 'un,
Whispering to the moon for some quiet fun,
Parrying jokes while we sleep,
Locked away in Morpheus's keep,
Do you laugh when we digress,
And hurry-burry to clean the mess,
All the while smirking faintly,
All the while glowing daint'ly...

Twinkle Twinkle little star,
How I wonder who you are,
On second thought I wonder not,
You can just go on and rot,
I'll still sleep my way tonight,
Even if you burn sun-bright,
Nary a differnce does it make,
So go ahead for you own sake,
Glow, shine, burn and stay,
Or fade, whimper and pass away,
As big as a world you might be,
But distant is your enormity,
My insignificance is here and now,
So shine and burn, but bow!
I am a man! A man of Earth,
We face stellar spectators with mirth.

The music was lost

2007-02-10T12:56:00.000+05:30

The music was lost, in many things
The movies, the dinners, the dates,
The shopping, the arguments, fights,
Catching up with long lost old mates.

All the fishing, and all the road trips,
All the talking, all the late-night strolls,
All the gorging at the pastry shop,
The danish truffles, and the chocolate rolls,

The music was lost, in many things,
The music was lost in many more,
The music was lost in many flings,
The music was made into a bore.

All the classes, from school to college,
All the tennis, and all the dances
All the skating, all the bowling,
I remember all those lost chances.

All the deadlines, all the work
All the typing, all the papers,
All the nail-biting, the nerves,
All the griping, all the insane capers,

The music was in many things,
In many ways, and long ago,
The music was lost, never regained,
Never again to come once more...

A night of soft music

2007-02-10T00:01:00.000+05:30

The nights are warming, the breeze is soft,
The stars come out now, clear and bright.
I wonder at the beauty of the sky,
And my guitar plays away into the night.

The notes are slow, the tune languid,
It's a hard day's night, and I just might,
Play away my blues, fiddle with the strings,
As my guitar plays away into the night.

Nighttime is as good, if not better,
To while away the thoughs of light,
And think of the things of dawn and dusk,
As my guitar plays away into the night.

No worries, no deadlines, no hurries, no grind
No buses, no horns, no fusses, no blight
No thoughts to cloud my mind
As my guitar plays away into the night.

No voices, no television, no radio,
No friends, no birds screaming their plight,
No planes buzzing above, no telephones,
As my guitar plays away into the night.

There'll be no end to this soiree, never,
Till the sun comes out burning ever so slight,
I think I'll sit here till that dawn comes,
As my guitar plays away into the night.

I could just play forever, and ever,
As I forget my hearing, my voice, my sight,
My touch and all my senses, my feelings,
As my guitar plays away into the night.

Soon, on the morrow, there'll be more,
More chores to do, another day to fight,
But for now, that is a universe away,
As my guitar plays into the night.

Untitled, as a fitting title.

2007-02-09T22:13:00.000+05:30

Twinkle twinkle little star,
how I wonder who you are...

Behold, a baby. Or a toddler. Male or female, you don't know, can't know, what sort of human being will emerge. Will he be an artist, tormented by feelings and emotions, trying to express what he cannot? Will she be a dancer in childhood, forgetting all those lessons and practice in adolescence? Will he be a chauvinist or gallant? Will she be loose or virtuous? Will either ever ponder the difference, or just move on like everyone else?

The world, by its very existence, to me, seems incomplete. It is unfinished, as if the ultimate Programmer couldn't streamline things and left for Her coffee break, and quit Her job before ever coming back. This vortex inside my mind keeps making me wonder - is there a point to anything at all?

All these things that we are taught to care about - right and wrong, nice and bad, good and evil, they are now evidently shown to be highly subjective matters. Our dreams, which we are told are the mind's menanderings, wayword journeys of no importance, simply expressions of expression itself, are now of more import. My dreams mean more to me now. And thoughts are somewhere in between these dreams and reality.

For thoughts portray both dreams and reality. We think of what is, and what is not; of what could be, and what will definitely not. Of what ought to be, and what definitely should not. And whence from these directives? Whence from this guiding arrow of rightness? From within? Or from the collective without stretched across the vista of time?

Questions, more questions. And no answers, unless you seek them. And even then, only the ones that you decide to hold veracious for your own sake. Wherefrom then, is the guiding beacon to come in this journey from birth to the Life's Beyond? Am I to accept the preachers, the teachers, and the saying of varied classes of creatures? Am I to find meaning in what others have said, and keep it as the meaning for my own conscience?

Am I to consider any thought, any conjecture from my own mind worthless, unless sustained by support from the already collated wisdom of those having passed and engaged in passing in the without? Am I to peer suspiciously at any newfound notion that comes up an upstart in my brain?

These thoughts of thoughts are thoughts themselves. And not just thoughts at that, but thougts mingled with dreams and digressions from the established patter of thought. Do then, these thoughts, carry no weight in the world of dreams, as those hold down no weight in the world of thoughts? But then, are not these two worlds the same? The mind. My mind.

These two rivers merge, tumultous in their confluence. And nothing is clear enough in these waters.

So what remains? The self? But the self precludes any discussion with itself. There is too much haze, too much murkiness in the realm of consciousness, for me to try to see, to think of. Hie! Enough of thoughts. I shall sleep then, I think. Sleep, and dream.

Finally, a Quantumputer...

2007-02-09T18:23:00.000+05:30

Its here. Finally, humanity has arrived into the era of quantum computing. All our problems are solved! Hurrah!!!

Ok, aside from all the hype, this IS a major breakthrough for planet Earth's dominant residents. We have barely begun to understand quantum tech, and this promises to integrate it inextricably into our day-to-day lives. Take a look at the backlink (Click on the title of this post).

Fears are now bound to arise over the possibility of a real MULTIVAC scenario (for those of you who read sci-fi in English Class). Financial Optimization is just one of the fields this will revolutionize. I can't even fully contemplate of the boundless possibilities that this will open up for our scientists and technologists. And it comes from Canada, a hitherto relatively backwater techology state in terms of public technological research. Just goes to show that the underdog always has a few surprises in store.

For a quick peek into just what this is all about, visit :

QC on Wiki

This is a bit technical. I remember writing about QC in one of my II sem assignments on Emerging Technologies. I was scoffed at for trying to put sci-fi into a technical paper. Vindicated, is the word I believe, to be used now...

Quantum computers aren't a new concept. The idea has been around for years now ( QC over the Years )

Other revolutionary computing technologies coming to break us away from just digicomps (Digital Computers) are:

DNA Computers

Enzyme Computers

Moluecular Computers

Keep praying, techies...

Wishes.

2007-02-04T00:27:00.000+05:30

Even though you left his morning,
My night has already descended.
I just keep wishing on an empty black sky,
When will the darkness be ended?

Strangely I feel no thirst, no desire,
No hunger, except for the one in my heart.
Though it seems foolish, I'm holding on,
From this first day we are apart.

You see, it is not just the separation,
But the pospect of what will follow after,
Will this be but a comma in our song,
Or an end-of-the-book disaster?

I miss you, having you around here,
With all your faults, though fewer than mine,
I promise I'll love you more,
And treasure you more all the time.

The days go by - one by one they fly,
But the minutes barely creep past.
It is a dilemma and I often wonder why,
Wishes move so slow, and life so fast.

Whispering Wind

2007-02-03T19:22:00.000+05:30

This one was written over a period of a few months, on and off. It was finally completed in my head in Pune, while talking to someone.

Whispering Wind, Whispering Wind,
Where have you gone?
You've left me longing here,
For you in these verses of song.

Where do you journey, my lady?
Where does your voyage lead?
I hope you come back soon.
Every night to fate I plead...

On my knees I pray every night,
Ask destiny if it is fair,
That I'm left praying with all my might,
To once more smell you hair.

To wake up and clutch you near,
When my nightmares paint the mind red,
To hear you say, 'It's ok my dear'
'Just hold me and go back to bed'

Voyages often help people find them,
But where does your lone travel lead?
Okay, go, but come back then,
I'll just stay here and bleed.

Whispering wind, Whispering wind,
Please come back to me once more,
We'll just sail our kites and sing,
And it'll all be good like before...

Visit to a Student City

2007-02-03T17:15:00.000+05:30

Pune, the city of education. Also the city of military establishments. And more lately, the city of some serious construction. They're building everywhere, like there's no tomorrow. Or rather, like there is a long list of tomorrows, and they sure as hell intend to plan for them.

Not having been to a city undergoing that sort of constructino boom before, I was surprised to find girders and dug up roads everywhere. Adding to the chaos was the fact that no-body appears to follow any traffic rules. Maybe there simply are none.

Also, there were very few people lounging about. Pune is a city on the rise, where children of construction workers make Maggi Noodles on a portable stove, and go shopping for candies. Either the whole country has suddenly prospered, or something is out of the ordinary in Pune.

I wasn't allowed to have Maggi till very late in my school life. It was said to be 'wasteful' and 'bad for the health'. It was touted to be a luxury that only the uncultured enjoyed. Of course, later I learnt this was simply to keep me from asking from it. Didn't work.

So anyway, street-kids are making 2-minute noodles, an auto-ride costs the earth, and vada-pav is available alongside Dosas and tandoori rotis, not to mention chinese. And this is on the streets. Then you have malls that make you think you're in Gurgaon, and nightclubs more boisterous than the pitiable few in Delhi.

All this lends to a wonderful college experience in Pune. The people that I met, were very cultured, and at the same time as being 'hip', extremely polite and courteous. This is the good side of Pune.

The bad side, is that there are very, very, very few public amenities. By this term, I allude to the public restrooms, or rather the lack there-of. Besides this (to me) urgent lacking, there are also few good roads. The ride from the airport (which is quite a way from anywhere near the city) to Aundh make you wish you hadn't washed down that meal on the plane after all. Hanging on to your luggage, and yourself is enough without having time to really look around you the first time.

The next few times, are good enough, as you then have the sense to carry very little personal trappings for your expeditions. Bus rides are an experience I do not recommend in Pune (Speaking from a Delhi & Mumbai perspective).

Besides that, the main thing that kept me anxious was the fact that I was going to Pune for a reason. That was the Group-Process/Personal-Interview/Group-Task session to be held for aspirants of the prestigious management institution of the Symbiosis Institute for Business Management.

Very impressive indeed. But I had no time for such things as views and the impressing facade of VishwaBhawan. I was quite nervous about my first GP/PI/GT for an MBA school. And the anxiety turned out to be well founded. It was there that I realised that there was much to be anxious about. That I really hadn't prepared myself that well.

Although I made no obvious blunders, I did recognize instances where one could have been made through the lack of exhaustive previous preparation. And I thought about that a lot on the flight back. That helped immensely in the next GP/PI/GT round for yet another Insitution of the Symbiosis Family - the SIMS.

But more on that later. I must say a few words about the people that hosted me during my visit to Pune. Very wonderful people, kind, caring and deeply helpful. I didn't interact very much with them on our earlier meetings, but this time I found I could communicate and bond with them much better. I suppose this has more to do with my changing than any other reason.

I made quite a lot of new acquaintances there, and if any of you are reading this (and I do hope you are) HI!!!. In any case, that was more or less my account of the Pune Visit.

Get Rich or die tryin...

2007-01-30T01:25:00.000+05:30

Another rap song.

Rap on, rap on, baby put your damn cap on...

Rap don't need no lyrics, just get a good rhyme,
On-stage hysterics, and your record'll do fine.

Go to number one, go there non-stop.
And when it's all done, come back down from the top.
Put on a T-shirt, add some bling-bling
N' groove for all you're worth, do your speacial thing.

Oh, n' don' forget your cap, you can't rap,
Without your cap, no it aint good rap,
N' get a few belly dancers on your lap,
N' go singing about all the crap.

You've seen on out there, out on the street,
Go on about them cops, out on their beat,
An' all 'em homeless people beneath their plastic sheets,
An' all 'em boneless rich people walking by like blind sheep,
An' all 'em gunshots you've heard out in yer ghetto,
An' all 'em mugshots with the cops one of 'em's your photo.

Speak of all the stones you've found covered with blood,
Show 'em all the bones you found down in the mud,
Once you've shown 'em all these things you've shown me,
You'll have a good nice rap song, ma homie.

The Song of Rage

2007-01-30T01:04:00.000+05:30

Here is something I wrote last year, in a fit of anger. Anger at many things, all condensed into one fiery ball deep within me, that finally exploded at a single external spark. Thankfully, it didn't explode anywhere else, just inside me...

