Renewed Gabbing

The singer - songwriter

2011-12-23T04:10:00.000+05:30

I know you are there
At the other end of the line
Waiting to hear what I say next
Hanging on my every word
I know that you want to hear
Every sound that leaves my lips.

Every time I write
I know you are there
I know you try hard
To understand every emotion
I decide to express
I try to pour my heart out.

But I must let you know
It is not me here
Behind this web of lies
I do not exist one bit
I am a channel and that is all
For this thing that flows through me

Not a note I hum is mine
I borrowed it from everywhere
Not a word that I sing
belongs to me
I borrowed them all
From you. For you.

Cyclosmiley

2011-11-12T15:30:00.001+05:30

I don't believe it either. But it is true. I have made a Mike Wazowski / cyclops smiley. Here it is :

c-) or c-( or c-o for Mike's expression in that picture up there.

Compulsive

2011-09-21T18:00:00.000+05:30

Have you felt
that feeling
when all things
seem too slow.
Nervous acts
like shaking
your foot seem
to relieve,
partially.
Those are times
when you end
up with posts
like this one
Each line has
exactly
three, just three,
syllables.
Now I have
transferred it
to you by
making you
to check by
counting it
Obsessive
is it not?
Include the
title too!

Analysis of humankind. On the 20th floor

2011-09-13T14:54:00.000+05:30

The twentieth floor. It wasn't all that high really. But it stood above the whole city. I could see the whole city, the next one and the one beyond that. The cloud's shadow moved from over a set of buildings and went over what looked like a clump of trees. I am sure this 'clump' was really close to a forest. The sun weaved in and out from between clouds and I knew this is why it was described as golden. It truly was golden. Not just bright yellow. It was the glowing, soft and exquisite colour of gold.

As the cloud moved over the forest of trees, I was reminded of this childish game that I played not very long ago (a very short while ago and I am quite embarrassed to admit it) In the game I was the emperor of a country and I had a castle and a huge set of workers, farmers and what not to serve me. I would click on some piece of empty land and command those workers to build a granary and a school for warriors and a blacksmith's workshop and so on. Meanwhile I knew that there was a dark forest where a dangerous vampire-like creature lived and ruled. I had to encroach on his land, provoke him and bring him out to battle when my empire was strong enough. He had his own minions - silly looking creatures which were vile and caused me to lose a lot of my people and resources. But they were easy to get rid of. When they were all finished, I had all the land to myself and I was free to do whatever I wanted without any more trouble. The game was a huge flop. I am sure you have never heard of it. I probably was the only "fan" of the game.

I suspect my game was only a limited version and that was the reason why I could do what I did. I built more buildings and did the job of a peace-time emperor. I am sure it wouldn't be a good move for game designers to allow a game to run forever without a so-called objective. In other words without a bad guy that you are supposed to get rid of or a mushroom to be eaten or a maiden to be rescued, the game wouldn't sell. What fun could you possibly have if there was nothing to claim it from.

So this cloud moved further and the sun came out. It shone brighter. My coffee was getting a bit colder so I downed it in a large gulp.

The job of a peace time emperor. An assurance that there were no evil creatures and no silly flunkies. What a pleasant life. An assurance that everything would only go up from here and that the land and its unlimited resources would sustain the whole empire to eternity. I am sure this is the dream of every human on this planet. Yet, even in computer games where we could have the chance to have it, we don't want it.

B o r e d

2011-09-12T20:19:00.000+05:30

She was bored. Again. She was bored of being bored.

She remembered the days before GreaseBook had taken over the world. It was not very different from now really. But she could look forward to some pseudo-human-contact in the form of cheesy forwarded mails.
She didn't really miss them either. She was left with one less chore in the day anyway.

What a snob. What a prude. What was so special about her that she couldn't just be unique and special just like everyone else.

She was sick of people expecting her to jump in with the milling crowd, in to the bandwagon and be one with the herd. If she felt sick of the whole idea of putting her life online, trying all the time to be witty and special and intelligent and unique when she really was not, there was nothing wrong with it. There were enough people trying to be all that and the world really didn't need her to spend all her energy in that.

Okay. Then why complain? She had chosen this for herself. She had made herself the outcast. And stuck to her deep and passionate boycott.

A shudder ran down her spine as she realized that she stayed away out of fear of being connected irretrievably and densely with hundreds, maybe thousands of witty, special, intelligent, unique people and yet be what she was already. Bored.

Slow fast-realization

2011-08-19T08:18:00.000+05:30

I sat in yoga pose
Content with the world
I had woken early
I was an early bird

I looked out the window
My phone began to ring
I looked at the wall clock
I began to think

It was 8.20 AM
The previous evening
I had set an alarm call
To ring at eight fifteen

Well frankly I thought, the alarm had
called me from the past
.
.
.
Then I realized,
My wall clock was fast.

--Amber Light

A Mini-Ode to the PC and the backspace key

2011-08-03T23:59:00.000+05:30

I hit this wretched backspace key
More than I ever write
My blinking cursor goes left
More often than it goes right.

If it were not for the computer
I could never ever rhyme
If it were not for this machine here
I'd perhaps be a mime.

-- Amber Light

Musical Memory

2011-08-02T18:51:00.005+05:30

That voice, that delicate twist in tune, every variation in beat, every little imperfection, takes me back to that moment in time when I first heard it. It takes me back to every instance since.

Does that mean if my life had a continuous soundtrack, I could remember every instant of my life forever?

I remember every lyric of a song even after years of not having heard it. I can hum the instrumental fillers and tap out the beat on my table (or in my head). To an extent that I freak myself out about how I could possibly remember that detail.

After having thought about it enough, I am convinced that this could only be possible because our brains are made to understand and communicate through music much more efficiently than any thing else in the world. Which means that our memory is able to interact with music better than words.

Wishing I was there

2011-07-21T16:51:00.015+05:30

There is something very romantic about being a tourist. You see people and places and admire them. You imagine what it would be like to live in those pretty places. You dream of their perfect looking lives and wonder if there is that life in store for you sometime. You wish it was, because it looks so perfect and you have this idealized view of yourself and your life in the future.

I remember visiting Bangalore as a child and wondering how exciting it would be to actually live there. A city full of neon lights and buzzing restaurants and different people, exciting events happening all the time. When I did live in Bangalore, I don't think I enjoyed it as much as I had dreamed I would as a child.

I sit on my favourite bench here, watching tourists from different places, races, cultures and think of their exciting lives. I think of the fun that they will have in their next destination. I think of the people they will meet, the food they will sample, the places they will admire and wonder if there is any of that waiting to happen to me. And while I dream on, I catch them looking at me, with the same wonder and longing in their eyes as when I look at them.

Some Resolutions

2011-07-20T23:35:00.000+05:30

1. Eat appropriately when hungry
2. Live mornings
3. Get rid of addictions
4. Create habits
5. Spend time creating
6. Allow inspiration to present itself and be open to it when it does
7. Solve problems rather than try to bury them
8. Respect time
9. Stop to evaluate impulses before acting on them

The Bench

2011-07-19T16:06:00.003+05:30

She looked around 20 years old. She wore a strapless white dress with red flower prints and some flecks of green that dropped to a little below her knees. She moved chairs back into position and as she did, she turned her back to me, revealing a glossy red ribbon tied into a bow around her waist. She seemed just a little conscious of her dress and tugged at it slightly.

She was tall, but her dress made her look smaller. She was not skinny, but you wouldn't call her chubby either. She had slightly freckled, fair skin.

She wore her long hair in a complex braid that rested on her right shoulder. She wore blue flat slippers with a thin strap that she held on to between her second and big toe. She wore a silvery anklet only on her right ankle. She held a tray in her right hand, with a couple of beer mugs on it, hoisted slightly at shoulder level.

She often slipped into a narrow doorway and re-emerged, each time with that tray in her hand. She came back to serve some new customers, very cheerfully.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She wore her short hair with a middle parting. She had black rimmed glasses. A fluorescent green polo t-shirt, with khakis folded upto below her knees. She wore black strappy sandals. She was about 5 feet tall and a bit stout.

I could imagine her at a desk, or a store, but not at a job that required the attention and admiration of other people. But of course, my opinion is based on her appearance, the way she sloppily and very ineffectually tried to catch someone's eye with a wave, the way she wore a handbag as well as a backpack on each of her arms, looking quite uncomfortable. I lost sight of her many times as I tried to observe the details of her appearance, specially because of the person with bubblegum pink hair who was walking a little away from her.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What time the ice cream shop close. Because I like to eat ice cream." Two girls sat down on the bench next to me. They were obviously not from the same place, did not know each other very well and not comfortable with speaking English at all. Yet, they shared laughs. They made a very active and enthusiastic attempt to be friendly.

They left my bench and went over to another one when it became vacant. I wondered, where the conversation would have gone from that point. What do you talk about after asking about the closing times of ice cream shops. What do you say after sharing tremendously unique details like your love for ice cream.

I glanced sideways at them again, expecting to see moments of awkward silence that have crept in to their conversation and I was surprised to see them still at it. I could not hear them talk, but I could see their faces reflect genuine interest in what the other had to say.

What you are not

2011-04-15T19:55:00.005+05:30

The movie came to an end. The giant screen went blank after the last credit rolled out. The song phased out. The silence echoed through the huge white hall. He looked at his reflection on the screen. He continued looking at it for a while.

It was late at night and the moon lit a large part of the hall, making it look silvery. The windows let in the cool air and he felt himself going back to his childhood when he would sleep on the open terrace under the summer moon. Since the time he could afford it, he had bought houses on the topmost floor of increasingly tall buildings. Every one of them with a skylight. It was a feeble effort to try and shut out the lights of the rest of the world while he tried hard to remember that childhood.

Nobody knew who he was or what it was like being him. Every body wanted to be him, dress like him, talk like him. But every one who did an imitation of him, did it differently, depending on the movie that they had watched. Because, in no two movies did he repeat himself. There was no characteristic expression or gesture that he carried from one movie to the next. Even when he played the same kind of role, they turned out different. Film makers had to fight their urge to allow him to play the same story with a few changes here and there, simply because his ability to bring a character to life inspired them to explore their own creativity.
He, on the other hand, loved the details that writers put in outlining his characters. There was depth and life in the roles that he played.

That night he lay on the cool white floor under the moon peeking through his skylight and he thought of his last conversation with his manager. People wanted to make a movie of his life. With him in the lead role. "It will be the easiest role you have ever done. No month off to get in to character, no research and no crazy costumes. Your fans will love it, easy money and little work. You can make the movie and then make it to that vacation you have not had for the past 15 years."

The moon had moved right in the middle of the skylight. He knew that he wouldn't make that movie. He had always known that his life would catch up with him some day. And he had known that when that happened, it would be the end of his career and life as he knew it. How wrong they were. It would be his toughest movie ever. He would have to take that vacation first. He would have to find who he was. And when he did find out, that would be the end. He would no longer be able to play any other role.

He thought of that night long ago. He had just come back home from the movies. He had watched his favourite super-hero thrash evil and turn back time to bring back the dead. He felt himself flying as the hero flew. He felt victorious when the hero won. He lived that life for 180 minutes and then wanted more. That night on the roof he had decided, that he would be that guy in the movies.

He had been that guy all these years. Now people wanted him to play himself. He would have to go back to that night. He would have to be that hero again. He would have to turn back time to bring himself back.

The skies were becoming light and Manu looked outside the window. He had lots to write yet. He had so many details to fill in.

He would have to make it this time. He remembered his last bitter fight with his agent. "Everyone writes stories for movies. Who ever has heard of an occupation as a short story writer. If you want me to continue as your agent, you have got to write a movie script for me." How hard was it anyway.

He couldn't decide if his actor's childhood would be shown in a montage of clips or with a voice-over. How to fill in a 2 hour movie with just one actor and a voice over. There would have to be so many more people in a film actor's life of course. How would the story end. How would he depict these words without actually using them.

Manu went on writing, breaking just for badly made meals and a few hours of sleep in between. At the end of the month, he found himself standing over his paper basket. There were more sheets in there than in the pile that he felt he could keep. He still had a long way to go. He would have to make it acceptable to his nitpicking agent.

At the end of the next month, he looked at his story again. It had all the elements. His principle character was sketched out. The other characters had their roles well defined. There was a plot. There was a climax. The ending had a twist. It was perfect.

He sat down at his computer and typed in his story. Thanks to push button publishing, Manu had his next short story on his blog.

The Universe Speaks

2010-12-14T01:45:00.007+05:30

Music makes the world seem worth it all. The heartbreaks, the sorrow, joy, love, nature, everything makes sense. Life should be written to music.

Sugary sweetness, overflowing and sickening is okay but for a very very short while. Like a 3-minute song with lots of repetitive chorus that sounds like sugar-high cheerleaders, the most annoyingly catchy tune. Hearing the same song years later reminds you of the time you heard the song first, how foolish you were back then. How much more foolish you are now.

Dance music is like the heart beat. Life dances to it. The sun sets, trees grow, trains rush keeping beat to this music.

Sad music is pure joy. There is a sense of pure love that washes all over and hushes the mind filled with thoughts that are so fast and mixed up that they hurt. Sad music wishes all that away.

Violins and guitars are the voice of the universe talking to us in the language in which everything resonates.

Lyrics to a song are sometimes like sugar in honey - pointless, sometimes like a fly in honey - annoying, and sometimes honey itself - sweet.

3-dimensional

2010-10-30T22:44:00.001+05:30

I find it impossible to view this as a 2 dimensional pattern.

Why blog?

2010-10-08T19:57:00.002+05:30

I recently started writing at a new blog : lifeandpepper.blogspot.com and I have been thinking about why I write on a blog made public for everyone in the world to read and write some thing there while trying not to talk about my identity in the real world while also giving out the blog address to people I know personally. (Phew, long sentence)

What do I write on the internet for. Is it some kind of deluded sense of being a good writer / an attempt to improve on skills / a record of life and the way I am going through it / trying to tell people "look I exist, I am witty, I am talented!!!!" and sounding like a big bore really.

If you blog, tell me why you do. I want to know what the reason for this endless number of blogs that are written and very rarely read.

The Moving Sky

2010-07-18T22:38:00.005+05:30

The night clears out and I see

A sight that doesn't fail to move me

Clouds against an azure blue

Then a powdery sapphire too

The blue contains the blazing sun

Till the day is almost done

A dull grey behind a setting orb

Decked with orange purple daubs

A mysterious blue black it fades into

That holds in it (or just seems to)

The choicest jewels strewn around

To be carefully hidden in the morn

Then the wind paints in cloudy hues

And with these clouds the sky too moves

It moves, changes and carries me along

It fills me with a moving song

From my cozy spot in the park,

where I lie till it gets dark,

A thought gently knocks on my door

And I wonder on the grassy floor.

Something that only the eye can see,

That in truth is just fantasy

That which I can't feel and touch

Can touch and move me oh so much

An illusion, a show, a magic trick

Is that all it really is?

Maybe. But it still is magical

Music and Love

2010-07-02T22:52:00.004+05:30

This music,

It flows all over me

Holds me

Washes all over me

The feeling

Rushes right through me

Thrills me

Rushes right into me

It tells me tales

That life is beautiful

That there is God

That I am loved

Yet it pains me

Makes my heart weep

It shakes me

It wakes me up

I need it

I long for it

I make it and in turn

It makes me

Mixed emotions

Of pain and intense joy

Of this moment

Fleeting by

Time Travel

2010-04-12T19:16:00.002+05:30

Red bunches of poetry
A few petals wither slowly
Replaced by hundreds overnight
Set the forest on fire
Not one that burns, but soothes
In spite of the spiteful heat
When the wind blows
Flowers magnify it and
Infuse it with an aroma
That takes you back
To long lost days
Memories of long ago
Of running among trees
Of weaving flower chains
Of summer skirts and ice
Of games that lasted hours
Of fancy flavored drinks
Of not a care under the sun

Red bunches of poetry
Upon the Gulmohar tree
The stuff that makes
Time Machines

The Stone Maiden

2010-01-27T10:04:00.004+05:30

"What does God mean to you, Bijju?"

There was a light breeze that brought emphasis to the vastness of the space and to the two lone figures in the dark and deep night. The moon rested on its throne with a decided air of superiority and knowing.

Bijju turned away to peer into the distance. Even if there had been light, his eyes would not have caught much. He took a deep breath. "Child, aren't you cold?" There was dread and sadness in his voice that caught her, making her feel colder. "Do you want me to stop asking?" Bijju breathed in some more nippy night air, and pulled his shawl closer around his shriveled shoulders.

"Shree, I am old and senile. You are in the prime of your youth. You have seen so much of the world, you have traveled widely, you can't possibly believe that I can give you anything. I am nothing but a poor villager, cowherd and now old man on his death bed. Ask me about my cows or this village. These are things I know." She can't know. No one could have told her. I never wanted her to know.

Shree looked at him. He looked a hundred years older than the last time she had seen him, fifteen years ago.

She walked up to him and knelt in front of his chair. She took his bony fingers into hers and looked into his eyes. Dadaji, I am sorry that you repent so much. "Bijju, you are a very brave man." Dadaji, I wish I could have spent my childhood here with you. "You have lived here like king." I wish you had not let go of us. "Don't give up on your God like this."Don't give up on her.

He started on hearing the words. He heard what she had said and had understood what she had wanted to say. But she couldn't possibly have heard about that. Why would anyone tell her.

She had not wanted to see it, yet earlier that evening she had dragged herself to it. She had spent a few minutes almost choking at the sight of what she had thought of thousands of times in the last fifteen years.

Shree left the village before sunrise. As the bus hobbled away into the hills, she saw the golden orb rise above far off palms and coconut trees. Her questions of yesterday found their way into her notebook and the ideas in her head connected themselves and wove a tight web.

Bijju looked at the bus from his spot on the veranda. I drove your father away, child. I loved my 'God' more than my family. I spent myself on that stone. I carved the stone and the stone carved me. But your father, my son, hated that stone with all his heart and mind. The day he left our home, my God left that stone. My God doesn't exist there any more.

Bijju's mind went back to the unfinished statue that had remained untouched for fifteen long years. Bijju's longest years and his most unhappy. He had never spoken about the statue again for years. He had forced himself to stop thinking about it till the previous night when Shree had asked.

Bijju went back into his house. Lying on the table was a framed photograph of his son and his grand daughter. There was also a manuscript of her latest book.

He read the first page:

"For Dadaji and his unfinished sculpture. Your Life and Our God."

She had not addressed him as Dadaji. She had not asked about the statue. She had not asked him why he had let her go away. She had not blamed him and hated him.

Bijju had let his family leave him over a sculpture. A sculpture of a woman. He had loved the sculpture more than any woman. His family had hated the mystery woman and the stone more than who ever she was. He had labored over the stone with purpose and determination. No one could understand his love. No one understood his religion. When men of his age turned to pray to idols and pictures in a feeble attempt to have their sins overlooked, he had spent himself chiseling out the curves of a woman's body in stone. He had lived for that stone. Now, the stone maiden lay weathering in a field away from the village.

Bijju opened the book. He moved his fingers over the title. "The Stone Maiden". Tears rolled down his jagged cheeks. His God came back to haunt him. His religion beckoned him. That night Bijju returned to her with his chisel.

Her 10 minute treat

2009-11-18T13:08:00.002+05:30

She felt the coldness on her palm. Water vapour cooling off on the sides of the glass cup felt good on her dry hands. She looked at the scoops in her cup, decorated with exotic nuts and berries. The very sight was inviting. The cup of icecream was begging to be eaten. Strangely, something that looked so delicious had so feeble a smell. This was made up for by the richness that the first spoon of it gave as it dissolved in her mouth, the cold sweetness slowly spreading out onto her palate. The occasional crunch of a nut and the combined taste of chocolate with the nut made it heavenly.
The whole world stopped. The blazing sun was just wiped away, the honking vehicles were muted and the million trivial troubles that we put ourselves into were merely a speck in some distant universe. With every spoon she scooped out, it all disappeared. And with every spoon disappearing, they were all getting ready to make a come back.
All good things come to an end, and the short-lived joy was as fast melting as the choco-nut sundae.

Plea for ideas

2009-09-24T18:48:00.004+05:30

I am currently battling a big, huge, large block that is threatening to kill this blog. I have discarded at least 8 drafts and am sure I will discard more. Whatever I write seems like the worst kind of rubbish and bores me to death. To force myself out of this I have decided to write about anything that you ask me to write about. Give me a topic/ ask me a question/point me to something that interests you/all of the above. Anything is welcome!! Just leave me a comment. Mail me or call me. Thanks!

Meaningless

2009-08-26T15:44:00.002+05:30

I have been trying so hard for the past few days to convey something to you. It is something that sits in my mind and reminds me of it ever so often. It is something that comes up from the back of my head during every conversation, every new thought, every repeated thought as well.

While it is easy for me to think of it and know that it is true, it is hard as hell for me to tell. Because the thing that I want to communicate is about this means of communication itself. As inefficient as it can get, I know it, think it, feel it, but man made words are so inefficient that I cannot communicate their inefficiency to you.

I bet you did not get this. Cause I told you, words are TRULY meaningless. I know you will not agree.

The Treat

2009-08-04T23:12:00.003+05:30

The end of each day
Brought new hope
The end of each hour
Brought more waiting
The end of each moment
Brought more impatience

Impatience, waiting, hope
For what the next day would bring
For the excitement
For the discoveries to be made
For the joy of something new
For the contentment

It was a great treat
It was a world where
She could enter for a few minutes
And feel the tension
Like being on a rollercoaster
No. Even better.