Here goes:

Oh what a night,
as the storm-cloud swell.
My future as black,
as the bottom of a well.

The one I loved, no longer could be mine.
The same old story, round the wheel of time.
And the ones I loved, I thought would help me through the storm.
Yet sinking in the midnight sea, alone I mourn.

Thinking back to the yesterdays, all the golden years.
Strangely thinking of happiness fills me with tears.
Miserable in my misery, in grief do I rage,
I'll burn every love book, every last page!

I'll kill and slaughter, be the devil incarnate.
I'll have no sons or daughters, I'll strangle my own fate.
I'll hit and roll, eat a witch n' a troll, There'll be darkness all around.
Be off with you gods, I said darkness all around...

...

You'll forsake me? Damn, i'll forsake you!
I'll torture myself with hot coals, do what you can do.

...

I don't give a shit, no not anymore,
Badmouth me, disown me, I'm not like before.
Yes it'll hurt me, bt I want it to hurt more.
Yes it'll burn my heart, so what, happened before.

...

I see lies now are, the way to be happy.
Try n' tell the truth, you'll find it's crappy.
Satan now rules, behold his domain.
And on crosses everywhere, behold cupids slain.

It's a dirty murky bloody world, compassion is dead.
Love lies swooning, bleeding the bed red.
And everytime somewhere, if a little love is born,
Hear the army of trolls, to stomp it out before morn.

And one day the last left angel, comes and says to me.
"Make peace, repent! Or you risk eternity."
"That I have already lost! Is this mockery?
I'll kill you too, leave, let me be!"

Still yet does the angel persist, wise and sage.
And I cannot control myself at this late stage.
She says love needs coming again in this dark age.
I shriek "Love no more!" and kill the angel in my rage...

...

For my sins, I want to burn i hell
And so after the murder, I drown the body in a well.
Oh what a night, as the storm-clouds swell.
And though madness overtakes me, I think perfectly well.

And then I dance around it, naked in the acid rain.
As my burnt skin melts, I revel in the pain.
Everytime it rains, I go and dace again.
Till no more flesh is left, just a few charred bones remain.

A fairytale I live in

2007-01-28T19:39:00.000+05:30

In a fairytale, the bad guys fail,
The good guys never give in.
The wicked plot to no avail,
A fairy tale I live in.

The fairy comes and makes it fine,
Life works out every time.
No-one ever misses a line,
A fairytale I live in.

Demons and the Devil, they try,
To make weak souls suffer and cry,
But I look them straight in the eye.
A fairytale I live in.

A solmen vow do I take,
To carry on for honor's sake,
Heaven my loved one's life make,
This fairytale I live in.

The City

2007-01-28T19:26:00.000+05:30

The city of Evil,
No good around here.
Get tortured by the Devil,
Always more than you can bear.

The city of darkness,
No roses here grow.
No pity, just indifference,
No hearts here show.

La ville de la mort,
Ou vous avez toujours tort,
De lo mouvant vie,
Une mauvais plaisanterie

The city of sin,
Of fury, hate and pain.
Of the corrosive din,
Of the falling acid rain.

The city of fear,
No purple hearts dare.
Look away, there's crime here,
They'll kill you too if you stare.

The city of fire,
Suffocate you with smoke.
A garrote of piano wire,
Hands clenched will you choke...

Energy Savings Bluster.

2007-01-28T18:57:00.000+05:30

Efforts and Examples.

Agreed, the government isn't doing much. But it isn't also doing nothing at all. The present government has promoted use and generation of energy from renewable sources, especially wind-turbines. Look at Tulsi Tanti, one of the richest people in India, who's built his empire entirely on Windmill-generated energy.

Efforts are on. The reason we like to think that efforts like these won't work in India, is because they haven't in the past. And that demoralizes us. We think that if we install solar panels on traffic lights, as have been done on some major intersections in Delhi, they'll eventually fall out of maintenance, and then be neglected. This sort of thinking is because this neglect has happened in the past, and we've seen it.

However, this lack of attention has been primarily due to the prevailing techno-phobia carried over from the previous generation's mindset. Every previous generation, rather. People said color TVs ruined eyes more than BWs. Or that Microwaves cause you to develop cancer later in life.

Even now, we have the ongoing furore in the world over GM-food.

The coming change

But what we ignore, or are rather unaware of, is that the mindset of people is changing. People are now getting more technology-tolerant, as technology pervades every facet of our lives. That is why every other person in India, no matter hi/her station in life has a mobile phone, over the earlier hullaboo about 'waves' causing cancer and tumours.

Now is the time for us to stirke the iron, for it is now hot. Energy-saving measures like promotion of CFLs have to be propagated throughtout the land. This can be done only if the Government ordains that CFLs will be used to light up every single government building in India. It isn't that big a problem, not even the distribution. All that is lacking is the will.

Once CFLs start to become common-place in government offices, they will come into use in people's homes as well.

Doing away with OPEC-reliance

Another measure is promotion of CNG. This can be successfully promulgated only after sufficient infrastructure is put in place. CNG stations need to be as ubiquitous as Petrol Pumps. The reason we are apprehensive about committing to such a venture is that there will be a huge initial investment on the expenditure incurred in installing the stations, building pipelines to transport the LNG, and conversion kit subsidies.

However, if we look at the effects on the long term scenario, savings can be effected by not having to incur expenditure on recurring transportation charges as is currently incurred by transportation of petrol and other petroleum products by trucks and Rail.

There itself is a huge savings chunk. Next, maintenance os the pipeline, though a minor expense incurred regularly, will be much less than expenses incurred on maintenance of the trucks and railway containers that do current transportation of petrol etc.

Other ideas.

This is just one idea. Others include finally utilizing geothermal andsolar energy. We have lots of deserts. Installing solar furnaces to run thermal power stations, installing tens of sq. kms worth of photo-voltaic cells, etc can be immense sources of renewable energy.

Also, distribution of energy can be more efficient than it is today. We lose about half of the energy (electricity) that is produced to transportation loses. This is clubbed together with electricity theft and loss of quality. If we improve upon our infrastructure, that alone can increase our usable energy by atleast 25-30 %. This translates not only into efficient usage of something that is currently being used poorly, but also means that when we increase our energy genration capacity in the future, the positive effects will not be ameliorated by weak distribution networks.

There is immense scope for improvement in our energy sector. Whether or not privatization will help push us along that way is an open question. As far as I am concerned, it will help to some extent, as it has helped in other sectors. However a strong structure of regulations and procedures has to be laid down to ensure that the private sector doesn't stick only to icreasing profits, but helps attain the government's goals also while earning for itself. This co-existence is possible. It is only up to us to take it forward.

My God, It's a Martian!!!

2007-01-18T22:02:00.001+05:30

Browsing on Wikipedia, I came across a very strange sight. A planetary feature on Mars that looks like a human face. Captivating at first sight, it takes time and a little more reading to realize that it is a photo taken by one of the old Vking explorer space-crafts.

Going on a bit more in this vein, I decided to explore further, remembering having read somewhere about a prehistoric cave painting somewhere in South America depicting an astronauht and a map to Mars. I wiki-ed again, and quite enjoyed reading up on the subject on The Ancienct Astronaut Theories page on Wikipedia.

If you're interested in that kind of stuff, you might also want to look at this. It shows the history of surface water on Mars over the last few billion years ago. "B.Y.A" stands for "Billion Years Ago" I suppose.

These figures in the pic look remarkably like spacemen, especially more so considering they were painted an estimated 10,000 years ago.

Wrapping up this shortie, I remember the zeal that swept the world of teenage schoolboys when NASA announced that they might have discovered bacteria on Mars What a fizzle that turned out to be. Still, hope lives on eternal, in SETI and other efforts.

Happy New Year Saddam.

2006-12-31T22:54:00.000+05:30

First they came for the Jews
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for the Communists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for me
and there was no one left
to speak out for me.

-Pastor Martin Niemöller

So the tyrant is dead. Captured, tormented, tried and finally killed, at the behest of another. But do not lose hope, all who dare to defy tyranny, in one form or another. There will always be a Saddam. There will always be an Osama. There will always be someone to take the blame. Just as there will always be someone doing the blaming.

What Bush has done, needs no repeating here. Anyone with access to Farenheit 911 or Loose Change (2nd Edition) knows. What is amazing is the indifference India feels towards the death of a person who was the ruler of a nation. We are a country that embodies the very spirit of possibility, and we made no protest to the Big Brother.

He was hanged for atrocities. What atrocities? Getting a lot of people killed. More than the number of US soldiers killed in Iraq? I don't think so.

Saddam was invaded as a distraction. It was a diversion from Afghanistan, when noone fonud Osama, and the deat toll kept mounting with no results. At first it was for WMDs. Then Support for Al-Quaeeda. Then atrocities.

Bunch of hypocrites. Messing around with another country to hide their own failures of government. Pointing to outside the country with big flashing signs, to lure away the eye from the disasters inside.

It has been the policy of every government, everywhere, everytime. Whenever something bad happens due to your incompetence, and you can't control it, make up a bigger danger somewhere else, point to it, and let the blunder fade away.

Kargil was the same thing. Somalia. Kosovo. Chechnya. Israel's innumerable wars. Hamas and Palestine. Egypt/Syria/Jordan's conflicts with Israel. Bangladesh, the LTTE...

Everytime something goes wrong, we are pointed out one of these, and given guilt and concern to feel.

I wonder if Saddam is happy wherever he is. Can't be worse than living in your own country, being tried by invaders, for crimes that had nothing to do with them. How can anyone stand all these holier-than-thou global evangelists anyway? The cheek of them all....

Wake up. They came for Osama. They came for Saddam. They've been bedamning Castro and Chavez. They want to set up puppets and bootlickers in countries they invade. Everywhere a hint of self-reliance, a bit of spine appears on the scene, there you have GI Joes to the 'rescue'.

The world's policeman has become the world's bully. And we are all keeping quiet, except for a few like Venezuela. Even half of Americans apologized for voting Bush back into power.

And still there are people who keep praising his 'statesmanship'.

Farenheit 911 should be made compulsory-viewing in the schools and colleges of every country that claims to foster free-thinkers and mature mindsets. We will not be bullied any longer. We will not silently go under the tide. We will no be quiet, and suffer one by one. We will be heard. We will make sure we are heard. And if they try to drown our voices in the noise of meaningless platitudes or hypocritic cliches, then by God we will crush them. For then, the tide of time would have turned, and time will, finally, be on our side.

Echoes of Hypocrisy

2006-11-13T16:20:00.000+05:30

Having had a moderately satisfactory day so far, I was watching some TV, cooling down after the exam in the morning. There was this pretty good movie showing, and I was slowly letting my mind unravel, letting thoughts cease as I let the idiot box take over.

Then something annoying happened. For reasons known only to the patron saints of cable-TV operators, the channel changed. I was suddenly faced with a couple of young 'desirable' Indians of opposing sexes dancing about in some exotic locale. Another 'Indian' Music Video. To search for my movie channel, I began flipping the remote, but stopped after the very first attempt.

There, on a news channel, was a story about public outrage against the rape-mutilation-massacre of the Dalit family in a village near Nagpur. I'd read about it first a few weeks ago, in the Tehelka weekly, before any other media instrument picked it up.

That Sunday was a pretty gruesome one, after reading in detail about what had been done to those women. Notice, I do not use the adjective 'poor' here. They were not weak in any sense of the word. It takes courage beyond measure to stand up against a village full of people out to get you, using the law to force circumstances on you to such a flashpoint that you no longer care about right or wrong. You just care about standing up, and making sure NOONE gets your land.

That woman, that mother, stood up. She tried her level best not to let the 'higher' caste villagers twist the law to strip her of her land. She defied the powers that be, and she was struck down. Nowhere, in any report by any media piece, does it mention that she asked for mercy, that she pleaded to be let go except for her children to be spared the fate reserved for her. Can you imagine what simple courage it must take? Can you imagine the very force of her will holding her mind together? I tremble at the very thought of it. My hands begin to shake a little, and blood courses through my back. I feel adrenalin pumping into my bloodstream as my anger boils out from the hitherto suppressed state.

Man, am I mad. If I could, I would personally strangle each of those imbeciles, who refuse to look above the differences and bigotry passed onto them from their even more hateful predecessors. This is infinitely viler than any typical Sicilian family vendetta.

But then, I would regret it once I cooled down. Violence is not the way. What is needed here is some common sense. And not on part of those villagers, but by you and me.