Every morning brought a new one
Something she rose early to wait for
Every morning in the fog
The delivery boy brought a newspaper
To her doorstep
And she could do her favourite ..
Sudoku!

People? Pigeons?

2009-07-30T13:49:00.002+05:30

How lonely you can be in a crowd
When they are pushing, jostling, shoving, yelling, cursing
When they are everywhere
Trying to go somewhere, ending up nowhere
Like a pigeon - fluttering its wings, not knowing where to go

How alive can you feel
When they leave traces of their existence everywhere
Just traces of existence
Nothing more than that
Like a pigeon - "trapped" in a room though its doors are open

The poor chap made into my workplace today and could not find his way out, in spite of our efforts to shoo him out through our various windows and large door.
"He", if He really is there, has a twisted, convoluted sense of humour. Nevertheless I had a laugh, thanks.

Beautiful Mathematics

2009-07-27T00:04:00.006+05:30

I met a person recently who told me that he was doing a PhD in Mathematics. I always have had awe for people who are researching in Math or Physics. Having read stories of physicists and mathematicians who were glorified by war efforts to build "The bomb" and all the frenetic activity that went with it, I always have wondered if the people of the present generation have much to offer that will take the whole world by storm like Einstein and others did in their time. Does anyone today, have the opportunity to capture the imagination of the entire world, with theories that would destroy the theories that we have held to be true for a few hundred years?
What does this Math PhD guy do really? I regretted asking the question after I saw how uncomfortable it made him. He mumbled a few words about how "research in Mathematics is never really with an application in mind. You know, you have some math... and... you work around with it you know... and see what you get from it.." he trails off. I am still listening expectantly. "You know, you can work with it for years and never really get anywhere..". Then he goes on, "You know, math is full of axioms, so we never can say if we are getting anywhere by accepting them". His voice trails off again. Then I got his point. He thought I was too stupid to get it in technical terms.
"So it is more like free thinking? You turn axioms out of your mind and try looking at things differently?", I asked. At my mention of 'free thinking' he jumped. He excitedly says that is so and that it was free thinking without being bothered about applications. "More like art for art's sake?" Yes he says, beautiful Mathematics. They have trouble getting funds for their work. No one can explain why beautiful Mathematics is important. That is if you can explain to someone (especially people who are in charge of supplying funds) how math can be beautiful in the first place.
Then again, isn't Mathematics our feeble attempt to understand a universe that has so many mysteries? We take pleasure in knowing that there are some numbers that seem to resonate with the universe and occur everywhere - like pi. There are others that we will never understand, never feel and never be able to imagine like infinity. Yet Mathematics is our only tool aiding us in hope of understanding the universe - a means to find order in chaos, an attempt to structure and organize life. Almost like religion that is based on strong beliefs, passed down from generation to generation, and little else.

Incoherence

2009-07-09T18:23:00.006+05:30

Headphones throb, head sings.
Speech blurs, sight slurs.
False dreams feed real fires
False fires burn true drives
Gossip marathon is won again
One marathon is a lot of gossip
Too many characters to the drama
Too many dramas to the character
Science is the only refuge of the dreamer
The dreamer is the only hope of science
People sense and make no blabber
Sleep dangerous is extremely deprivation

Go get more sleep

This blog

2009-06-11T17:22:00.002+05:30

Today I gave a fresh look at my prized blog. I wondered why I had started writing in the first place. I re-read many posts trying to find a thread, trying to find what the blog can be classified as. I have kept out personal details of any kind here. Unless you know me personally, you wouldn't even know my name from the kind of anonymity I keep up. I have not named my occupation. I have left an inkling of what I have been educated to be. So the blog leaves out these important details that have to be filled in every form and letter - considered to be most essential to your identity. Yet, the blog is filled with an essence of who I am, even if it does not convey every aspect of who I am. At the end of this session, I am appalled at the amount of information I give away to a reader who would care enough to read into every word that I have said here. I have taken pains to keep out my identity on the net and yet I have ended up telling you so many many things. It tells me so many things about myself, about my evolution as an individual. But all this is only because I think I know myself. I wonder what it tells somebody else.

Tempest

2009-04-03T14:52:00.002+05:30

It rose and it fell with the fury of hell
It roared and it thrashed. It soared and it crashed
The force that drove it - seemingly infinite

It hissed and spat. Then it rolled out flat
It sat so quiet, the end of its riot.
The force that had driven it - was it spent?

Force of such kind, akin to that of your mind
When it gains the right bent, can never be spent
There it does roll -limitless

Flying high

2009-03-27T17:56:00.003+05:30

He felt so proud
Soaring above everyone else
He looked back down at me
He felt safe up there

I fed some more cord
He soared a bit more
He went with the wind
With the wind he swayed

The colours adorning him loud
So he could be seen far and wide
He strayed as far away
As the cord in my hand allowed

I watched amazed
At the heights that he can soar to
At how he swam the skies
How with the wind he played

I was standing aground
He looked so high
That was when I saw a sight
That woke me up today

While the kite in my hand
Soared imagined heights
A bird passed it by
Dressed in soft, pastel shades

I dropped my precious cord
I did learn something new
Why when you can flap your wings
Why tie yourself with cords

Spread them out and fly away. That is what real flight is.

How to make the world a better place?

2009-03-20T19:11:00.002+05:30

Just introduce to every human, ultimate joy, by showing him the results of his productivity. Not grades. Not monetary benefits. But actual results. Show him the houses where the tiles polished by the machine he built are laid, show him the people who enjoy the food that he helped grow and produce. And that, my good people, will make every man better, happier and healthier.

What's with your language

2009-03-20T11:56:00.004+05:30

Vowels go into the dustbin. Spellings get kicked out the back door
You play with the capslock button like you did with the neighbour's door bell
The question mark gets your concern. You don't want it to be lonely
So you put a dozen of them together.
To make it more jolly add a couple of exclamations. Weave a string or a garland with them
Invent abbreviations as you go. Or maybe create expansions for meaningless strings of consonants.
Originality? Or a mask to cover the lack of it.
Laziness? Then why write at all!

Language was invented to communicate, not to flabbergast people and leave them frustrated enough to write out rants like these.

Which is the greater crime?

2009-03-18T15:55:00.003+05:30

Knowing that you know and can do but still not doing a thing?

or

Not knowing that you can't and still being sure of yourself.

I see both kind of people around me. Getting irked.

The full cycle

2009-03-02T15:38:00.002+05:30

Snake-like, the cycle wheel goes while crushing leaves on the tarred road and leaves you wondering what is more wonderful - foliage that is just sprouting this spring or the memories of the last year that are strewn on pathways. You look up and the future calls with translucent green - fragile and yet sturdy and strong enough to last the summer and the winter after. You look down and you see orange, brown and red of last year's follies and foibles, fun and frolic - the past. Your cycle wheel crushes every crumpled reminder that goes "scrunch" on the road and that scrunch travels right up to your head through the rubber and metal. Then another attack of wind, forces down more leaves that shower down on you, covering you with orange, brown and red again. You try to weave past every one that threatens to attach itself to you, but they still do. The images of them falling down straight in individual spirals in a slow-motion-shot force your lips to turn up and acknowledge the sight. The permanence of this process of change that makes the whole earth be born again, taking you with it, taking something away and giving you something in return, keeps you in awe of perfection embedded in that which can never be perfect, permanence that is so ephemeral, meaning etched into meaninglessness and past replayed and recorded in that which is yet to come. The full cycle.

They wont see

2009-02-27T16:51:00.004+05:30

The world is not your friend, child
It is you who are.
Don't look for them to see, child
They're off too far.
Don't wait to be in the ring, child
It will leave a scar.
Build your castle hidden, child
Build it wide and large
Include in it the world, child
but don't leave the door ajar
Miles from now you will be, child
Just wish upon that star

WYTIWYG

2009-02-27T14:09:00.002+05:30

There are several layers to anything that is deep and meaningful. Anything with true depth is not lying there with everything that is there to it, available for vandals to rip through and see the bales flying in the wind. That which has great depth seems to be nothing, puts on no pretense, is ordinary to the senses of the world. It is to the thinking mind that it reveals itself in its true colours and attraction. It is to the thought process that it appeals. Like every other wonder of the world, it gives a choice. You either see it as it is or you see it as it appears to be. But what you see does not define it. What you see defines you.
"Its complexity is directly proportional to the time that you put into understanding it" and that makes it all the more beautiful.
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty, - that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."

25+56+79

2009-02-26T12:21:00.002+05:30

Do you ever add more than 2 numbers at a time? I think that however fast you may add many numbers together, finally if you sequence your operations you may see that you ended up doing an addition of only 2 numbers at a time. Can our brain only handle so much at an instant,( how ever fleeting it may be)?

Pearl of wisdom #192

2009-02-19T10:50:00.002+05:30

"If you don't know where you're going any road will take you there"

But if you do know where you are going...

... any road will still take you there.

Keep at it.

Once upon a Blog

2009-02-14T13:21:00.002+05:30

Once upon a time there lived a Blog and the girl who wrote it. The Blog carried ideas, ramblings, pure unadulterated nonsense and rantings. The girl who wrote it loved it very dearly.
One day she found that an alien thought form visited her dear Blog often. The thought form uttered truth in a way that could never be disputed. The alien was witty and intelligent. The blog girl liked what the alien had to say. The thought form gave her something to think about, when she was used to saying things that she never thought of later.
The alien was witty and blunt. She liked that. It was nice to see some spirit.
But then the alien was witty and blunt against the favour of the blog's audience. "Dangerous. Such forms must not be allowed to persist around here", she thought. Not because she did not believe in freedom of speech. She actually was a proponent of freedom. It was just that she believed that stating facts out to a large audience, that was not ready to take it at face value, was in fact an injury on their intelligences. But this was conflicting - she had to decide on freedom of speech or on injuring unsuspecting members of the audience. Freedom of speech was larger. Ideas are larger. That is why there once lived a Blog and the girl who wrote it.

Apologies. Please come back.

Tolerance dash

2009-02-13T13:38:00.003+05:30

The problem with most of us is that we cannot accept anyone who is different from us. Leave alone accepting - we cannot tolerate differences. We claim to be individuals and think uniquely and hold ourselves supreme and beyond question. But no other man deserves to have that. No other person can bring forth his individuality and his personality, cause it disturbs us? cause we feel threatened?

The problem's solution is in the problem. If you are fragile enough to be disturbed, fragile enough to be threatened, then honestly you are nothing extraordinary. You do not deserve to feel that supremacy that you do. You cannot distinguish yourself from that which disturbs you.

People are different. By nature, by birth, by circumstance or by choice. If you are entirely what you are by choice and by nothing else then you may pass judgements as you do. But you are not. No one is. Full stop. So just quit it and go back to your work.

Some more

2009-02-12T18:30:00.002+05:30

I come down to this page and set my hands to the board knowing that what will flow will go nowhere - it will travel up and travel down.
It is that which pervades all space.
It is that which engulfs everything in it.
It is that which will not die.
It is that which has not a purpose and not a reason.
(It is the only thing that does not, you would say. Or scoff.)
True nonsense never has any intentions, beginnings, ends.

People say the dumbest things

2009-02-09T16:01:00.005+05:30

A poem is not a place for an idea? What a dumb thing to say. What is wrong with writing an idea in a poem? Are you telling me that a poem has to have no ideas but should just be a collection of sweet sounding words that you put a tune to? Silly.
That does not make any sense at all. When people start finding ways of communicating in something other than words all these displays of stupidity could stop.

post mortem report

2009-02-06T14:23:00.005+05:30

He had tried all he could. But anywhere he had dug, all he could find was earth. The treasure that had been promised to him, the treasure that had tantalized him and that had taunted him was no where to be found. Some people know when to give up but not him. He had continued to believe that he could find that treasure. He had found something sometimes that shone bright from a distance. But a closer glance had shattered his hopes again. Alas! what a fool he had been. He had gone right back to dig and dirty himself with the earth that flew around at contact with his worn out spade.

What could the problem have been? His spade could have been worn out. It could be that he was too trusting. He could have been looking in the wrong places. He could have been looking for it for the wrong reasons. He might not have trusted his abilities. He might not have had a direction and order to his digging.

But then the most important question is - had there been some basis to his idea that treasure can be got only by digging?

That's enough of nonsense I guess.

Power(puff) girl

2009-02-05T18:05:00.003+05:30

I once blabbed in a packed class that I see myself holding a position of great power and control in my life in future. I was scoffed at and the instructor gave a very sarcasm laden comment about it that I forget now (very conveniently). This was around 3 years ago. I wonder now, what it is about power that people are crazy about. Power over other human beings? Power over nature? Power over destiny and future? Power to make, break and demolish? Or simply power over myself and what happens to me. Why should anyone go after the power to influence or control other people and their happiness?
I believe the power to choose what happens to me is much more important than the power to "control" the people of the world or any other power for that matter.

Mirage

2009-02-03T17:02:00.004+05:30

I searched for the blue sky. It takes me in every time I see it because of the way it spreads out and over and around. It sees no beginning and no end like every piece of truth that exists in this world and yet there is no bigger illusion than this image that we call the sky. That day, it had spread in every direction that I turned till the land devoured it. It was telling me that there was something that I did not know but could feel - there was something that I could believe in without seeing. It seemed as though it ended where it touched the land, but I could feel that it did not.
Today I searched for the sky. I searched for that huge play on my eyes that had me enamoured and in awe and that had held my imagination for years. I looked for it in the distance as my cramped bus moved among dusty buildings. I searched for it like a parched traveler in a desert looks for an oasis. Like a parched traveler I trudged on - up and down sand dunes and looked to see a spot of that which holds life and body together.
Then like a parched traveler I looked out the window and found something that spread out and over and around. It took me in its grip and made me believe that it was a vast expanse and a huge something that was larger than me and my world. Like a parched traveler feeling the misery of having seen a mirage that created false hopes in his mind - when the smoke cleared I saw there was no sky - only more skyscrapers that shielded the blue from my eyes.
Later, I wondered. When the blue clears will I be as disappointed?

Patterns

2009-01-23T14:52:00.004+05:30

One essential thing to learning and discovering things for yourself, without the aid of information from work others have done before you, is to look for patterns. A pattern in the kind of feedback you get from the system will let you categorize what you see. Finding these patterns is essential to understanding the system.
This is precisely the reason why people judge others. But if you try judging others from the patterns that other people have already spotted before you , it is meaningless and not justified. You see it is only fair if you are finding patterns where you know of none. That is why people are so against judging others.
Incidentally, people who claim they do not judge are the ones who cannot stop doing that.

Don't you know?

2009-01-22T11:45:00.000+05:30

Mundane and boring verse
That makes sense to none
except the one
who wrote it?
Trivial and trite words
that reveal nothing
to anyone?
Then for what
did she write all that trash
Or for whom did she
pour out her soul
in words here?

Star Struck

2009-01-10T12:04:00.000+05:30

Stars are millions of miles away
There are millions of them
"I am just a speck here" they say
"So I don't matter much"

But those million stars can't see me
It is my eye that holds them
I decide whether to let them be
Or blink my eyes and be done with

So am I still just a speck here?

Are these questions?

2009-01-08T17:07:00.000+05:30

What do you admire someone for. For what they have achieved? For what labels people have thrust upon them? For who they are? Or do you just admire them for what they are?

What do you believe in God for. Do you want to feel safe to think that some one else is there to watch over you? Do you want some one else whom you can praise for your achievements? Are you afraid of the power of your happiness? You want it to be in the safe hands of someone else?

What am I asking these questions for? Do I want to know their answers? Do I want you to think of the answers? Do I want you to share them with me? Do I want to tell you what's on my mind?

Art, Science and Einstein

2009-01-07T18:14:00.000+05:30

"The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion that stands at the cradle of true art and true science." - Albert Einstein

This man always amazes me. I wonder how-the-hell he knew everything he did. I will keep admiration aside for now. What I have to say is neither about him and not exactly about what he means in this sentence of his.
This quote of his struck me enough to make me write it down because of one reason - the two things he mentions - true art and true science. I am just wondering aloud to all of you, correct me if I am wrong - is it not these very two things that is a common bind to all intellectuals? (I wont go into a definition of this category. I used the word not to categorize but to ensure that my readers do not start thinking of people who do not have anything to do with art and science) Isn't that all that really? Art and science - two manifestations of the mysterious. Two things that have always swayed humankind. Two things that are so different yet never against each other. In art you find deep science and in science you find magnificent art. One appeals to intelligence, the other to emotion. Both stimulate you, enthrall you, captivate you and keep you locked.
Now back to Einstein. How-the-hell did the man know all that he did. Where did he get all that.

The Sky. Again.

2009-01-06T15:41:00.000+05:30

What colour would you give the sky
If you could change it today
I would like to give it a lovely shade
That even in flowers is rare
I would start painting right away
choosing between brushes and spray
While at it, might paint the whole town too!

The image of the new sky is in my eye
Is that a sapphire in the pouring rain?
Is that a chemical on a petridish?
What glorious colour is this that spreads
What colour is this? Has it no name?
What colour is it that my brushes gave
Wait! This colour is... again... just blue!!

Loud mouth!

2009-01-05T18:14:00.000+05:30

She stands tall and high
She yells and screams
All around her have no choice
But to rush in before she cries

Loud shriek - ear pierce
She yells and screams
All around have no choice
But to work cupping their ears

She has fixed times - everyday
She yells and screams
All around her have no choice
But to do as she says

But in the evening when she calls
She yells and screams
All around her rejoice
It is the finally the day's fall
It is time to go home!

Mixed pictures

2009-01-03T10:49:00.000+05:30

The cold wind sang in my ears
The sun shone bright and warm
Shade after shade of green rushed past me
Washed me with an urgent sense of calm
A storm brewed in my head
The whole world held its breath
Answer after question raged inside me
Like life defeating certain death

Creative low

2009-01-02T18:03:00.000+05:30

She writes away
Just a play
of words
Nothing to convey
Only to give way
to collected steam
At the end of the day

Ignore list

2008-12-31T16:46:00.000+05:30

"I never drink water, it is the stuff that rusts pipes" - W.C. Fields
And how many other things are you going to give up like that? Reading books make you have prejudices, food makes you fat, too much work makes you sick and staying away from family makes you love them "less", or be loved by them "less". How many more? Does anyone else want to say something?

Scene on the Sidewalk

2008-12-30T12:19:00.000+05:30

A proper lady - dressed in her best. She wore a magenta and purple shawl around her neck that glimmered when light shown upon it. And she wore an adorable set of jewelery in white to go with. The dress - perfect fit on her- was a dull but shimmering grey velvet that turned green at certain angles. In a very ladylike fashion she moved away and sat on the wall, popping her head, absorbing and taking in everything around her. She was judging the situation, calculating her next move - very unladylike you may say. All the same she was lovely. What was the situation like you may ask. It was like this - the sun was just rising, the air was cool and soft. People were not busily about yet, though they soon would be. They would drive their noisy cars, yell noisy and meaningless words and switch on their noisy and polluting air-conditioners. But that was still a few hours away. Till then she had her time and the world was hers.
She found what she had been looking for, a lone old man - one of the few left that looked out for others. He was dressed in white pyjamas and had a brown shawl thrown over his shriveled shoulders. He was stooping under the weight of his whole life. She might have wondered, what it was that had been so heavy that made him bend so. Or she might not have wondered, we will never know.
He was throwing out grains on the sidewalk and making soft cooing noises. No one would know what it was that went on in his mind as he went about - one wobbly step after another. Slow and purposeful steps that led to where? For what?
These questions may have held her for sometime, then she forced herself out of her reverie. She had no more time to waste. She spread her wings out and swooped gracefully down and pecked at the delicious grains that the old man threw out, strutting along as she ate, at peace with the world.

Alcohol all around

2008-12-29T15:41:00.000+05:30

I saw something very funny today, funny enough to grin a long way after I had seen it.Shop name - "Janatha Bazaar Liquor Suppliers" with a big neon sign of "Budweiser" above it. It was huge, some sort of supermarket. You went in with a trolley and got the "supplies" you needed I guess. So I glanced at it and inside and at the shiny bottles in racks. Looked really cool. A place you would want to be seen in, with all the right accessories - aviator glasses and all. Right next to that was.. guess what? No? Khadi Gramodyog with our dear old Mahatma's face smiling benevolently. His face in profile was turning towards our Budweiser store as though looking there and giving a smile!
Before you come to conclusions - I am not going to preach. Just found it ironic.

I thought a little more about Gandhi. There has been a lot said about him, in praise of him, against him. I have tried to take sides many times before, but the man simply refuses to fall into a category for me. People say India could have got freedom much before, if it had not been for him. I do not know what the truth is, but I know that whatever it may be, is bound to be convoluted and twisted. I only wonder about the courage of the man. What else could explain how he got so many people to believe in such an idealistic and simple campaign? He just stuck on so persistently to being a pesky creature! He made sure the message of his echoed everywhere. That was all!!

As for our liquor suppliers - they are following his strategy. They are just being persistent and up everywhere. You can be miles away from an ATM, a bus stand or a stationery story in this city I live in. But you can find a liquor store within 20 metres of anywhere. Simple, yet effective campaigning for the cause of the fluids and their druids.

Got an idea?

2008-12-26T17:04:00.000+05:30

Is an idea good if and only if it comes to you, when you are trying to find the solution to a problem? What about an idea that comes to you out of the blue, leading you to a problem which could be solved by the implementation of this idea? Furthermore, what about an idea that crops up on you to hold you and shake you and force you into finding some situation in which it can be used.