What do we expect them to do? Suddenly become astute edifices of morality and pillars of character the moment we leave then with their new water well?

Where are all the religious leaders? Why do they waste their time fighting with each other over points of dogma instead of going to such villages and seeing that peace is maintained, honor grown.

Why do political leaders building their mandate on divisions of caste not cater to those of their caste? Why? Why do the Dalit leaders not cater to the Dalits? As they claim to be worried about the prospects of the oppressed castes, why do they forget about it the next day after the elections?

And why are we, the educated stupid enough to hold the opinion that if the oppressed don't mind the leaders forgetting them after ballot, why should we care? If they are stupid enough to fall for the same ploy every five years, why bother trying to persuade them that a vote is power to change your lot, not something to be exchanged for a bottle or a blanket?

The country is going downhill, even if you choose to ignore the massacres and look only at Delhi's bid for the Olympics. But the instances of human rights violations are only increasing, and the percentage of actual number of crimes these reports represent are decreasing. This means that while we see a huge increase in the number of massacres and such reported to the common man, we mistakenly attribute this surge to more cases being reported out of the total. What we do not see is that the total is increasing exponentially.

The per-capita income of the country is increasing, even if mostly because of the IT sector. Yet the number of suicides because of indebtedness among farmers is increasing. People are killing themselves over loans of Rs 8000. More and more children are being sold ever year.

The rich grow richer, and we see Starbucks and Corvettes coming to India. The urban India. Far away from the shining lights, I wouldn't be surprised if the average life expectancy increasing only means more suffering per life, per person.

And all the while, our 'leaders' the trustworthy stalwarts to whom we've entrusted the future and present of our country, are walking out of parliament, causing losses in the Crores, just to protest against a remark or two made by one belonging to the other party.

This situation is so ludicrous, that if it weren't so gruesome as well, it'd be hilarious. I'd be laughing my head off if this had been a novel. Yet it isn't. Every time Mirth starts to creep up in my mind, at the absolute comedy of errors if viewed from a detached perspective, the image of Bhaiyyalal hiding behind a pile of hay, watching as his world is brought to ruin in front of him, shatters that perspective. It squashes the mirth, and feeds it to the worms of disgust and rage.

How dare anyone commit such a crime in my country, and then claim to have the right to do so, simply because he has the same last name as a rishi a thousand years ago?

The people of India have always prided themselves on having descended from great sages. Their castes and 'gotra's are testaments to the claim. I am supposed to have descended from some fellow named Jaimini. Personally, if you ask me, it seems like a girl's name. However, if all you zealots out there think me making fun of a name is heresy, let me tell you that if I really am descended from that chap, and all your stories

About the purity of character being preserved through bloodlines are correct, then if this Jaimini couldn't take a joke, he was no ancestor of mine. This supposition may be verified by judging the 'practical joker quotient' of the last three members in my bloodline. (I had to be on my guard every time I went to visit my grandparents.)

Anyway, coming back to the topic, if any sage were to know of what crimes his descendants have white-washed with his name over the ages, he'd not only turn in his grave, he'd kill himself a million times over. There is no caste that has not been completely evil at times.

And still we go on killing each other. Not only killing each other, but raping little girls. I understand that the finer qualities of life leave you, and your sensibilities desert you, if you lead a hard life, but can you ever, ever at all justify rape? If you can, you were never a good man to start with, and no justifications and mitigations hold water.

Now, come to the psychological aspect of the whole thing. A family is massacred, after rape. Or even before (There are reports of shades of necrophilia.) The whole village watches. Even the women. And they all go back and eat their dinner, and make love and go to sleep. Something is wrong here.

It looks like the entire village is neurotic. How can a group of people do this, (and in the open at that), and then go on living as if nothing interesting happened? What is even more neurotic, is that there is no cry raised by the media till the blogs picked it up, and there is no candle-light vigil for the victims. Sure, Jessica Lal and Ms. Matoo were victims too, but are they more important to us simply because they were urban, and this family was not? If there were even a shred of decency in us, 'We, the People' would do something about this. Even if just a silent protest.

Traders threaten to get violent if their livelihoods are taken away, everybody talks about 'Gandhigiri', while the film that started this resurge in affection for the Old Man's methods goes to the UN, and there is not even one poster demanding punishment for the perpetrators of the massacre?

Governments are toppled in a large number of states over issues such as the price of onions, the availability of power and water, reservations in institutions for HIGHER education, while no-one even look at the fact that the officers and men that our government pays to keep justice in our country refuse to file even an FIR on matters like these? Are we blind? Or just plain stupid?

Where is this country going if Manmohan Singh is more concerned about out GDP growth rate than Surekha and Bhaiyyalal? The sheer gall of every political party confounds me. In a few days, after this story is picked up by the media in regional languages, and starts getting to the rural population in other areas, those parties that pride themselves on taking care of the 'oppressed' will stage protests and rallies in the villages, trying to get the message across that if they are voted into power, nothing like this will
happen in other areas.

What is beyond disgust is that these people are not actively seeking out conflicts like in the little village near Nagpur, and trying to put out the fire before it explodes in a shower of hot sparks that scalds everyone close by.

In the Second World War, the Underground of any country occupied by the Nazis, be it France or Poland went looking for trouble. They tried to protect all citizens that the Nazis might be persecuting, or be looking for. The USA entered the war in Iraq to 'protect the people' from the atrocities of their ruler.

India decided to give aid to Sri Lanka at the height of the LTTE militancy. Thousands of people have died in that piece of mountainous terrain between the two unequal 'halves' of Hindustan, all for a few hundred square kilometers of snow ice, and rock. Millions of millions of dollars have been spent over the years. And yet when the PM announces a special compensation scheme for the farmers in India, they continue to kill themselves.

What does all this talk tell us? That India has not got it's priorities straight! Forget about Pakistan. They are not, and will never be able to invade us successfully. We don't have to have arms enough to take on the entire world. Concentrate on tactical weapons, strategic ones that shall allow you to annihilate any aggressor, and then leave the arms race.

Weapons are a necessity, for you never know when the world's morals will change. Yet today it is possible to have a nuclear arsenal. Do you think we could ever dream of taking on the US in a no-holds-barred conflict? If their existence were threatened, we'd be a land of radioactive dust in a matter of hours. And the environment be damned.

The point is, build up your effective arsenal, while at the same time cutting down on recurring costs. Why is it necessary to keep so many troops in Siachen? If anyone attacks, blast the valley out of existence, and ask questions later. You think China would ask if it was indeed us were we to try to break through Nathu La?

And what if we do accede Kashmir to Pakistan? Or if that sounds like too extreme a step, hold a referendum in the state, asking the people if they'd rather be ruled by one of the countries, or prefer Independence. Get all your extra security there, ask for international aid in keeping the vote impartial, and guarantee that no one will face retribution for voicing their opinion. Then let us see just how right we are to hold on to that area. If Kashmir wants us, then by the 330 million Gods, go in and get it all. If anyone tries to stop you, blast them off the face of the Earth. If the military bigwigs like the US try to play the holier than thou attitude, ask where they were hiding when Israel attacked Lebanon. And if the Kashmiris would rather be on their own, leave them to their peace. We need to be practical about our problem areas, not sentimental.

Harping about economic reprioritization is fine, but till there is a climate where people can live without fear of another Bhotmangle fate, or without having to kill themselves over an amount small enough to not cause even a fresh employee in the lowest-rung call-center to fret, India will never be moving forward.

In fact, I wonder if we have ever stop this backward slant? Ever since 1947, things have only been getting worse.

I read in a book once, that no nation can last long on conscripts. There was a tradition in Rome, of mothers telling their sons who volunteered for the army, "Come back with your shield, or on it." Later this tradition declined, so did Rome.

We are riding this wave of prosperity on the backs of those in Orissa, and in Andhra Pradesh. Premium fabric retailers make a few thousands for the cotton that gets the farmer not even enough to eat two times a day.

How long can this economic instability last? Every system has to come to equilibrium. But sometimes, if you push the envelope too far, the system will never come back to equilibrium. This is known to us as Escape velocity, or sometimes, even as Critical Mass.

India is a pendulum, swinging further out with every stroke. And if nothing is done to slow the stroke down, there will come a time when the pendulum will swing away from the lynch-pin, escape away from the supporting structure, and the assembly will fall apart. Anarchy doesn't seem so fanciful in the not-so-distant future. In fact, I wonder if we're not already there...

Rethinking Life

2006-11-07T02:35:00.000+05:30

A re-organisation of my thoughts was long overdue. I keep changing my thinking pattern every few months, consciously. Here something I wrote today, after a lot of thinking, and some realizations. May not make a lot of sense to a lot of you. To others, it might. Happy reading.

I was especially tense today. The morning started out fine. Though I was exhausted, recovering from the fever I was suffering from last night, mentally I was pretty calm. However, as the day wore on and my thoughts turned to the approaching CAT examination, this feeling of inadequacy crept up. I felt stupid, not having taken the opportunity of the last few months, to better myself, and try to make my future a little brighter.

I skipped college, not feeling up to driving, and stayed in bed all the time, feeling mentally fatigued, not just physically tired. Yet towards the evening, I decided to gather up what resources I could muster up, and attend the seminar last-minute preparation tips. It wasn't very far off, so I thought I could risk it. Taking a lot of vitamin C tabs with me, I wound up at the venue a little later than the scheduled commencement. Still, I managed to get in, and for the next two hours, the speaker tried to assuage our (the students') doubts about the CAT. While I didn't have an epiphany at any of the things he said, I did feel a lot better by laughing half the time. That guy really knows how to get at the funny side of people. Very, very clever speaker. Witty beyond belief.

Anyhow, after the session, I decided to drop a friend off at his pad (part of my do good drive to change my aloof nature). And we got talking at a coffee house on the way. We discussed, of all things, mathematics. While I'm no moron, maths is generally not something I talk about to people who are, by nature, or inclination, very good at it.

So there we were. After I dropped that fellow off (reminder, get a coffee date with Abir), I decided to do some shopping, and picked up some more medicines that we were running out of at home, and some food. It was there, sometime, that I realised that I wouldn't let this sickness get me down. I was feeling very low. My self-esteem usually plummets whenever I go under the weather. Yet this time, I decided that you are only as sick as you feel. And believing that the human body is made of sterner stuff than this, I did all tasks with the same gusto I usually do. That made me feel a lot better.

And now, after having talked with my girl, I feel a lot better indeed. Looking back on the last few weeks, although I've really not studied that much, I feel I've realised something that people in CL have been telling me for so long, in one form or the other. CAT is not about getting the maximum marks. It is about taking decisions. It is about not getting in too deep inside the question paper, and forgetting who you are. It is about not forgetting that a quarter of a million people are giving the same exam as you are, and you can beat the pants off them in a lot of fields. That you are a much better person for not approaching this exam with awe or anxiety. It is about remembering that you have consistently performed above 90 % of the people who gave the same exams as you, even worldwide. Ok, so Indians are smarter than the rest when it comes to math. But the exam isn't really about the math, is it?

To break it down, I'm not anxious about the CAT anymore. I know a lot of people have a lot of expectations from me, especially as I've been very good at academics in college. Yet it isn't their life we're talking about here. My dad once told me, life isn't about what others see you as, it's what you see yourself as. He is a very wise man.

So I could have studied really hard and gotten 90% in class 12. I didn't. I could have studied really hard and gotten into an elite Engg. college. I'd have had my life made then. I didn't. I could have studied really hard and gotten outside the country on a scholarship, I didn't.

The thing to see here, however, is that all that time, I've been happy beyond belief. I was ecstatic in college, though I've come down now. I was happy in classes 11 and 12, not topping every time, but having one hell of a time just being what I was, and had never been so openly before that.

I think I'll still be happy even if I don't get into the IIMs. I know I can. If things go well, if the paper isn't hopeless, and if I don't goof up. But what if they don't. That was what worried me, to this day. Now I'm not going to fret about it.

I know a lot of money isn't what I'm looking for in life. It would be nice, but I don't plan to live in the office. I want to do whatever I want to, whenever I want to. That doesn't however, include joining a club for the ultra-rich. I'd be happy with enough money to pay the bills, have a little fun now and then, and save up a little for later. That's all. If my dad could rear two children, providing as plentifully as he did, I'm sure I could provide for two people even just adequately. So we won't go to Hawaii. ;) The hills in Uttaranchal aren't really that bad.

Another thing that pops up from time to time is, how on earth do I plan to convince the parents of my lady-love to like me, if I don't have an enviable job, and tons of money to throw around. The answer came up today. Even if I had that much money, would I want to do all that? Would I show off, when I don't even like bragging about my marks now? Today when my friend told some of his pals that I had been on the Toppers list three times in a row now, and a few times before, I got embarrased, and really didn't know how to answer their questions about "How exactly do I do it too?"

Money really isn't everything, and it's even less to me. You could say that I'm talking like that, just because I haven't faced poverty yet, or because I haven't got bills to pay right now. As my parents are paying them.

So what if I get a really low-paying job, and can't afford to buy a car without a loan. Hell if it comes to that, I'll save up a little, and try the share market or something. We'll see. Life is supposed to be a big adventure. I wouldn't want fiscal cheat codes all the time.

I realize that this has now started to sound like me trying to convince myself that money isn't everything. But I really do believe that. What about when I'm with Her? Money is not even in the picture then, and the money I have now isn't even mine. While I'm no saint, even I'll admit I'm responsible enough not to squander my parents' money like anything. Yet it really isn't that important. If I have no money a particular week, I don't go out, or atleast don't spend. That simple. If you don't have any money, you don't have to worry about saving it.

So I guess it'll be alright. It's just like girlfriends. It's great, but though it feels like the world ended the day you fall apart, for whatever reason, the world goes on after that. And you really do smile on some later day. And the sun shines, and the breeze blows, and you laugh with friends. Oh, and coffee still smells great.

If all else fails, I have my guitar. Things'll be alright. So no worries now. If I do crack it, great. A boon from God. If not, I'll have things to do, and people to meet. But whatever come, I'll have places to go, and miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go before I sleep.

____

"If you can dream, and not make dreams your master.
If you can think, and not make thoughts your aim.
If you can meet with both triumph and disaster.
And treat those two impostostors just the same.
If you can bear to hear the words you've spoken.
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools.
And see the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop to build 'em up with worn out tools." - Kipling.

Humans and Fantasy (recovered post)

2006-09-29T22:44:00.000+05:30

How we strive to break away from what we see as the 'Older Generation'! We see ourselves as somehow, in some mystic way, better than those who went before us. We like to belive that we are better, smarter, and more mature than our forebears were at our age.

But are we right? I do not think so.

Children often find it hard to believe that their parents could have had a love-lfe before they married. And the thought that something like that still continues, is "Eww!!!! Gross!!!!".

Funny. Really funny. Because when these children grow up, they do exactly the same things. That is how the human race proliferates. Social mores are constantly being churned, to create a dynamic environment, so as to not allow ennui to set in. If that happens, the younger generation will probably be the last.

Imagine, if the world wasn't the way about morality the way it is. Not just about sexual mores, though they are a good example. We decry the lack of proper sexaual education to the generation growing up, and cry that they may be influenced by
'undesirable elements' in this age of instant information access.

Even leaving aside the fact that this hullaboo is nothing but an attempt to shift responsibility, let us try to imagine how life would be if there WAS proper sex-ed, involving both emotional and physical issues.

We would be taught about love, sex, happiness, relationships, and marriage (among much else). We would sit in a classroom listening to lectures. Do you think it would be fun, if the subject wasn't taboo otherwise in society?

Mathematics is almost as integral to human existence as sex, (although in an obviously different way, despite the objections of some mathematicians to the contrary) yet are we all enthusiastic about Calculus - II, whispering and exchanging sly grins amongst ourselves when the professor has his back to us?

Of course not.

Yet make mathematical knowledge the stronghold of a select few, and the society will change. Mathematicians will be revered as long as they keep their secrets to themselves.

What is commonplace inevitably acquires the tag of 'worthless' to growing minds. What is routine rarely, if ever, holds their imaginations enthralled. This is the way we humans work, how our minds function.

And this is not relegated to the teenagers alone. The immense industry dedicated to producing juicy Tabloids lays rest to that misconception. All of us like the uncommon. The spicy, the unusual, the unexperienced. We like to dream, to fantasise about what we have no idea about. I hardly think Angelina Jolie sees herself the way the hordes of Papparazzi and the Tabloid readers do...

This is what we are, who we are. Fantasy is part of our humanity. For what is a man without imagination?

The right to Live (and Die)

2006-09-29T22:18:00.000+05:30

What I can never get, is why people make such a fuss out of suicides. This morning in the paper, I was again faced with the news of someone taking their own life. This time around though, it was a 60 yr old lady who did it as part of a religious ritual (She was a Jain). Half of the media pundits are saying it is a disguised suicide, the other half intoning that religious rituals are sacrosant, and thus above questioning on the so-called moral grounds.

But what no-one here is saying, is that if a man has the right to live, (declared a natural human right, not a constitutional one), why not one to die?

To deny a person the right to die is simply hypocrisy, nothing more. The argument that is usually put forward, to counter the validity of granting legitimacy to suicides is that a person is not in his/her rational state of mind when they decide to kill themselves.

As if we, sitting here, on our chairs are. A whole load of bull. Who is anyone to dictate whether I live or die? Who is anyone to push his/her morality over me, if I should choose that path?

Noone.

The only reason, the only real reason that suicide is taboo, is because it is detrimental to the society as a whole. If a man removes himself from this world, he is od no more use to the society. And so the society tries to prevent you from taking that step.

In India, I find something even more bizarre. Attempt to suicide is an offence. You can be booked for it. I find that so ludicruously insane that I am at times flabbergasted as to how to respons to such a situation.

The world is slowly going daft infront of my eyes, and according to the newly changing standards of sanity, it isn't. Which must mean that according to these new standards, I am going insane.

Striving to come back to the topic under the spot here, why is it so hard for us to imagine that a person might NOT be under duress, might not be under the influence of depressives, might not be in an unbalanced state of mind, and still may choose to not live any further?

The almost haughty expectancy of people to seemingly demand that every other person view life as AS sacred as they do, is contemptible.

The moment we take away the right to die, we are no longer a society that is a guarantor of liberty. For where is the liberty here? It is only a partial liberty.

It may be likened to the state of the pre-reform days in the US. Where masters of an estate may not kill the slave (in some cases) but may torture them in any other way they want.

We speak of the men of our Armies with great pride. We are proud of them, and respect them, for they are willing to lay down their lives for our security. There we are not talking about the sacntity of life, as our security is at stake, if those lives are held sacred. So human life is not so sacred after all, even in the so-call modern world.

Armymen may die, if they so choose, but only in the service of others. They may die no other way, with honour. For a jawan to shoot himself under the stress of not being able to go home to take care of his sick parents, who are on their deathbed, when there is no one else to look after them, is perhaps the most understandable of situations. The man felt so inadequate, that he saw no point in living any longer if he counld not fulfil his obligations to those most basic of masters - conscience and afection.

And this is not hypothetical, it has happened. Even in such cases, the suicide is viewed with contempt, as a sign of weakness. If that jawan had a sister, no youth would marry her. She would be 'tainted' forever by her brother's 'folly'.

What I see is honour. Perhaps the old Samurai of Japan would agree here. Suicide was the honourable way out to them, not the weak one. Hara-kiri is perhaps one of the best systems of restoring honour in the world, giving the incompetent to reclaim his respect in others' eyes by the one thing that was totally in his grasp. His death.

But as we move away from those times, there is more to the revulsion of suicide than simple selfishness. We are increasingly moving ourselves away from death, mentally. We see new medicines, we see less conflict, and lesser war deaths. We see very old people and hope to live longer than even them. And we try not to think about death.

Children are taught to not think about it, not being told if there a death in the family. Adolescents' queries are brushed away, and by the time they enter adulthood, they are already conditioned to maintain the status quo, and carry it forward in time, in turn teaching their youngers.

Civilised? I think not. What we are becoming is more and more deluded. And we are the ones doing the deluding.

So I say, Give me the right to live as I may make my life, that is my birth right. And Give me the right to die as I make choose to, that is my death right.

Oh my God!!!

2006-09-21T23:27:00.000+05:30

Firstly, about my view on religion.

I'm not sure of what other people go through when they re-think religion after their teens, but I have been on both sides of the spectrum. During my early teens, I was against all forms of organised religion. Vehemently. However, as I've grown older, in the last few years I've noticed that not only have I developed a tolerance for other people's beliefs, but I've become curious about them as well.

Mostly, I find people look to religion to find meaning for their lives. I can never understand that. To me, my life has a meaning, and always will. Disaffection, and dissatisfaction are all part of life, though not continuously. So I have not (yet) turned to religion (or anything else to do with God) in an effort to escape some malady, or find something higher.

I see the perpectives of both orthodox believers and outspoken atheists, and find their arguments valid in themselves. And so too for the agnostics. However, I do not find that my thoughts on God and his plans for us all fall into any of these finely demarcated zones.

I follow what you might call a 'personal religion'. All acts are determined by my conscience. For I believe enough in my morality and ethics that I am convinced that any decision of right or wrong, that I take in line with my innnermost voice, will not be the wrong one, ever. It may not be the perfect one, but it will be the one that shall allow the most peace for my soul.

My conscience is not absolute, and to think so would be fallacious. And so, I keep learning from the world around me. When I read the biography of Swami Vivekananda, I found a good many things that so moved me, that I adopted them into my very way of thinking. (And that is pretty hard, I assure you. Ask anyone who tries to quit smoking how difficult it is to change one's nature, even if you try actively).

My father is a member of the ISKON, and at an age of 13, I read an article in one of their magazines (Back to Godhead) that struck me as phenomenal. And ever since I have given a lot of importance to my conscience.

I read the Gospels according to Luke and Mathew, and parts of the Bible (especially the Book of Revelations), and found a few things to change my thinking.

I read parts of the Qu'uran, and there were a few verses, that moved me intensely.

I read an abridged translation of the Torah, and found it very similar to our Rigveda.

The Samveda and the Yajurveda, the Gita, the Ramayan, and the works of Swami Vivekanada are some of the works of Hindu dharma and thought that I've read in the last 4 years or so.

The main point of listing out all these, is that I do not hold any of them to be sacred. The combination of their contributions to my way of thinking, is why I value them so much, and hold that all of the above are really pieces of wonder (not as in being very well written, but as in their power to move and change different types of people).

That is my present view on religion.

As for rituals, I do not practise any, unless I know the reason behind each one. Those that are purely symbolic, I skip as well, for I have no use of ornamental abstractions of concepts. Those with significance to a particular thought system i value and follow conscientiously.

For example, while i do not follow most (superstitional) prejudices about not getting a haircut on tuesday or buying new things on a saturday, I do follow pujas and havans rigourously, sticking to the exact procedure, as I understand it, not as someone tries to force on me.

This is about all I have to say for now on this subject. The next time, I'll probably get to talking about my views on the Vedic religion and all that has corrupted it in modern times.

On intangibiliy

2006-09-21T23:25:00.000+05:30

If everything is absolute, it ought to have become apparent to atleast a few of us by now, no? We humans have been on this planet for a long, long time, and yet this is one of the most fundamental question before us all today.

All conceptions of 'destiny' and 'fate' stem primarily from the ideal of a religion in our lives. How many have come up with the idea of determinism without the help of atleast one religious influence.

If everything is pre-determined, why exist? There has to be a reason it is pre-determined. Nature has a way of simplifying processes. If the state of the universe were to only go from point A to point B, maybe that would be a natural transition, or simultaneous. Why didn't we go from the Big Bang to the Big Crunch directly( or cold whimper, or heat death, whichever theory you prefer.)

Personally, the pulsating theory of the universe is fascinating, and perhaps enticing to the human psyche, for it doesn't make you face up with finalities. We are not geared up to handle those very well. That is why religion is the biggest source of solace to us whenever there is a great tragedy in our lives.

I'm not saying that Religion is the Opiate of the Masses, but then I'm not saying its not. It could be. And it just could be, that it is, in actuality, in the right, over science, and at the same time, serves its task of being the opiate....

We will never be able to quantify God, or fate, or destiny. For those are pure abstract concepts that we have dreamt up. If there is God, He sure as hell doesn't have to conform to our concept of Him, right? And all religious philosophy is formed by people, not divinity. So, to believe that what some council of priests decided centuries back is holy writ, would be an injustice to religion itself, not just stupid.

On tangibility

2006-09-21T23:21:00.000+05:30

If change is the only absolute, then it is an absolute, and thus negating the hypothesis that there are no absolutes. It is a verbal paradox.