We have heard so many tales of inventors having "found" their ideas while searching for something different from what they found - like the alchemists. But how many stories have we heard of people trying to find an area of use for some random idea that they may have got? Probably every random idea that people got, led them to find a use for it.

Maybe the question that I am asking is useless. Maybe the most brilliant of ideas are only of value if a problem exists for them to solve.

A quote

2008-12-24T14:19:00.000+05:30

The best thing I have read today:
"Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live, it is asking others to live as one wishes to live."
-- Oscar Wilde

Have you seen the sky today

2008-12-23T11:39:00.000+05:30

Have you seen the sky today?
It tells me lot so much more
Wonder if there is much left to say
Wondered of it before
But there is something new everyday
It tells me so many things
It tells me tomorrow is a new day
That will finally lead to spring
Have you seen the sky today?

Fear Factor

2008-12-22T14:39:00.000+05:30

I have been making an attempt to identify my fears and find out what they are founded on and what brought in those fearful feelings.
Most of my fears are based not on cockroaches, but on less delightful creatures.
Fears can be mostly turned around or gotten rid of by analysing a previous scary encounter and chalking out what the action taken must have been like. To give you an example, if an encounter with a cockroach (of which you have great fear- assuming) caught you in the blue, you are overwhelmed with fear and are unable to respond. Once the ordeal has passed and assuming you come out alive from the encounter, you would try to go over the episode and tried to train your mind to respond to such a situation (assuming you want to, that is). A creature like a cockroach has only a limited number of ways in which it can attack or react to your attack. But if the creature you find fear-inducing is a creature of greater intelligence than a cockroach (albeit just a little more), you are caught in a loop that is best analysed by theories written by great economics geniuses of our race. The other creature thinks that, I think that, it thinks that, I think and so on.. (Or maybe my it should be -The other creature thinks, that I think, that it thinks, that I think that and so on... Either way it would make sense but in a different way. Let me think that you can think about it.)
There are certain fears that you can overcome through logical thinking (such as that of ghosts) or by over exposure ( such as of disgusting creatures), but there are some fears that cannot be overcome cause of shear inability of the human mind to take a wild guess at what is to be expected. I have no problem with unexpected twists. But it is the unpleasantness of having to deal with these creatures that has me in its grip.

Genius and General Statements

2008-12-20T09:51:00.000+05:30

"Genius is eternal patience"
I will not mention who said these wise words because I do not want you to be influenced by the context in which this great man must have spoken these words. I was influenced and had to take a little effort to take a broader look at this and view it as a general statement. Whatever the context may have been, how true is this statement.

Of the various definitions for this word in Webster's online edition, the ones that struck me the most were these -
Genius : : a peculiar, distinctive, or identifying character or spirit
: : extraordinary intellectual power especially as manifested in creative activity

Let's pay attention to the word 'spirit'. To me, this word signifies a kind of energy that ultimately leads to some creative process. Or destructive process, depending on the kind of energy.
Now back to our great man's words - 'eternal patience'? Towards what? Towards the task into which this energy is being put? Towards yourself and your eccentricities? Towards the eccentricities of the world? Towards the limitations that the world puts upon this energy? What eternal patience does he talk about?
To me, the idea of genius has always been an entity that is so full of energy, ability and will to create something, that it can hardly wait. It is extremely urgent and impatient, as though in order to channel all that energy into the creative process, without giving it a chance to dissipate or fade away.
Where does patience come in here? Isn't it impatience and an uncontrollable urge to channel energy towards a strict sense of purpose that makes genius?

Now I have to tell you, in the great man's context these words would be absolutely true. Google the quote, you will get the person. Judge for yourself. It will tell you that a general statement has very little place in this world.

You and I

2008-12-19T13:30:00.000+05:30

You question
I search for answers
You criticize
I sympathize
You ridicule
I cringe
You dismiss
I reason
You give up
I hold on
You judge
I forgive
You and I
Couldn't be more apart
But each of us makes a part
of the whole.
You and I
are in every thinking mind,
what we churn out, what we grind
balances the scale.

Who

2008-12-19T09:54:00.000+05:30

Who is it that holds you
in the palm of their hands
Who is it that can shape you
Any way that they want to

Who is it that gives you
a reason to live
Who is it that can make you
Happy, wise and glowing

Who is it that twists you
Who is it that destroys
Who is it that breaks you
Who is it that defines

It is you, who gives you
In the hands of another
It is you, who holds you
breaks you or makes you

It is you that knows you
It is you. You have the power
The power of your happiness
The power to be You.
Go Rule The World.

Why I write poetry

2008-11-12T12:21:00.000+05:30

Why?
Cause I like reading it over again
I am not being vain
There is just a little pleasure I gain
from reading what I said before
It is also that I can write down
something that would really sound
trivial in prose, but in this form, profound
I would myself hate to read
some piece of prose that goes on and on
about some lonely village girl's song
worse if she sounds lost and forlorn
But then if someone puts it in this form
I would read most gladly
About dry grass or a dead tree
or some age-old piece of pottery
It is not what you write about, but how you do
It is easy, writing a piece of prose
that is pompous, crude and verbose
But nothing can even come close
To the depth that flows in poetry
That is why.

Don't give me another name

2008-09-16T15:59:00.000+05:30

No, I am not in camphor
Not in tinkling bells
No, I don't live in heaven
Nor is there a hell

I am not in murmured prayers
Not in whispered chants
I am not the slayer of evil
I am not the giver of grants

I am not in warring tribes
That kill without a thought
That preach about my will, yet
whose faith can be bought

Stop looking for me in idols
Stop looking in holy verse
I am right here, beside you,
in sunsets, on seashores.

I am in the quest for learning
I am in that which is pure
I am in trees and life and happiness
I am beauty that endures

I am in everything that breathes
And walks the face of Earth
I am in every kind word said
And in joyous mirth

Stop this trivial squabbling
Too many have died, too many maimed
I am life and love and freedom
Don't give me another name

Me am media's voodoo doll.

2008-09-15T14:19:00.000+05:30

Warning: May contain traces of "humour" of the bathroom variety. Read at your own risk.

News is not entertainment. It is bad enough to have ads on TV channels that you pay for, we really do not need more rubbish from news channels. Least of all background music and the life of movie stars and their kind. They have their share of publicity. Newspaper supplements are filled with so called tidbits from their lives. Let them eat, drink and do whatever, just leave me out of it. There should be a law against wasting people's time trying to force stuff on them about what news guys think is news that too of the "breaking" kind. ("What should I break to vent this frustration") Or worse are the "citizen journalist" shows that are filled with dramatic music, video styling (camera tilts, slow motion, picture turns black and white all of a sudden) and weeping people. Are people so insensitive that they must be shown tears and suffering for them to accept that the other person is in trouble?

So the GOP thinks that Obama called Palin a pig. (If he really meant it, it was pretty decent of him to stop there). So what can we do? Why should the entire internet cough up links that talk about lipstick and pigs? Curiosity got the better of me and I read through all that rubbish. But don't blame me, you cant help but be intrigued if you see links that cryptically talk about putting lipstick on a pig. I wondered if anyone wanted to something so stupid why they would be doing it etc... Who ever knew that it was just a stupid expression.

Worst of all, are these so called entertainment channels that thrusts their sense of humour on people. It has ridiculous programs that go "dus ka dumb". Right you are. But a great understatement. It should be "Dus to the power infinity dumb". How else do you describe a show that gives you a complete audio-visual-sensory experience. When Salman pops up with his anchoring in a voice and accent that makes him sound constipated, it makes you look and feel constipated. Add to it Rakhi Sawant and it threatens to empty the contents of your stomach (Problem child style)

They all know where exactly it hurts and they pierce me right there. In my kingdom I will destroy the TV. And be more cautious before clicking on links. (sigh. cant banish the net)

Girl at work

2008-09-06T10:38:00.000+05:30

Post number 50. Not a great milestone for me considering the rubbish that I have put in here anyway.
The milestone that I have been looking at more closely is having completed four months at my job. I have never had more fun than this in my life. I get these weird nods and empty smiles when I talk about how enjoyable my job is that I sometimes wonder if I am wrong in feeling this way. I guess people are more used to listening to cribbing and complaining about how over-stressed they are and underpaid. Talking about the pay, I am supposed to be earning less than a sweeper at NTPC, but that does not really matter. The fun that I am having while working is priceless. It is not so much in the place and the people (both of which are surprisingly great) as in my work itself.
I probably sound like a geek and like a goody-goody gal, and the kid that sits in the first bench and answers all the questions. But hey, I think I am one of these if not all... Not sure about the good part.
When I started out, I have even mentioned here on my blog, I was scared I would not be able to work up to people's standards, I was scared I would not fit in with my colleagues and I was scared that I would find out how stupid I really am. I have not found out how stupid I really am yet, but the other two fears just evaporated.
Is it just that everything has been really smooth for me or is it that when you enjoy your job, you have never worked a day in your life. (Or some such thing as Confucius said.)

The 8 things tag

2008-08-16T20:01:00.000+05:30

Thanks Matangi for this tag. I have never done one before and never thought I should ever do one. This one is only for you Matangi. You wont find anything remotely interesting or new. You are going to get to know how boring I really am. :)

8 Things I am most passionate about:

My job, family, reading, music, food, friends, talking, and a bunch of beautiful girls.

8 Things I wanna do before I die:

This
go around the world
build a house
learn to play the guitar
write a book
paint a whole painting
compose a song
spend a month on a deserted island. away from civilization or any signs of it.

8 Things I say often:

Please, Sorry, Thank you, Oh my God, Shit, How stupid, Ridiculous, I am hungry

8 Books I last read:

Tinyos programming by Phil Levis,
Trustee from the tool room by Nevil Shute,
The Brave Little tailor,
Cinderella,
The little mermaid.
On the farm. What? I am serious.
Doctors by Erich Segal.
The prodigal daughter Jeffrey Archer

8 songs that I listen to over and over again:

Nothing else matters Metallica
Enjoy the silence Depeche Mode
Kiss from a rose Seal
Under the bridge RHCP
Desert Rose Sting
Come undone Duran Duran
Sultans of Swing Dire Straits
Layla Eric Clapton

8 friends I now tag:

Anyone who wants to take it up please do. Give me your link if you are doing it.

Let's go back

2008-07-21T17:27:00.000+05:30

Gleaming eyes, feet without shoes
Never any worries, nor any blues
The wind in his hair fed his glee
A smile on his face for all to see
The cycle he rode, sped on fast
Alas! This joy barely does last
The boy, some day, will have to "grow up"
Leave joy behind, enter the muck
that this world pulls us all into
I know, I too wish it wasn't true
I too wish we all could stay
carefree, careless, joyful, that way

But wait. Why is it too late?
Is growing up like going thru' a one-way gate?
Why can't we just turn time back?
Run races, jumping with both feet inside a sack?
Laugh and jump like we always did
Of worry and pain we shall be rid
So why don't you and me make a deal
You bring sticks, I'll bring us wheels
Lets hit it, drive it and run down a hill
Across the stream, around the mill
Lets run all around and run all the way
Lets relive childhood, if only for a day

What say??! ;)

Immortals in combat

2008-07-07T17:45:00.000+05:30

"Like two immortals locked in combat until Judgement Day...".
"Or... you can surrender..."