Things change over time, as do our perceptions of them. So, a question that may be asked is, Do we feel that nothing is constant, only because our perceptions of the world are ever-changing, owing to our mental development?

Maybe, things are essentially absolute, all that changes is our view of these absolutes. Like a shadow, the length and breadth of what we see, changes with time, the object itself remaining absolute.

Our emotional state often plays a major role in what we see as 'good' or 'bad'. Our conscience is often subject to our feelings. And this is not hypocrisy, but merely human nature.

This is why being unbiased towards all is so very dificult.

Another question. If so many of us believe that there are no absolutes, why is it so hard for us to accept that what is written in our historical epics such as the Mahabharata and the Ramayana is actually true?

Maybe the things we find incredulous were not so extra-ordinary then. And since our perceptions often define what we see as 'real' and 'possible', maybe there really was a "Pushpa-wahan".

Also, maybe Jesus really did walk on water. Maybe Moses did part the Red Sea. Maybe Adam and Eve really were fortunate enough to have lived in the Garden of Eden. And maybe the Devil really is real.

But if we do not believe in these things, then they are not real to us. Then if we see David Blaine rising up in the air, we will think of hidden wires and high power magnets. But to the man who believes, the thousands of statues of Shri Ganesh drinking milk was real.

I saw that, and I was flabbergasted. I suppose because I didn't have my mind made up regarding God (and still don't), I didn't see it as a miracle. And yet since I was not (and continue not to be) an atheist, I did not automatically dismiss it as skuldeggery.

So I am still undecided about it. Things like these make you wonder. Just a thought.

India and Foreign Policy

2006-09-21T23:14:00.000+05:30

Once, I published a little something somewhere, in response to an allegation that India was being trapped in 'it's foreign policy' (sic). Having views to the contrary at the time, I decided to rebutt with this:

I don't think India is being trapped into anything. We're not in a position to be bullied into towing anyone's line. India is one of the few nations in the world that managed to stay neutral during the Cold War, even starting the NAM for countries not wanting to be embroiled in a power-bloc race.

India is also one of the few countries that developed nuclear weapons, and after the sanctions imposed by the world's biggest economies following the Pokhran Tests, still managed to survive economically very well.

Not only that, we have survived most economic disasters in the last fifty years. This comes from an innate sense of self-sufficiency. How many of your chests swell with pride when you hear that Space program is making progress, or that our missiles have been tested successfully? HAL has come out with one of the best high-alt helis recently (saw it yesterday on the news) and a adv Jet Trainer as well.

All this, and more, inspite of vested interests (from many sources) trying to keep us to stick to a more moderate pace, if not completely stagnant.

Let us also not forget that our GDP is competing with that of China's. To really see the enormity of the fact, try comparing labour organization, industrial regulation, and manufacturing subsidies from both countries.

We both got independent at around the same time. Us in '47, them in '49 (if I remember correctly). They subsequently went under communism and dictatorship. We have followed democracy for most of our history (leaving aside the Emergency). There were (and still are) many who say that India would have better realised Her potential if Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose had had his way and imposed a firmer government on the country.

That could be, but remember this. Inspite of all the party-feuding, all the dissensions, all the CIA moles, all the terrorists, all the Naxals, all the infighting, all the Harshad Mehtas, all the Kargils, all the Tsunamis, all the Punjab Militancies, all the Manipurs, all the Ayodhyas, all the Mandal Commisions, all the Reservation, all the conflicts with our neighbors, all the LTTE debacles, all the efforts diverted towards peacekeeping missions throughout the world, all the Mumbai Blasts, all the Delhi Blasts, all the almost daily Kashmir Blasts, all the pain and all the suffering, we have emerged as one of the foremost countries of the world today.

India is a country one can no longer afford to ignore.

From being a vassal state under the Mughals, from being one of the colonies of the British, exploited mercilessly with no regard for the Indian future, we have forged ourselves an Indian future. One that caused evey one of us to wake up some day, look at the flag hanging from a public building somewhere, and be proud to belong here.

So, no, I do not believe that India is being trapped in anything of a foreign policy mesh.

If all of you have followed the WTO situation as closely as I have, you will see that India is not ready to give into the US's demand for allowing US agri products (highly subsidized) into the Indian Market freely. This is simply economic suicide.

And yet, one coud argue that India should have given in, seeing as how important the N-Deal is. The US might take off in a huff, and not go through on the N-deal, (which it may not even now; declarations from the Prez are meaningless, if not ratified by the Congress, unless in a state of War).

So, does that mean that India is stupid to not give in to the WTO agenda? Of course not. We re not being bullied, because we are not letting anyone bully us. Over Nuclear Reactors or anything else.

I would write more on the so-called landmark N-Deal, but this is hardly the place. Also, it is a long post as it is.

Never forget, People can bully you only if you let them.

A happy family to call....

2006-09-21T22:59:00.000+05:30

Ah sun, the glorius sun,
The father of us all.
The mother earth, the human son,
A happy family to call.

But when the child grows up he,
Shall need playthings with which to spoil.
The soil of his mother's apron,
To squeeze her blood into black oil.

And use the rock oil to make,
All things green and blue into brown.
Erode the loving lines of his mother's face,
Yet the smile changes not to a frown.

He shall carry forth in his madness,
And man shall delude himslef high.
Seeking to escape this scene of his crimes,
Yet the years shall rush on by.

Finding no ship to leave this globe,
He shall late realise his folly.
And the Father will weep onto a bare, open grave,
No oak, no pine, no wreath, no holly...

The Insensitive Man (From bed to verse)

2006-09-21T22:52:00.000+05:30

Am going to sleep. While cleaning off the bed before i could manage to find enough space to fit my rather (modestly) largish frame in, I found this:

The Insensitive Man
_____________________________________

He didn't cry the day she left,
Or on that moonless night.
But the next morning seeing the sun,
He screamed with all his might.

He never ever saw her again,
Though he lived a good many years.
Yet every morning he remembered,
And dawn brought him only tears.

He'd loved her more than he thought,
Anyone could love in life.
But she left the day he'd sought
To ask her to be his wife.

The morning rays of the sun,
That give warmth to all things.
Yet when her warmth was gone,
All warmth was cold stings.

His bruised and battered heart,
Would nor heal nor give in.
And the man lived on though the world
Was all torture to live in.

Verse vs. worse

2006-09-21T21:36:00.000+05:30

I read somewhere that poetry is often uplifting, pulling you out of the blues on occasion, not just ennui. I write poetry, though just to express myself - to myself. None of it is written to be read by others. It is not meant that way, that is.

However, I have decided to put up some over here. A friend of mine remarked (rather caustically, I thought at the time) that I hadn't put up anything new on my blog for a while. And I realised that it had been a while. So here is something I wrote, for you to read, Vg. You probably won't like it, but how is that any of my concern? (:-)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ballad of the soldier's Mother
(Or Courage)

Come hither, grandson of mine,
A story I must tell.
Of you mother when you were only two,
I shall tell you all that befell.

In those days, those heady days,
The world was drunk on power.
And to increase this might a big war grew,
Closer and closer by the hour.

Your ma was a cookery maid,
As I never told you before.
But all who know of that fateful day,
Know she was as a woman much more.

The lord and master of the house,
You'll find his namein the history books.
He was the only man sane,
Who saved this nation from the crooks.

Yet a week before he made that famous speech,
A great tragedy had occurred.
A heinious crime, a killing attempted,
Of which naught was ever heard.

A killer sneaked in from a window,
Let open to cool the stifling heat.
Your mother saw him 'n he grabbed her neck,
But she uttered not a bleat.

She was a strong-willed thing if not strong,
In the ways the killer was instead.
And though then she knew that she would die,
To save the lord, no tear was shed.

They scampered up to the study,
Her mouth closed by his hand.
And even with the barrel in her ribs,
Her eyes shone like a fiery brand.

And on the very brink of the shooting,
She bit his hand and gouged his eyes.
But though it was sudden, the killer was tough,
And a shot was hear amongst his cries.

The shock threw her onto the floor,
And her vitals began to bleed.
The killer turned to search his victim,
And finish his evil deed.

The woman though bleeding couldn't
let her life be given in vain.
She clutched the villain's feet 'n pulled
Down inspite of the deathly pain.

The black-clothed black-hearted man stumbled,
He was taken completely by surprise.
And by now the guards had come and lit,
The room as bright as sunrise.

The villain the caught and bound and tied,
But for her they could do naught.
Every one of those stoic hearts bled,
Till a physicial was brought.

The old gentleman of medicine,
He did his medicine-ly things.
But slowly a ghastly pallor spread,
The kind only arriving death brings.

She tried to push the Doctor away,
And asked to speak to the master.
And he knelt down by her side,
As she spoke all hearts beat faster.

"My lord, oh my saintly sir,
They sent this man to kill thee.
But more than you or me the sought,
To kill your peaceful philosophy."

"Do not let them succeed my lord,
Even to victors war brings misery.
Save this land, these humble simple people,
Guide them to happiness and prosperity."

"Do not cease in your efforts, you stalwart,
Thought tought times try to make you bow.
Do not forget that a son was orphaned,
Just as I go to leave you now..."

"The darkness is almost complete,
Send for a priest or preacher.
Or if none be found nearby,
Send for a pure-hearted creature...."

But those were her last words,
The priest arrived a minute too late.
Yet I believe a million times blessed,
She left for heaven that fateful date.

That statue you pass on Mother's Square everyday,
Is of hers, do you now guess.
It wasn't that lord, nor fate,
She alone got us out of that mess.

So tomorrow when you go to volunteer,
In the Army to try to be a man.
Remember that strength lies not in muscles,
Nor is endurance signaled by a deep tan.

Your ma, bless her soul, had neither of these,
But she was the stongest 'un I've even known.
Go, seek out your own destiny but never,
Forget the strength your blood has shown.

The Annals of Depression

2006-07-18T00:49:00.000+05:30

Yet another gloomy, pessimistic document found recently...

Sometimes, when we are overcome by a sense of loss, or grief, following a particularly exacting phase in our lives, we turn to God to help us recover. Recover our joy, happiness, wonder, humour, amazement, our very faith in the goodness, the rightness of continued living. What good is life, we say? Look how it has tormented me so much recently. Look at my misfortunes. And some of us lament the unfortunate turn of events that brought this to come to pass.

There are others.

I speak not of the others who bear the burden of life, with all its troubles, cheerfully, and with a chipper face, blissfully (yet, I think incorrectly) content in the rationalisation that all the medusas of the world are balanced by the aphrodites.

Some believe that. I, alas, do not.

You may be surprised at what I believe. You may even call it a fatalistic point of view. Indeed, you would be accurate in that assumption, for that is exactly what I categorise it as as well.

You see, I believe that Muphy got it bang on target when he coined his famous law. Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong in the worst manner possible, at the worst possible time. You may have heard a slight variation. The essence however remains the same.

The world, is out to get you. And what's worse? It will succeed one day. For even if you don't give in, trying to put your best face forward, all dapper in the misfounded determination to not let unfortunate events affect your cheerfulness, you'll still be giving in. For you'll ignore the truth. The plain and simple truth. To try to plod through life by ignoring life's attacks is not to live at all.

Yet, all men are just that, men. They have to fight back. To struggle. To not give in without a fight. Yet, men are but beings of finite resources. The most important of which resources, is of course, the cliched will to live on. The will to survive, to fight back, to wriggle out of any situation detrimental.

The most important resource, yes, but still finite. And so some men are broken. Some are crushed by poverty, some by loss of love, or loved ones, some by HAVING no loved ones (a very slow, yet very lethal poison), some are crushed by the loss of control of their lives.

Some are crushed by the realisation that their life was nevre meant to be theirs anyway. They were indebted to duty the second they were born. Many forsake this duty, for they have a resilient enough sense of honour and self-esteem, that they can renounce all others' claims on themselves, and be the master of their own destiny. Yet many do not.

The human mind can rebound healthy from many setbacks. Yet betrayal, total and complete betrayal, of values, of trust, of friendship, of respect, of love, of kindness, of honesty, of dedication, of duty, of blood, of decency, of time spent together, of so damn much! That, I do not think many minds can recover from. I know for a fact that mine cannot. And will not.

I am at a crossroads in my life. As usual, I don't know the right path, yet now, when I look back, look around, I see the path that i was following earlier, was an illusion, a fantasy, a false impression created by my mind.

Did I not see the truths? I would like to think I did. If I didn't, I would have been pretty stupid, now, wouldn't I? But, I think there is another reason. Perhaps, the human mind has the decency, or you could say kindness to self, to shield itself from the more unpleasant things in life. I suppose I didn't see because I did not want to see. Perhaps my mind shielded me from the more unpleasant aspect of the circumstances of my life.

I had so much. And I chose to through it away. But later it was revealed to me, that I never had anything at all. The ultimate irony, wouldn't you say?

And so I was broken. By finding out that I was never whole in the first place. Illusions can create the impression of the presence of something that was never there. My whole life was an illusion. I know that now. The question, as everyone will probably be wanting to ask is, now what?

Now that you are at the crossroads where you have to chose between keep fooling yourself till the end, or tread a new path, now what? do you chose a new path? Do I chose a new path? Is the path even there? Is any path really there?

For you see, as I was crossing the center of the intersection, I had a revelation. It was for the briefest of moments, but I saw that all the world is based only on illusion.

All of it. every single aspect. There is no one truth, no higher reality that accounts for this world wide web of illusion. It is omnipresent. Some would interpret this as a proof of my belief in a malicious, menacing God. It is not. I just contend that this is the state of the world as I see it.

And so, it is the world to me. It will always be this way. For to change something in the world is possible, but to change the world in your mind is not, for it is to change your mind itself. And it may be just my weak mind, but it cannot change itself.

I'm not rambling, or using up copious amounts of rich language shrouded in verbosity. I just need a bigger vocabulary to express myself better. There are some things that the human language, any human language is incapable of expressing accurately. This is, I suppose, one of them. I've been having a lot of these lately.

The final question that would logically arise is, now that I see no hope in life for life itself, why live? Shouldn't I just end this existence? People have this (to me) inexplicable taboo of suicide. Human society has made it up to be a bad word. It is a crime, in many countries. Even in democracies. People seem to have this subconscious belief that your life somehow does not belong to you. That is true in many, no, in almost all cases. All cases actually, if you keep honour, duty, and other such obligations in mind. So, does that mean that an individual doesn't have even the right whether to decide if he wants to live or not?

Every human being has a right to live. There is enormous outcry whenever a mass-murderer or serial killer is executed. But why doesn't a man, not held by obligations, which no longer bind him, for their betrayal by the party to whom the obligation is owed, not have the right to die? Why? It is a question to which I have never been able to receive a satisfactory answer, from anyone.

Coming back to the original question, why live? The answer to that is that my mind is so weakened by loss, by betrayal, by the upturning of my world, that it no longer has the will, or the power to think straight, let alone make any kind of resolve. I do not decide to die, because I no longer can. I am incapable of deciding anything of substance.

These days my mind is a creamy haze, with random thoughts barging through on their own trajectories, asking noone's permission, caring for no one in their path. I have lost conscious control over a lot of my mind. I now realise what mental breakdown means. What loss of mental cohesion means. What meditation seeks to prevent. What therapy seeks to remedy. And fails miserably, by replacing reality with yet another illusion that helps replace lost false self-confidence.

It's a hopeless world, and I have lost hope.

Past musings

2006-07-18T00:34:00.000+05:30

Sometime back, I formatted my PC. I love doing that, as it keeps Windows ship-shape. Plus, I love the 'feel' of a clean-install computer. Anyway, I came across something I wrote as a measure to find out why I was getting so depressed some weeks back. Now that I feel the period has passed, I think it is safe enough to 'declassify' the document, and publish it here. for all those who read this blog. (that is mostly me. :D )

So here it is...

This is unsettling. I am very depressed. And I don't know why.

It has been increasing in frequency lately, this feeling. I get very sad often now. Not only that, but I think it has something to do with my view of things.

I take a lot of things for granted. Like love. I think that should be unconditional. If you love someone, nothing about that person should bother you. Even a particular trait that would be utterly repulsive in another person.

There are many things we are disgusted by. Not me, I am blase now. Nothing much affects me anymore. It seems like all the world's objects have eroded their edges to assume a similar shape, everything similar, everything conformist.

Only I don't fit in here. It is something like the Matrix. Neo new something was wrong, that he didn't quite fit in. If he hadn't known, he would have fit in pretty well. But he did. And so the world could never be his home.

That is something like what I feel. I know it sounds silly, and contradictory, that I can be blase and depressed at the same time, but I am. I am indifferent to most things in the world. Food, Drink, the "charms" of life, the high times, money... all of it.

I am not indifferent about love. It is something that gives my life meaning. The woman I love, doesn't love me quite as much as I love her, not in the way I define love. I am sure the reverse is quite true as well. Still, I would do anything for her. And yet I wouldn't be mad or possessive if she went out and got another boyfriend.

It is strange. And I would actually like it, I think. But I can't say for sure. There are many things that I would like her to do, but can never say so. The moment I tell her something I would feel nice by, it would ruin the whole purpose. There are some things you need to do on your own initiative, to surprise the other person, to refresh the monotony of their life.

I can't tell her to do something. It wouldn't hold any charm for me the moment I asked her to. And that is what depressed me the most.

We have gone all the way, and yet, she doesn't feel comfortable with a lot of things, that I would consider already settled in a relationship progressed so far.

I get depressed also because she doesn't see that. She doesn't see that I anticipate her reactions to situations, and that I try never, ever to let her even catch a hint of something that would make her sad. These things, they go on so often in my life, but I can't tell her. It would make her unhappy, and in doing so, make me unhappy. But not telling her makes me unhappy, for I see what could have been. And what is not.

I cry sometimes for this. Maybe mothers are right. Maybe they really can see what is best for you. Again, I don't know. If so, it really is an unfair world, that makes you dream first, showing you all that could be, but letting you know by experience that what could be, not always can.

It is the little things. The teeny-tiny ones. The refusal to change oneself in that minute way, so as to please the other one immensly. Most of these are subconscious, we do not even realize we change in these ways.

But some things, they grate. And grate, and grate. And bruise your sense of well-being, rubbing your happiness to bleeding.

So, should you change, to make the other happy? For it is only the other's happiness that will make you even satisfied with your life. This is one of the hardest questions I face, and one that I find myself unable to answer.

If you do change yourself, is it not a betrayal of the Self? What kind of person would one be, to have someone who cares about them change?
And if you change, does a part of you not die, strangled inside? Part of your spirit, your free soul, that you chain to oblivion, forcing compliance with an iron will, attempting at stoicism, and trying so very hard not to break down and weep like an inconsolate child?

It is very hard, this world, if you choose to make it so. But if you don't, it need not be. You can be the happiest one on earth, if you choose to let go. Just leave yourself, let the wind blow you wherever. And take pleasure in following the wind, in floating the way it takes you, and no other. For the mind is perfectly adaptable; you can learn to love exactly what happens to you, and never feel sad about it. If only you let go of the realization that it would be make-believe, mere pretence.

If only you let go.

At times like these, I often wonder if life is worth living. We have no proof of the afterlife, or even of God. God doesn't need proof. As a concept, I agree to that. So if I do not believe in God, maybe, to me, there never will be one...

Maybe all that is there around is, is only what we acknowledge, and nothing more. Maybe the atheists are right, and the devout as well. They just don't realise that they aren't the only ones.

Maybe, if there is God, He in his infinite wisdom, and mercy, wouldn't be there for atheists.

The Blasts

2006-07-17T23:41:00.000+05:30

ETERNALLY CURRENT.

Everyone on the tele-connected part of the Earth now knows about yet another terror incident in Asia. This time in the heart of the Indian Economy. Mumbai was bombed on July 11th, 2006.

But then, it is not really a new thing is it? Bombs go off every now and then. Most people (in India) didn't pay much attention to the fact that bombs went off in J&K on the same day as well. Also, few probably remember that the same ghastly synchronization last Diwali. The festival of Lights held darkness of many types for many families last year. The 'jashna' will probably never come back into their lives.

The tourists noticed though. And that is when the media played a sob story about how such incidents were hampering foreign tourist inflow. The fact that people were put at risk, was also mentioned.

I guess loss of human life has become altogether commonplace on Mother Terra. Come to think of it, I believe almost all of human history has been marked by some form of massive violence. So why do we hold on to such notions that human life is Sacred?

When people have always been killing each other, where does that seemingly stupid notion of the sanctity of Human Life come from in the first place? It could be argued that it was the gift Religion gave to us, but then why the duality?

Almost all humans believe in the sacntity of life in one form or another (their own, if no-one else's). But so much killing goes on nonetheless. How is that? Why is that?

SOLIDARITY

Coming back to the Mumbaikars for a minute, they took to the streets the next day, in a show of so-called solidarity. Solidarity about what? That we weren't hurt?

India was hurt. Of course we were. To deny the fact verges on the criminal, not just on the stupid. As a newspaper column pointed out a few days ago, why are we so afraid to admit it? Why? Do we believe that admitting this strike struck a blow to us will render us somehow weaker in the eyes of the world, much less our own?

I cannot stand the attitude some of the media put up, and are abetted by some celebrities in displaying. What good is a peace march? Who are you going to convince NOT to bomb us next time by taking to the streets on a march to show the power of peace?

WAR

The advertisement campaign from the telecom major Airtel carries the punchline 'a hundred thousand candles can end a war'.

What nonsense. Which hundred thousand candles ever ended a war? Unless they were Roman candles, lit and thrown into a barbarian camp at night by a cunnining subordinate of Caesar's?

War ends only one way. In Loss. Did the USA win Vietnam? Or Korea? Did the Bolsheviks win? Did any of the Allies in the Second WW?

I'll tell you who won. No-one. No-one at all. The very fact that war has broken out somewhere shows that the human race has failed in all its capacity. Why else would we be killing our own species?

So many days out of every 365, there is only one fate for my and my kind that looms. Extinction. That isn't scary, for what is death? But it is saddening. For what is annihilation?

THE FUTURE

No man can know the future, I said in one of my earlier posts. But I think tonight, most of it is clear enough if you look at time the right way. From before when Jesus was a little-known carpenter from Nazareth, to this very second that you're reading these gloomy words of mine, one thread runs constant...

What is it? To answer that, let me end with a quote from Albert Einstein:

"There are only two things that are truly infinite: The size of the Universe, and human stupidity. And I'm not so sure about the Universe."

Prostitution

2006-06-14T17:47:00.000+05:30

I have been meaning to write out against people who are coming out in force against the -reopening of Dance Bars in India. Some of them have absurd notions, chosing to believe that prostitutes are to blame for the profession. This is like saying that Soldiers are to blame for Wars.

I came across a passage in Glory Road, by Heinlein, which brings forth the real root of 'evil' in our society, (not just Indian, everywhere). The two characters, Star and Oscar, are in a parallel universe, discussing the similarities and differences between Earth(ours) and other planets. Oscar has been hired to perform a service for Star, acting as her champion, and Star is one of the most well-read people in the known universes. Actually, she turns out to be much more than that... But I'm not discussing a novel here.

"I speak of people, the dominant race of each its world. Highly civilized."
"Ugh!"
"You will not say 'ugh' when you see them. They are so different from us that their home life cannot matter to us. Contrariwise, this planet is very like your Earth--yet your customs would shock old Jocko out of song. Darling, your world has a custom unique in the Universes. That is, the Twenty Universes known to me, out of thousands or millions or googols of universes. In the known Twenty Universes only Earth has this astounding custom."
"Do you mean "War"?"
"Oh, no! Most worlds have warfare. This planet Nevia is one of the few where lolling is retail, rather than wholesale. Here there be Heroes, killing is done with passion. This is a world of love and slaughter, both with gay abandon. No, I mean something much more shocking. Can you guess?"
"Uh . . . television commercials?"
"Close in spirit, but wide of the mark. You have an expression 'the oldest profession.' Here--and in all other known worlds--it isn't even the youngest. Nobody has heard of it and wouldn't believe it if he did. We few who visit Earth don't talk about it. Not that it would matter; most people don't believe travelers' tales."
"Star, are you telling me that there is no prostitution elsewhere in the Universe?"
"The Universes, my darling. None."
"You know," I said thoughtfully, "that's going to be a shock to my first sergeant. None at all?"
"I mean," she said bluntly, "that whoring seems to have been invented by Earth people and no others--and the idea would shock old Jocko into impotence. He's a straitlaced moralist."
"I'll be damned! We must be a bunch of slobs."
"I did not mean to offend, Oscar; I was reciting facts. But this oddity of Earth is not odd in its own context. Any commodity is certain to be sold--bought, sold, leased, rented, bartered, traded, discounted, price-stabilized, inflated, bootlegged, and legislated--and a woman's 'commodity' as it was called on Earth in franker days is no exception. The only wonder is the wild notion of thinking of it as a commodity. Why, it so surprised me that once I even--Never mind. Anything can be made a commodity. Someday I will show you cultures living in spaces, not on planets--nor on fundaments of any sort; not all universes have planets--cultures where the breath of life is sold like a kilo of butter in Provence. Other places so crowded that the privilege of staying alive is subject to tax--and delinquents are killed out of hand by the Department of Eternal Revenue and neighbors not only do not interfere, they are pleased."
"Good God! Why?"
"They solved death, milord, and most of them won't emigrate despite endless roomier planets. But we were speaking of Earth. Not only is whoring unknown elsewhere, but its permutations are unknown--dower, bridal price, alimony, separate maintenance, all the variations that color all Earth's institutions--every custom related even remotely to the incredible notion that what all women have an endless supply of is nevertheless merchandise, to be hoarded and auctioned."...