That is Barbosa and Jack Sparrows in 'The Pirates of the Carribean'.
Watching Fed coming back against Rafa again and yet again, I thought, if their master strokes, saves and returns could be put into words they must have said something like that.
Sport is one of those things that converts a man into his thoughts. It brings out a part of him that completely belongs to Nature. It is not acquired. Sport involves that part of the brain that performs by practice and by discipline and by simply letting go. It does not have time nor the need to ask questions and get answers. It has a way of showing the on-looker how a man can become one with what he is doing.
The same applies to a musician and his instrument, to a scientist and his work. While the body moves with the ball and the bat and these two move with the body, they become one entity and the rest of the world seems immaterial. The world seems too far away to touch them. It feels like gravity does not work on the mind any more. They are free to soar and to touch heights that no one could possibly reach.

Well, I think both Rafa and Fed reached that height last evening. It sure was one great match. As they reached that height, they took me along.There I was squatting by the television, whooping and yelling out support as though they could hear me. I guess that height does not pay heed to the limitations of man. That is why they both played like gods.

Loony tune Vs birdie melody

2008-06-13T15:40:00.000+05:30

I stopped singing
out of sheer boredom
of having heard no other voice at all

My sense of hearing
heightened by the cessation of noise(!)
perceived the music of a bird call

The tunes I sing
made by mere mortals can't keep
anyone the way this one had me in thrall

The little guy jumping
from branch to branch
sang so beautifully with his throat so small

What I would give
for that tune to be mine
God knows, I would give my all

I shall not talk to you

2008-05-31T12:24:00.000+05:30

There is nothing wrong with us two
We just belong to different worlds
I am not being arrogant, while
you are not being vain.

I shall not talk to you
Cause I do not want to be forced
To give you a false smile
every time I see you again

So go back to your rouge
Go back to your makeup course
Keep the gap of several miles
any time I pass by your lane

Dedicated to my hostel mates whom I have not talked to yet, in spite of having lived under the same roof for an entire month.

Of Forests and Failure

2008-05-24T10:16:00.000+05:30

I take yet another walk through the forest that holds me and keeps me in its awe. My neck begins to ache dully because of constantly looking up and watching birds, insects, leaves and branches of every hue you could ever imagine. A million sights and sounds and sensations. A snail with its antenna and dull brown shell, moving as though on wheels with an air of royalty that does not bother about speed. To it, like me, the journey mattered more than the destination. A centipede- glossy and busily moving over twigs and leaves. Curling up when poked or prodded. Birds twittering and singing, moving from branch to branch. One dressed in a dinner jacket that fit wonderfully, showing it off by jumping busily in front of me, the other hidden well from my prying eyes. Slithering slowly and noisily over dry leaves into a clump of trees - that was a red rat snake that looked at me from behind a tree curiously. A grey mongoose looking about with a frightened air. It looked left first, then right, and then left again. When it was just about to cross the road it spied me boring my eyes into it, taking in its swift movements and shiny fur. Then it bolted to the other side and looked back at me hidden safely under a slab. A heron that arrived in the evening into its favourite spot on the lawn and busily picked up delicious insects. Lots of butterflies, donning the latest fashion. Blue of a million hues, pink, yellow, green, orange, red, black, what-is-that-colour-never-named-by-man. And trees, reaching out to heaven, waving at the sun. Sunlight drenched these leaves and turned them a translucent green. Colours and shades of green - innumerable. These leaves blessed the occasional passerby with some cold drops of water that had spent the night on them. Creepers that rose to the sky and weaved a thick sun-ban. Branches that fought their way up trying to get some sunshine for themselves.
And me in the middle. Not knowing what to look at and what to take in and what I might miss if I turned one way or the other. Me in the middle. Writing all this to people who probably will never see this place - right out of a fairy tale. Telling them things that they can never feel because words are inadequate. Quite useless. I can tell you about what I see not what I feel. My senses are strong and the stimulus of the forest is powerful. But it is this brain's inability to bring the feelings it experiences and enjoys to you.

Randomer and randomer :D

2008-05-21T13:23:00.000+05:30

Yesterday I squandered away a lot of money on my mobile phone, used it to talk to many people that I normally don't call up to talk to. Yapped away to glory while it threatened to rain. I stood on the terrace watching trees waving in the wind and the lightning display. It only threatened to rain. With a lot of disappointment I headed downstairs and finished another Sudoku puzzle. I bought two papers yesterday - The Hindu and The Times of India. I usually buy only the former, but because I have had people telling me that they like The Times better, I decided to compare the two. Well, I liked the puzzles page (:D) in The Times. But it had nothing else other than sickening tales about film stars(I think they were film stars, they were dressed like them. Never have actually heard of them before) and some other controversial characters. I just didn't like it. It sounded more like a magazine than a newspaper. Nothing like good old Hindu. There was an article (in The Hindu) that went "How to avoid boring strangers" or something like that, that cracked me up. Some person who thinks like me, that reporter. I keep forgetting (almost) that the sarcasm that I take to be humour normally, sounds sinister and evil to other people. I keep reminding myself that others are neither as forgiving as my family,nor as good-humoured to allow my jokes to amuse them. So even when I think up of some hilarious, sarcastic something I just allow myself a large grin and try not to allow myself to be seen. Not for the fear of being seen and thought of as mad - but for the fear of having to tell them what it was that I found so funny. They just wouldn't understand it I know.
Then I saw a mongoose. Light brown and shiny, long body. Quick, sharp movements. It bolted as soon as it saw me.
My digestive system is beginning to weaken. My stomach feels like lead and the sight of sambhar makes me feel like throwing up. Lunch was a lot of rasam and a little bit of rice. I hope it does a little good to my stomach. I feel sad for the poor thing.
As you can see I am dying of boredom and getting more and more random. I have never rambled more than this. Well this has nothing to do with my job. It is just the time that I spend away from it that is killing me. So just hoping that I am able to spend more time here and find some good way of using my time away from work.
What's happening with you?

Sajida

2008-05-16T17:19:00.000+05:30

As different as life is from death,
as different as rain is from heat,
As far away as stars are from Earth,
As contrasting as day is to night,
So different was the harsh black cloth,
That wrapped in it a face so white.

The death of a fanatic

2008-05-14T17:00:00.000+05:30

Chandrasekhara sat on the floor with papers strewn all around him. He was shaking terribly and had a swollen eye. Dazedly he wondered what had happened in the last few minutes. Nothing made sense. He strained to get up and headed to the washroom in his 2 room house that had almost fallen apart after his assailants had entered and beaten him up. Too frail to give back or protect himself, he had been so powerless that the hefty men had hesitated to hit him too hard.

He was too scared to go out to see a doctor about his injuries. He huddled up on his cot and tried to sleep. But his heart continued to bang and his body felt like it had been thrown down a cliff. He wondered what had triggered the cruel attack on his life. He had never meant anyone any harm in his life. But he had some principles that had cost him a lot.

He loved his language and culture. He was known for his fluency in Kannada, his vocabulary and his wit in speech and writing. His flawless Kannada was marveled at and praised by many.
He had written several books in Kannada. They had been greatly appreciated by people who could still read and understand the language in its true form, because over the years the language had deteriorated. He attributed this to the unwillingness of parents to allow their children to "waste" their time on Kannada. Even in his tired and pain-ridden state now he shook with anger when he thought of all this.

People thought he was a fanatic. He had a profound love for Kannada and that should have been in everyone who had it for their mother tongue. It was but natural. That is why he had been actively involved in spreading the growth and the return of the most beautiful language in the world. He had been responsible for all the public transport and public offices, streets and bus stands having only Kannada lettering on them. He had wanted Kannada to be everywhere. And he had succeeded partially. He had not succeeded in making advertisers write in Kannada. They preferred to write Kannada words in English. It irked him terribly. It was worse than English lettering. He had wanted to change that and went about doing what it would take to make these ad-makers write in beautiful Kannada. After all, it was for their good. It would help improve their business obviously.

Fanatics were those people that went after money. They were those people who lied and flattered and messed up other people's lives for the sake of living in luxury and with a lot of money. They had sold their souls and hearts for the sake of it. Changing to Kannada meant that these people would have to spend money on re-writing boards. It was but a measly amount really. That was not the reason Chandrashekhara had been getting death-threats. The ad-makers had thought that he was after their money. What ridiculous rubbish! What did money mean any way. They had offered to buy him. When he had refused any price they mentioned they had taken the next step and that was to threaten him. He was not one to give up so easily. After all it was the question of his pride for his language. That was what drove Chandrashekhara to hold on to his position over the issue. In spite of the bruises that his body bore, he held on to his beliefs. He pressed the right people to do what it took to ensure that all ads were in Kannada and no other language.
That evening Chandrashekhara was found dead in a dark alley. He had been bludgeoned to death.

Well, Chandrashekhara was probably wrong and foolish in what he did. It is up to you to decide for yourself.But the truth is that humans understand only devotion to money. So much so that they offer money to the gods and goddesses that they worship. As though it were of any use. They scrimp and save and kill for every paisa. They don't think before kicking up a fuss over a rupee that was owed to them. They rate other human beings based on how much money they have or had or will have. They think of, talk of, dream of, work for, die for, kill for, scream for money. That is natural to man. That is acceptable. In fact the lack of devotion to money is unnatural and unthinkable - an offence. Any other devotion - however mild or extreme, restrained or enthusiastic - is termed fanaticism.

Entirely a figment of my overactive imagination. And apologies if you have been subjected to my long tirades against the use of Kannada here in B'lore. This story just struck me and I found myself telling myself that I was being a fanatic myself and that I just need to open my mind a little more. So it is the death of this fanatic.

Welcome back blog!!

2008-05-12T15:38:00.000+05:30

You will please forgive me for having my mood swings and for my extremely short temper that blinds me temporarily but not for too long.
I took off my beloved blog - will-make-change in a moment of weakness. However the intentions with which I started writing the blog are crystal clear and always strong. I am bringing it back to public view now that my mind has returned to me.
Thank you all of you who stand by me even when I am screaming crazy. I will not attempt to remove the blog again.