..."Even your secondary customs," she went on, "are shaped by this unique institution. Clothing--you've noticed that there is no real difference here in how the two sexes dress. I'm in tights this morning and you are in shorts but had it been the other way around no one would have noticed."
"The hell they wouldn't! Your tights wouldn't fit me."
"They stretch. And body shyness, which is an aspect of sex-specialized clothing. Here nakedness is as unnoteworthy as on that pretty little island where I found you. All hairless peoples sometimes wear clothing and all peoples no matter how hirsute wear ornaments--but nakedness taboo is found only where flesh is merchandise to be packaged or displayed . . . that is to say, on Earth. It parallels 'Don't pinch the grapefruit' and putting false bottoms in berry boxes. If something is never haggled over, there is no need to make a mystery of it."
"So if we get rid of clothes we get rid of prostitution?"
"Heavens, no! You've got it backwards." She frowned. "I don't see how Earth could ever get rid of whoring; it's too much a part of everything you do."
"Star, you've got your facts wrong. There is almost no prostitution in America."
She looked startled. "Really? But--Isn't 'alimony' an American word? And 'gold digger'? And 'coming-out party'?"
"Yes, but prostitution has almost died out. Hell, I wouldn't know how to go about finding a whorehouse even in an Army town. I'm not saying that you don't wind up in the nay. But it's not commercialized. Star, even with an American girl who is well-known to be an easy make-out, if you offered her five bucks--or twenty--it's ten to one she would slap your face."
"Then how is it done?"
"You're nice to her instead. Take her to dinner, maybe to a show. Buy her flowers, girls are suckers for flowers. Then approach the subject politely."
"Oscar, doesn't this dinner and show, and possibly flowers, cost more than five dollars? Or even twenty? I understood that American prices were as high as French prices."
"Well, yes, but you can't just tip your hat and expect a girl to throw herself on her back. A tightwad--"
"I rest the case. All I was trying to show was that customs can be wildly different in different worlds."...

So, do the aborigines who we ridicule for their nudity know something that we don't?

reservations et al.

2006-05-26T04:39:00.000+05:30

I've been posting on a hot new forum, and I though i'd include some of the stuff here. so check it out.

[quote]...how many of us would like to COMPETE ON MERIT with students of US/UK/JAPAN/EUROPEAN countries for indian jobs, suppose if we remove the RESERVED FOR INDIANS status from jobs in the indian industry....?[/quote]

firstly, wrt the above. We are really not that bad off. I've just come back from a trip to one of the leading universities of the US, and I assure you, we are really not that bad off. Indians can take on anyone, and are doing so, around the globe, even today.

[quote]...child from a poor Brahmin family might be lacking in terms of financial resource to succeed, but he can not be equated with a poor SCs child, who is living in an environment that is poor in terms of money as well as in terms of attitude, knowledge, social support and everything...[/quote]

Now that is one point that I agree with. It is stoutly pro-reservation, and no-one can deny that this is something that [i]does[/i] justify affirmative action for social upliftment of that poor SC child. True, Absolutely true.

But is this the way to go about it? While catering to the needs of the few, does one forget the needs of the many? The few in question are not that few, but how much of the population is really "backward" in terms of demographics? Should the percentage of seats reserved for a caste bear [i]any correlation[/i] to it's demographic presence in the population?

And is segregation of admission procedure away to ensure integration of society?

Also, are we not having an acute case of tunnel vision? The lot of the backward needs to be improved, true, but does that improvement have to come at the expense of those who are not backward?

About the economic side of things, is the motive behind the initial reservation policy economic upliftment of the people? Could be, but I think not. Dr. Ambedkar was not thinking that, I'm sure. He was trying to bring about a measure of equality in the nation. A form of social justice.

If the question is economic, the caste is a non-issue. A lot of lower caste people are poor, but not all. And a lot of upper caste people are rich, but again not all. So if economic upliftment was the motive, economic upliftment would have been mentioned.

So we must conclude that reservations were introduced as a measure of social reform, and social reform only. Thus a question comes to mind? Is this social justice?

[i][b]Is this not simply the caste system in reverse?[/b][/i]

A hundred years from now, what would the situation be like, if this keeps on. Taking even 49.5% reservation (hoping it doesn't increase further) what would the India of 2106 be like?

Would we have uplifted all backward groups and placed them on par with the rest of India? Would the rest of India even be able to compete with the Reserved groups? I fear that the Brahmins and the Kshatriyas will be the "scheduled" castes then, vying for quota, and asking for "justice for past discrimination and oppression by the ruling majority".

It could happen, no?

A few quick final points, and back to the project again.
The term used everywhere is "scheduled" castes, "scheduled" tribes. Schedule implies a fixed, precise chronological series of events, that brook no deviation from the plan. There was a schedule for their upliftment once.

There is no schedule now. It is going to be an indefinitely-long process. Everyone agrees that the quota system should be for a fixed time only, but no one is coming up with any figures.

A recent headline in a daily reminds me of something I'd like to share here. Shouldn't the quota system be replaced by the Kota-system?

I think the government should introduce reservation into preparatory institutes like FIIT-JEE, Kota, even CL, to provide everyone with the opportunity to have an equal shot at the IIT and IIM exams.

The IIMs are not for social upliftment. That is not their primary purpose. What would happen if MIT or Harvard decided to give 50% reservation to African-Amercans? would it help their lot? No. They have struggled to get their own place in American society. They have worked for it, instead of being pampered by the government.

If the poor SC child in the village has to be helped, first make sure the village is not a bad place to be to prepare for the IIMs. Improve rural infrastructure, but not thinking in terms of "rural improvement". Think of urbanization instead.

Why are villages still villages? Why are towns still towns? We could argue that smaller towns have been neglected in terms of facilities, and thus construction contracts should be reserved for smaller towns and villages. Is that being done?

What is being done to make sure that the poor SC, a farmer, doesn't commit suicide because of crop failure, in turn caused by neglect by Agriculture Department officials, because the farmer wasn't a man of good caste, and thus leading to inadequate environment for the poor SC's child to measure up to urban standards?

What is being done to ensure that the poor SC's child doesn't have to work instead of study, because the farm needs work and there isn't enough money for the father (who is ill) and hiring help at the same time.

What is being done to ensure that an orphan, of whatever caste, in a village does not starve, and can grow up to stand on his own two feet.

Some people are born disadvantaged. It is possible for such a person to achieve the heights of society, of wealth, of fame etc, even rising from such meagre begginings. Yet not for all. You cannot uplift an entire portion of society. Where do you get the leverage? Who pays the staggering cost of helping the poor become not-so-poor. Isn't it always the middle class, instead of the well-off?

The fact remains that this is a very, very unequal country, in an even more unequal world. Let us not kid ourselves.

The powers of the mind

2006-05-02T20:29:00.000+05:30

This is an extract from The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda. It is from the chapter called "The powers of the mind" (pg 19)

***

Man is growing in knowledge, in power, in happiness. Continously, we are growing as a race. We see that is true, perfectly true. Is it true of individuals? To a certain extent, yes. But yet again comes the question: Where do you fix the limit? I can see only at a distance of so many feet. But I have seen a man close his eyes and see what is happening in another room. If you say you do not believe it, perhaps in three weeks that man can make you do the same. It can be taught to anybody. Some persons, in five minutes even, can be made to read what is happening in another man's mind. These facts can be demonstrated.

Now, if these things are true, where can we put a limit? If a man can read what is happening in another's mind in the corner of this room, why not in the next room? Why not anywhere? We cannot say, why not. We dare not say that it is not possible. We can only say, we do not know how it happens. Material scientists have no right to say that things like this are not possible; they can only say, "We do not know." Science has to collect facts, generalise upon them, deduce principles, and state the truth - that is all. But if we begin by denying the facts, how can a science be?

There is not end to the power a man can obtain. This is the peculiarity of the Indian mind, that when anything interests it, it gets absorbed in it and other things are neglected. You know how many sciences had their origin in India. Mathematics began there. You are even today counting 1,2,3 etc to zero, after Sanskrit figures, and you all know that algebra also originated in India, and that gravitation was known to the Indians thousands of years before Newton was born.

You see the pecularity. At a certain period of Indian history, this one subject of man and his mind absorbed all their interest. And it was so enticing, because it seemed the easiest way to achieve their ends. Now, the Indian mind became so thoroughly persyaded that the mind could do anything and everything according to law, that its powers became the great object of study. Charms, magic and other powers, all that were nothing extraordinary, but a regularly taught science, just as the physical sciences they had taught before that. Such a conviction in these things came upon the race that physical sciences nearly died out. It was the one thing that came before them. Different sects of Yogis began to make all sorts of experiments. Some made experiments with light, trying to find out how lights of different colours produced changes in the body. They wore a certain coloured cloth, lived under a certain colour, and ate certain coloured foods. All sorts of experiments were made[sic] in this way. Others made experiments in sound by stopping and unstopping their ears. And still others experimented in the sense of smell, and so on...

"

Veterans...

2006-05-01T23:15:00.000+05:30

I found this brief write-up hiding in a remote corner of my Hard Drive. I'd written it about three years ago, a long long time for views to change, but still like it. It is a bit showy, and slightly pretentious, but it wasn't meant for public reading, so you'll forgive the slight pompous writing style...

***

No man, can know the future. It is said by many, that if one could achieve this foresight, life wouldn't be as interesting as it remains today, inspite of all the miracles of modern science, and all the efforts to minimize, if not remove completely, uncertainity from our lives. Life would start to be dull and predictable, they say. They may be, and probably are, right on both counts.

No man, can know the future. No man can predict it. Humans, as a race are quite irrational. What we do not know, we fear. And so, we fear the future. Not only because we do not know anything about what is going to happen, but also because there is no way to counter this. No way to develop an "early-warning system" of sorts, for the future. And that terrifies us.

Every single one of us. Yes, you too. If you're honest with yourself, you'll remember that one time you couldn't think straight, because you were overcome by that chilling, absolute terror, of what would happen to you in the future. This comes to every sane human being. For most, it comes somewhere around the end of their teens, yet the proverbial "middle-age crisis" is but another manifestation of this fear.

And so, I say, what? So what? So what if I fear the future? Simple fear doesn't mean much. I'm afraid of a lot of things, like most people - afraid of failure, afraid of ineptness, of incompetence, of inability, of.... the list goes on.

Yet what I am perhaps most afraid of, is not being able to face up to my fears.
Do not misunderstand me. I'm not Superman; when i feel afraid, it does impair my ability to think clearly. Very few people can claim otherwise. And I salute that very few. For they are the true warriors against fear. Veterans, everyone of them, and undoubtedly, with scars to prove that status.

Yet, I remain afraid, inspite of these pristine examples of the power of the human conscious to conquer the subconscious.

Yes, afraid, but what sets my efforts in the same category as those veterans, is that inspite of my being afraid, and my mind being clouded by fear, I TRY.

I try to clear that fog. I try to break free. I may not always succeed, but that is what sets me apart. I may not always think of the best way to combat my fears and find a solution to what causes those fears, but I TRY.

That is how I learn.

I learn to fight, to not cower. I may not learn the best way to fight, the best moves, the best kicks and punches, but I learn that I CAN fight. And more importantly, I teach my subconscious that. So the next time, it will not burden my mind with unreasoning fear, and allow me to combat the situtation better.

My next response to fear will improve, and the next even further, and the next, and the next...

And so, I will be a veteran. All of my fellows, who do not face their fears, or those who try to cover them, will not. They will remain the greenhorns, that will be replenished after each battle. For the greenies are the ones that are left one the battlefield. The veterans survive.
***

Ethos and Ethical Laws

2006-05-01T22:38:00.000+05:30

I came across this very nice dialogue between two enemies in a sci-fi novel, called Deathworld, by Harry Harrison. Thought I'd post it here...

***

Jason : "...It is impossible to talk to you, much less enjoy any comprehensible exchange of ideas. We aren't even speaking the same language. Forgetting for the moment who is right and who is wrong,, we should go back to basics and at least agree on the meaning of the terms that we are using. To begin with - can you define the define the difference between ethics and ethos?"

Mikah: " Of course, Ethics is the discipline dealing with what is good or bad, or wight or wrong - or with moral duty or obligation. Ethos means the guiding beliefs, standards, or ideals, that characterize a group or community."

Jason: "Very good...Ethos is inextricably linked with a single society and cannot be separated from it, or it loses all meaning. Do you agree?"

Mikah: "Well..."

Jason: " Oh come on - you have to agree on the terms of your own definition. The ethos of a group is just a catch-all term for the ways in which the members of a group interact with each other. Right?"

Mikah: " yes..."

Jason: "Now that we agree about that, we can push on one step further. Ethics, again by your own deginition must deal with any number of societies or groups. If there are any absolute laws of ethics, they must be so inclusive that they can be applied to any society. A law of ethics must be as universal of application, as is the law of gravity."

Mikah: " I don't follow you..."

Jason: " I didn't think you would when I got to this point. You people who prattle about your Universal Laws of Truth never really consider the meaning of the term. My knowledge of the history of science is a little vague, but I'm willing to bet that the first Law of Gravity that was ever dreamed up stated that things fell at such and such speed, and accelerated at such and such a rate. That's not a law, but an observation that isn't even complete until you add 'on this planet'. On a planet with a different mass there will be a different observation.... If you are going to have any real ethical laws they have to have the unversality of

m. M
F = ------
2
d

They will have to work on Cassylia or Pyrrus, or on any other planet or in any society you can find. Which brings us back to you. What you so grandly call - with capital letters, and a flourish of trumpets - 'Laws of Ethics' aren't laws at all, but are simply little chunks of tribal ethos, aboriginal observations made by a gang of desert sheepherders to keep order in the house - or tent. These rules aren't capable of any universal application; even you must see that...

...Just think of the different planets you have been on, and the number of weird and wonderful ways people have of reacting to each other - then try and visualise ten rules of conduct that would be applicable in all these societies. An impossible task. Yet I'll bet you have ten rules you want me to obey, and if one of them is wasted on an injunction against praying to carved idols, I can imagine just how universal the other nine are. You aren't being ethical if you try to apply them wherever you go - you're just finding a particularly fancy way to commit suicide...!"

***

What do you think? Thought-provoking huh?

Morals, Identity, Spirituality, And Religion.

2006-05-01T22:16:00.000+05:30

Morals, Identity and Spirituality.

In life, we are often confronted with moral and ethical dilemmas. We make choices, thus deciding what path we take onward on the remaining journey in front of us.

Morals.
By moral dilemma I mean a predicament testing our conscience. We have to decide what we hold as right, what as wrong. Our values are tested, and in the process, reinforced or changed. But always strengthened. Facing problems makes a better man, though it always does not seem so at the time.

The question of morality is of paramount importance, because one’s morals define one’s identity and one’s perspective on life. Often we are born into a set of values, given to us by our parents, our peers, and our community. We accept this value-system, taking it as Holy Writ; immutable. If we do not strive to continuously reevaluate these morals, we may not become fundamentalist in our beliefs, but they remain static.

You cannot appreciate the qualities of a prism looking at the world through a blue-colored glass. Roses and thorns will seem to be of the same color. A rainbow will simply be a band of lines shading from black to blue and back to black.

And so it is that one cannot appreciate fully the commonest group of morals found in almost every subset, and believed in by the largest part of humanity by refusing to experiment and change one’s perspective.

Missionaries and Tribals.
To the Christian missionary, he is doing a great service converting the “pagan” heathen by making him hear the Word of the Lord. To the keepers of that “pagan” religion, the philosophers carrying on the ancient traditions evolved over time by their own thinkers, the missionary is doing a great disservice by pulling wool over the convert’s eyes, deluding him away from the righteous path of life.

Both the missionary and the native religious leaders are good according to their own morals, yet subversive, if not entirely evil according to the other’s morals.
Yet when you are reading this paragraph, you have the unique vantage of having this situation sketched out to you in an impartial manner. The situation could have been presented thus:

“These poor people. They know not the Word of the Lord. They are ignorant. And their ignorance is the root of their sin. Forgive them, my Lord. Give me strength to help me show them your Path. In nomine patrius…” – thoughts of the missionary.

“That outsider has been trying to lure our people into renouncing the religion of our forefathers, claiming that the wisdom our people have put together over centuries is worthless, and that this is the road to evil.”

“Did we invite him? We are not evil. By saying so he insults our very goodness. He is the one sowing seeds of discord in our community. We were getting along just fine before he came about with his funny ideas.”

“This is not good. Anything that disturbs the peaceful existence of our people as ordained by the spirits of our ancestors who watch over us is not good. That missionary is not good.”

“We shall have to perform a ritual to ask for guidance and strength for saving our people from this apostasy…”

- Discussion in tribal leaders’ camp.

Taken individually, each perspective is wholly understandable, if a bit simplified for the sake of argument.

But go back and read the impartial discussion of the situation. This can be attained only after reading both these subjective views, understanding them, and collating them to form a cohesive view of what the situation would be like, if one were to see it without any emotional attachments, dispassionately, objectively.

Objectivity and Subjectivity.
Objectivity rises only through rising above subjectivity. But one has to experience subjectivity first.

One has to see from all the differently biased viewpoints to ascertain that there are limits to subjectivity, as a point has to move to all the different quadrants within a circle to find out that there is a definite circumference beyond which the circle ends.
Thus only will the point start looking out of the plane, having experienced and exhausted the possibilities in that enclosed space.

Conscience and Identity.
Our experiences often define our conscience. By experiences one need not mean personal experiences, but even the community’s attitude towards issues.

A young boy born into a household where the head of the family was a prominent member of the Ku Klux Klan would not find the theory of white supremacy absurd.
He would see no harm in lynching African-Americans simply for the color of their skin.
For his father, the person who would define his morals for the greater part of his formative years, it would be the most natural thing in the world to pass on his beliefs to his son. His son would therefore associate with his father’s KKK friends, and be exposed to racism in a very different way than an African-American child, for example.

Is the KKK-initiate evil? Not according to his morals. He hasn’t reconsidered his rights and wrongs, simply accepting what was given to him. His fault lies in not thinking and trying to define his own viewpoint, not in being evil.

A tribal woman who teaches her daughter to obey her husband no matter how much he abuses her, no matter how much undeserving of respect the husband may be, is passing on a value-system to another individual who will be very reluctant to question this system and break out of it to find her own morals.

A teenager who tries smoking or other substances does so mostly under “peer pressure”. Peer pressure is not really pressure, nor merely pressure. It is imposition of a communal group of values onto an individual, in this case during a critical formative part of the individual’s conscience and psyche.
He knows it is wrong before he tries it. But afterwards he continues doing it, getting addicted, and his conscience often conveniently overlooks this drastic change in morals.

The tribal woman’s daughter, the puffing teenager, and the KKK scion all are guilty of having their identity defined by others. There are circumstances where one cannot go against the tide, no matter how much one tries, yet the forming of one’s conscience is firmly in one’s grasp.

Revaluating Morals.
We must understand how crucial morals are to a person’s life. They are the base of life. Not just of interactions with other people, but also of how one sees the world and one’s place in it.
And so we must understand how difficult it is to step out of the value-set we are given and look for another - searching, experimenting, thinking, rejecting, but always persevering till the inner mind is at rest.

Therefore, we must appreciate the ones who are able to do this - to reject the code of life imposed on them by heredity, and search for their own. They may find that their original value-system was what they were searching for. But the goal is not important; the search is; the breaking-out is.

Yet we must realize just how crucial this search is. It is difficult, this renouncement of everything we know, for one is left with a sense of loss, often grief, loneliness, and fear for being without an ethical support system.

One who renounces in such a way is initially afraid because he no longer knows what really is right, and if there is an absolute right. It is frightening to not know right and wrong when you have known for such a long time. It is frightening to not know.

And this search defines our identity.

Identity.
Identity is very important - ask anyone. If we do not know who we are, we do not know what we have to do, if we have to do anything at all. We are afraid of not having an identity. Sometimes this instinctive desire for identity manifests itself as the desire to belong to a community, a society, thus ensuring an identity for oneself by belong to a larger group. At other times a person wants to shun this social identity and search for one of his/her own. Both collectivism and individualism are simply different manifestation of the desire for identity.

What we are defines how we think. What we are is the sum of our experiences, and our experiences indicate the choices we will make in future situations, thus defining the direction our future identity will take. It is a cycle.

As our morals define our identity, so our identity defines how we perceive life and the world around us. When we try to understand the world around us, inevitably, in one form or the other, we come to spirituality.

Spirituality & Religion.
As our morals define our identity, so our identity defines our spirituality. Our sense of being defines how we perceive our place in this universe. Our notions of nature, of God, of good, of evil, of duty, of love, of laws, of the relevance of laws… thus, in a way our identity defines our identity itself.

But identity also defines spirituality. We try to understand the world and we are faced with questions measured in the dimensions of the infinite. We human beings, possessing finite biological information processing capabilities, try to understand all of creation. We try to understand infinity. And we fail.

We fail because we see our bodies as finite, which they are. But we do not see the soul within, which is not finite. The soul is a small part of infinity, infinite in itself. When we realize infinity cannot be explained with the brain, we turn to the mind.

And so we define how we see the concept of God. God is Allah to some, Ram to others, the Father to yet others… the list goes on.

To atheist scientists God is the infinite sum total of energy in the universe.
To Agnostics God is irrelevant, for he interferes not in man’s affairs, and being perfect, is unattainable to an inherently imperfect human species.

Yet all agree God is perfect, whether real or not. How we see that perfection, how we choose to define our ultimate pinnacle of achievement, forever unattainable in effort, yet always the only goal, is our interpretation of God.

Religion and Rituals vs. Spirituality.
Speaking frankly, very few religious people know why they are religious. Very few Hindus know why yagnas are conducted in the precise manner they follow or what significance the time of the day has on the desired effects of the ritual. Very few devotees know why the prayer they are singing is in the form it is, and being sung in the tone it is. There might be reasons behind every ritual, or it might have resulted from a long time of following tradition, obscuring the real purpose behind the ritual. Religion often overshadows spirituality.

Religion is not bad. It is in no way less than spirituality. In fact, it is built up upon spirituality, as a means to implement the faith system of a spiritual philosophy and relate it to a practice in real life, so ensuring that the idea remains fixedly in our minds, not allowing us to forget.

By being devoutly religious we have a chance to be sublimely spiritual, if we examine the reasons behind why our religion is the way it is – the customs, the rituals, the social practices etc.

The Cycle
Having defined how identity gives birth to spirituality, we must also see that spirituality in turn also defines our morals and our willingness to constantly re-examine them.

If we believe in our version of God strongly enough, unshakable in the faith that He guides us always onto the right path if our intentions are pure and efforts diligent, then only we will be willing to let go of our system of morals, having faith that we will not go astray; that we will always have someone watching over us while we search for the right path this time and every other time.

Only then will the mind even consider reconsidering itself.

Thus spirituality leads to the ability to re-look at our morals.

An important point to be made here is that this cycle is not automatic. At every transition there has to be will and faith in one’s innate goodness. Willingness is very important, the only and all empowering catalyst. Where there is a will, there is a way, true, but without a will, there is no way.

Thus morals, identity, spirituality and religion are so wonderfully interlinked. One has to read a lot, experiment with one’s conceptions more, and meditate upon oneself and the ultimate goodness of the soul even more to have any chance at all at succeeding.

Introducing the one, the only....

2006-05-01T22:09:00.000+05:30

This blog is starting out in response to a suggestion from a respected colleague, although now I wonder why I never did anything like this before.

I intend to keep this blog to mostly posts about Life, the Universe, and Everything. More specifically, metaphysics, physics, comparative religion, etc...

I'll appreciate it if people who read this one do not give nonsensical comments, as I intend for the comment space to be a place for serious feedback.

Thanks, that's all.

Vipul