Kleptēs

2008-05-12T14:26:00.000+05:30

As the bus screeched to a halt, she pushed into the bus from behind the queue that had formed. She found her seat and then began her workweek. Like the few tens of weeks that had gone by, this one was not different. It involved her getting into this bus and choosing this particular seat and getting to work.
She scanned her co-passengers carefully. There were some irritating schoolgirls, giggling over nothing. There were old women going to the market, busily making garlands with deft fingers. There were some others who were sitting and doing some last minute studying for their exams. Papers in hand, and lips busily muttering something. Then there were the usual cellphone devotees... Then finally she found what she was looking for. A short and plump girl with a bulky bag - things almost spilling out. She was obviously new here and was probably lost. She was anxiously looking out of the window and trying to read what the signboards said, to see if she had to get down yet.
The bag was neat, like the ones rich people going to offices use. But it was overstuffed and had some zips open. Perfect. The girl had slid her hand into one of the openings and got out change to buy her bus ticket. So that was not where the big money was.
Figuring out the bag neatly and inconspicuously, her brain worked fast. She then found out where, what she wanted, would be.
Her heart was racing and she was tense in the excitement of it all. It had never failed to get adrenaline flowing for her. In a swift moment the money was in her hand. And she was off the bus. The workweek had begun in style. Then walking fast, with the clip-clop of her pointed heels resounding in the corridor Kamala pushed the doors of the 12 storey building, swiped her card quickly and marched smartly into her air-conditioned corner office to get on with her boring full-time job.

This story is entirely a figment of my imagination. Kleptomaniacs do not actually steal with the intention of doing so and do not steal objects of great value usually. It is a serious mental affliction and has been compared to Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). This story was not written with the intention of hurting anyone and bears no resemblance to anyone I know. Though kleptomania is a disease, Kleptēs means "to steal" in Greek.

Then it rained

2008-05-08T15:26:00.000+05:30

Just when she thought
it was a life-threatening drought
Just when she gave up
on everything good
Just when she waved away
thoughts, that some day
the earth would be
as green as it ever could
That's when droplets, pure
the kind that can mend and cure
fell to the parched earth
where she stood
Yes. It rained
washed away the pain
that had held reigns
on all that it could.

Its cool here now and will probably rain. Looking forward to see the forest in the rain :)
The rain always brings out poetic stuff from me. hehe.
I won't use this blog as a daily diary place. Those last two posts were just what I had wanted to record, so they had gone up there.
By the way, I saw the shed skin of a snake near here. It was shiny to look at and fragile. It felt like crepe paper though. Surprised to see that the entire skin was whole and held together though it was extremely fragile and almost dropping to bits. Don't worry, I will be fine. No snake is gonna come rushing to get me. The bus conductors are more likely to bite. So if you wanna save me, save me from them!

Historic Second day!! :)

2008-05-06T17:33:00.000+05:30

What do I say about today. I had a nice meeting with the bigger boss in a posh setting and finally gave me a feeling that I was employed.
I enjoyed working today. I was at my exploring best and looked (with a very critical eye hehe) at the works of some researchers and tried to figure out what they were trying to say in their papers.
Well I cannot tell you any of the technical details, because I am not allowed to. But the job basically requires me to develop a system of complicated electronics for a specific purpose. For this I would have to figure out what other people working before me have found and then base my design on the ideas that I get from their work. I think it is turning out to be a complicated task. The complications keep cropping up the more we (boss and I) discuss about it and thats the way I like it better :)
Well I will be doing some reverse engineering that I am already so good at and I will get to get my hands dirty with some nice electronics toys. What else can you ask for.
Thats the sum-up for you anon-e-mus.
Lunch was at the hostel mess. Food was good. I also got to talk to "Dr.KaLee" about his kungfu koolness ! and roared with laughter all the way there and back at all his stories and mannerisms. Did he look like a cartoon character? No, I told him. I said only good people can make other people laugh so heartily. (Or I should say heartiLEE the way he says it)
Well I will be heading back home for some better dinner than last night. Maybe I should treat my shrinking tummy a little better. Probably will start studying a little. My job is going to be as exciting as I ever wished it could be. So I must gear up. Wish me luck. And you two dear anonymous readers just find some time to tell me what you are doing too.

Historic first day

2008-05-05T17:50:00.000+05:30

First day at first job. I had spent the whole of last week thinking about how it would be, especially after having spent an entire year at home basically relaxing and having fun. I don't really know what to say about it. Well this place is full of greenery and feels like being in the middle of some rain forest wallpaper if we just cut out the tar roads that keep people from getting completely lost. It looks like there are no people for miles and miles around. It doesn't make me feel lonely. Makes me feel more at home and happy. But the terror starts when I think of what is waiting at the end of the long walk. People - lots of them, whose names I just manage to keep in mind, while I feel idiotically conscious of myself.People I will never get comfortable with but there is something else that is taking all my energy and processing capacity and that is the job at hand. I have no orientation, no time to get used to my environment, no getting into backslapping terms with co-workers etc.Not that I miss all that, but it sort of doesn't give me the feeling that I am actually working here. I almost felt like an intruder this morning but now after the coffee break when we all went out together, I feel a little less awkward. I think it is fine enough that people here are not going to get at me and get me down. But still that makes it bad in a way. Odd as it may seem, I think I manage to get stiff and weird around people who are really nice. Nasty and in-your-face people seem to be more easy to handle. My "boss" also mentioned how they were all like a nice informal bunch that were not bound by stiff rules - probably after seeing me at my stiffest best.That made it worse. If he had scowled a little at me maybe I would have unwound a little.
However, that boring and horribly un-understandable (for the reader) part aside my job seems to be some page out of a scifi movie, the kind that you would have to watch 2 or 3 times (if you had the interest and patience) to understand. It is so terribly contrasting with the rain forest outside that I feel disoriented when leaving one world and entering the other.
I am finding it hard to believe that I will be here for probably one year or more. Now in another half year I will be heading back "home" that is not as terrifying as the workplace, but last night had me waking up in the middle of the night and gasping at the sight of a complete stranger fast asleep in my room. I guess this is a very normal and ordinary situation to be in and I must stop being a kid and get used to all of this, but it is a lil too much to take all together. (Mom don't worry I am just being my usual complaining self and so am perfectly alright.(!))

Mom is right

2008-04-04T14:59:00.000+05:30

Mom said, "Baby, don't despise it,
the more you do, the more you become like it"
So I ask, "you mean I must like it?"
She sighs. "I guess you aren't enough wise yet"
She is more right than ever about that.

I hope this plagues you too

2008-04-03T14:06:00.000+05:30

I hope this plagues you too
You may put it away as untrue
and reach for the cross on the top-right
But that will not remove the sight
that is etched in my mind
A sight of the plaguing kind
A sight that blew into my face
taking all that faith, that was, away
One man hitting another sang-froid
Of all pity or even humanness devoid

The curse of living

2008-04-01T11:53:00.000+05:30

Guitars and drums
Vs. uncles, aunts and grandmums
Well all I really want is the rhythm
and nothing to do with people who make 'em
It is the curse of living
that makes me take what's given
Humans and more dead, zombified humans
clothed and camouflaged demons
The road to the world outside hidden
and the fiends inside me undriven.

Rant

2008-03-31T21:48:00.000+05:30

As ever the first thought was to run away from the situation into my own world that tries to shut every one out. And that dreaded misery of having to smile and say niceties to people that I don' t want to ever see. The torture of having to see the glee hidden behind their questions when I tell them how jobless I am. I am more than that. I know that I am more than that and I don't need people to tell me that I am not what I think I am. while trying to convince them that I am trying hard, I get convinced that I am really nothing and nobody.
Is everyone else so dependent on what the world thinks and tells them to do? Do these things press everyone down too? Or am I the only nincompoop unable to handle anything. Receiving a laminated sheet that proclaims that I am an engineer, but doesn't convince me that I am one in any way was one of those moments that I want to banish forever from my memory. (Is it just coincidence that these kind of incidents are happening more often than ever now?)
But this is it. I have never been lower than this ever before. And I still don't know if I can go further below, in terms of self worth and balance. I have kept telling myself all my life that I will get that feeling of self worth and the 'guts' to stand up to what I think is right and the strength to face human beings - to break free from that nagging voice in my head that never fails to remind me that I will have to be what they want me to be and not myself. Somehow when that time must have been close at hand.. it seems as impossible as it did years ago.
The next job of mine will be to convince people of something that I am completely unconvinced of myself.

Goodbye blog

2008-03-17T18:59:00.000+05:30

I decided to say goodbye to one of my blogs. I just realized that I was putting up all that stuff there for myself. I would like to read my thoughts the day I am in a position to realize them. I do need people to carry out these ideas, but I do not need people to approve of them or put them down. I just need the blog as a thought register. I did not intend to write the blog for gaining popularity as a "thinker" or an "altruist". So there is no point in me flaunting and advertising it at all.
It is not completely destroyed. I just made it harder to get to for others, that is all.
I know I will do what I want to do someday. So I don't need people to tell me whether I can/should or not.
If you wish to reach me with your ideas, if you think that closing the blog closed a channel of communication you are welcome to write to me - ruling(dot)world(at)gmail(dot)com

Bring it on?

2008-03-02T19:14:00.000+05:30

Man has continually striven to eliminate the risks to his existence. Against natural forces he built shelters. He eventually even figured out how to use these potent forces to his own advantage. He caged off or killed animals that posed a threat ( or didn't pose one, it didn't matter) From being terrified of everything around him, he has come a long way. He has mastered natural forces and views them with disdain. He even considers himself a saviour of sorts by talking about 'environmental issues' as though nature was having a major malfunction of its own and he had nothing to do with it in the first place. But like it is with life, things get tougher and more complicated.
Man has found a great challenge - greater than any other. The challenge is so complex that it does not show itself explicitly and make itself known. Instead it creeps underground and waits and watches and plans to bring humankind down slowly and steadily. Man has identified this challenge and changes have begun to take place in his psyche.
Have you ever wondered about how when the earth is teeming with people man is eternally lonely? Why does he find newer ways of eliminating the need for human company? Why is he dedicated to creating things like portable music players and mobile phones and networks that enable perfectly impersonal transactions of anything under the sun and substitute humans? Man considers every other man his rival, his challenger who is out to destroy him. Not only in terms of physical necessities - natural resources that get depleted etc. Man finds other people a threat to his emotional existence. He finds himself incapable of dealing with other people who may enter his 'emotional territory'. He puts on masks, so much so that he begins to take those masks for his own nature. But this is not a sign of weakness. It is not the end of the road for the human species. It is another of his survival tactics.
People will stop trying to kill each other in the name of religion and region. They will find easier and more effective ways of eliminating those that will challenge his existence and space and comfort. This means of elimination will not include killing. It will be the rise of a new way of life and thinking in man that will allow him to live independent of anyone else. He will free himself from anything that might cause him to give a thought about other creatures.
That day is not far from now. People are beginning to embrace that way of life more than ever now. Emotions, bonding and need for company will be removed from man's mental makeup sooner than we can analyse or even see this change coming.
Brace yourself and even better get tuned to the new way of life where the only people you will want to see will be people on a screen who can talk to you, but whom you need not talk back to, and you will not be required to give back to others, you will be free to live for no one but yourself, you will no longer crave for human company but will be stifled by it... Not too far away. The future is almost here.

Goodbye 2007

2008-01-01T00:03:00.000+05:30

Looking back at the year that 2007 has been, I see that I have had a very mixed year. I had some tough times, some tough decisions and some bad times too. The beginning of 2007, I hardly remember. and I do not even want to recollect some bad days that I had then. A big relief was getting through college, getting a degree!! though I do not think I deserved it. hardly feel like an engineer :-( I made some wrong moves, I lost some things. But I learnt new things, I discovered things for myself and in myself. I found a person inside me that I never knew existed. I spent time for myself, by myself - this came as a blessing because I "unleashed" some energy that I never knew existed. I re-discovered my family. I met some wonderful people, I got back some wonderful friends. It just got better and better towards the end. And I know that 2007 will be a great memory to look back at in some years. I know that I will remember some lovely times spent with lovely people, some brilliant times spent without any people :P
This new year is very important for me, have a very important exam coming up in a month and have a great deal of new things in the pipeline. Lots of fun to look forward to and a lot more of hard work to do. So welcome 2008 and Goodbye 2007. I might look back and sigh at what you brought but I wont miss you at all.
Happy New Year all of you. Hope all your dreams come true!
Best of Luck 2008. Hope everyone grows to love you and remember you as a wonderful year!!

Running away

2007-12-26T17:49:00.000+05:30

"Ma, may I go out to play?", "Ma, I am hungry", "Ma, may I jump off this table"... She tried in vain to catch her busy mother's attention. She tried to please her, to catch her attention, to shock her. But her mother didn't seem to care any more.
A year ago, this ugly, pink and pimply kid had come home and she became number two. She was no more the centre of attention and no more the princess. Almost as though she had disappeared, no one doted on her, no one cared.
She looked on as her mother rocked the new kid to sleep and tried to catch her eye as soon as the creature went off to sleep, only to be ticked off by a sharp remark. Her very own mother who would have carried out her every whim and fancy, scolded her now. It was all because of this new creature.
In spite of the fact that its arrival had caused her to fall off her pedestal, she couldn't help liking the new creature. It was cute in a weird sort of way. The way it stared at her through its huge eyes that made it look slightly cross-eyed, and the toothless grin and the way it cried when it was pinched... a little adorable no doubt. But she still wished it had not taken away all her importance in her parents' eyes.
This went on for a long time. Her mother never wanted to listen to her any more. On a particularly bad day, after being shushed and shooed and scolded a little too much, she made up her mind to tell her father and mother that she meant business. She marched up to her mother who was trying to coax the little kid to eat some lunch. She declared in her loudest voice that she had decided to run away from home. There was some silence. She began to feel a little happy that she was being heard finally. Her mother turned around and looked at her. Just when she thought that good days were back again, the kid threw the cup of rice on the floor and with the loud crash that followed, our little heroine's hopes of being heard and loved and cared for were gone again.
Running away was not a really good idea. Her six years of experience told her that she wouldn't last a few hours out there. Where would she go, what would she eat, what would she play with... She surely couldn't carry all her toys with her. She wondered what her parents would do. Would they miss her, would they even search for her...
Then suddenly the idea seemed great to her and she took some toys and an apple and put them into a bag and walked away in a hurry.
Some time later, the little heroine's tired and harassed mother was free of her younger child who finally decided to go to sleep. She had some time to herself now, she decided to go and check on her older daughter who had been very tiresome lately. The mother knew that this was because she needed attention. She never meant to ignore her, but couldn't help it either. The poor child must be so confused, she thought. Maybe she would talk to her over dinner and explain why the young one needed more attention. With these and a hundred other thoughts in her mind, the mother went around searching for her child. A few minutes later, all alone in the huge house, our heroine's mother realised that her daughter was not anywhere there.
A half hour had gone by and the mother was positively scared. She was scurrying around the house and had called out to her darling a thousand times. The younger one had woken up because of the noise and was bawling away. The mother picked up the baby and sped to the terrace for the third time to see if she had missed seeing the child somewhere. She then checked the kitchen and the bedrooms again.
She sank to the floor in sheer exhaustion and worry and racked her brains as to where the little one could have gone. She couldn't be sleeping for so long... She let the baby climb out of her arms and put her head in her hands. Did she really mean it when she said she would run away? The tiny imp had held her attention and so she really couldn't take care of her really well. Her eyes were filling and she cursed herself for being such a bad mother. What would she do now. What if her dear child, wearing a polka dotted dress and an adorably chubby smile, had actually run away?
Just when a million bizarre doubts and fears started cropping up in her mind, she heard her younger daughter giggle. It was a loud giggle and was followed by a strange hissing noise. She looked around the wall to see the baby bending over to look under the cot. She went over to see what the source of amusement was and looked under it. It took a while for her eyes to get accustomed to the dark. What she saw there filled her with a sense of immense relief at first and then fury and then amusement and then finally a lot of sadness. She dragged our audacious little heroine from her hiding place and hugged her close though she had a good mind to spank her...
That evening she sat with her two daughters as they ate dinner. They had learnt some lessons that day that they would never forget. The mother had learnt that both her daughters needed her love and time. She learnt that her daughter could teach her a lesson in a very bitter way(it put her on guard for the rest of her life). The young heroine learnt that the imp was here to stay, that she would continue to foil all her plans for the rest of her life...but more importantly, that her mother actually did love her.

The Message You sent

2007-12-14T07:26:00.000+05:30

A blooming bud
The call of a bird
The shrill cry of a vendor
A child running with all his might
so he doesn't miss his school bus.

The light grows
Last night's quiet goes
The world wakes up
The insects hurry back
into their dark, hidden homes

With the sun
a new day is born
A fresh hope is kindled
The entire land wakes up,
breathes, smiles, celebrates. Unlearns.

I watch amazed
This thought inside me blazes
that I cannot ever count
the number of magical mornings
that I have wasted

These precious, pristine moments
spent inside walls of indifference and cement
Snoring, slumbering, spent away
But not anymore.
I received the Message You sent.

Numb

2007-12-11T19:21:00.000+05:30

Motionless for a long time, my foot was numb. I looked down from the screen at my foot. I tried to move it a little fearing the sudden throb of feeling that the rush of blood would bring. And when it did come I winced and hurriedly took my foot in my hands and rubbed it. The icy cold floor and my icier hands - my feet felt like hell.
Resting is good. But too much of it can hurt, just like it did now to me. Move on. Don't stop. This winter has a zillion more things for you to go through. Rest if you must, but don't stop.

The evil magician

2007-11-29T10:41:00.000+05:30

I walked past him in a hurry every time I had to. I literally ran. I kept telling myself that I would not look up. I could not risk it. I reminded myself of the last time this happened. I shuddered and hurried away. The voice beckoned. I was one room away and yet I could feel the pull. I had to go back there yet again. I had to sit in the same room where he had his throne and his magnetic pull and the voice resonating between the walls. Reluctantly, I sat down. I wished I wasn't so weak. I wished I had a good, engrossing magazine to leaf through. I fished out the newspaper from under a dozen books and held it up between us. Not once did I look up again. Then it happened. I forgot to tell myself repeatedly not to look up. I let my guard slip for just a moment. I weakened my resolve just for a moment. A sudden flurry of activity and that voice again ( "Is that a voice or is it music?") I looked up. My eyes met his. And I was lost. Image after image formed in my mind. I stopped thinking. I stopped feeling. The world came to a standstill. My broken resolve lay there on the floor. I stepped over it to get closer to him, see him more clearly, hear him better. There I was hypnotized. The black magic spun around me. It minced my brain. Listening to every word, believing the endless web of lies, swallowing all the nonsense that spluttered out. I smiled, I sighed, I groaned, I cried with him...On and on. Forever and ever. Lies, lies and more lies...

This could have gone on for a good number of hours if the power had not gone off. I am so relieved that the TV wont get switched on for a few more hours now. Till then I will remain myself - unzombified, un-hypnotized. *Phew! That was close*

What was she thinking about...

2007-11-06T10:35:00.000+05:30

She watched as her little one
played his innocent games
Passive, tired and faraway.
I wonder what went on
behind those shallow eyes
and that emotionless face.
Maybe she was just sick
of the shows on TV or
of her dull, small town place.
Maybe she thought
of her long lost dreams,
of promises made yesterday.
Probably waiting for nightfall
to end the drab day
Maybe she just wanted to run away.

Free rice!

2007-11-02T19:28:00.000+05:30

I found this great game on the net - www.freerice.com
If you can simply go over to this website to play the game in spite of knowing that it does someone some good, good for you, go ahead and play it...

Why am I being so bitter?? Because it is the truth. No one really wants to do anything for anybody else. We live in a closed world that is so much about ourselves and our needs and wants and miseries. Do we really care that there millions dying?Ha! And that is what is making me so sulky and irritable. Ha! Why do you care...

Don't ask me what this is about.

2007-10-30T21:58:00.000+05:30

I have been feeling pretty disillusioned about everything for some time now. The extra effort to change everything does not seem to work at all. I don't see people who share my passion and interest to do the things that I want to do. Is it me? or is it the rest of the world. Whatever it is, I feel pretty miserable about all this. I wish I could really have some way of finding out whether or not what I am doing will really have some meaningful results. I am not being very optimistic and believing that I will have good results. I just want something meaningful, not the feeling of being let down having to take some wild goose chase or something. I don't see what makes me do the things that I really want to do. Or maybe I am the only nut-case in the world who really has these thoughts. I just wish these few months get over and the middle of March comes soon so all this uncertainty comes to a stop. I am getting desperate and feeling out of my mind and I hate myself for not being able to talk about fears. I go about acting like a super-intelligent something and no one even knows that I am grinding these thoughts in my mind about how I am going to get through. And I have no guts to talk about it. Just scared about my faults being pointed out. Scared that people will tell me the truth that I don't want to hear aloud - that I am not working hard enough, that I am not good enough, that I am so overly optimistic to go about wasting an entire year on something that is so very demanding and that involves loads more of dedication that I am putting into it right now. I do hate my guts for getting into this. Now it is too late to turn around. And I don't have any place to turn around to anyway.
I don't care what you think about all this. Don't even ask me about it.

The rain and you.

2007-10-22T15:15:00.000+05:30

Still. Icy. Dark. Beautiful - green against grey
Breeze. Flutter. First drops.
The smell of earth.

Volatile. Ups. Downs. Deep brown eyes.
Smiles. Laughter. Tears and fears.
The feeling of being loved.

Rhymed. Not reasoned.

2007-10-12T17:14:00.000+05:30

Judge me, categorize me
Don't love me, just analyze me
Hex me, traumatize me
Check me, penalize me

Fool me, make me do what you say
Maroon me, if I dare go astray
Chain me, so I don't get away
Debrain me, so I don't talk back some day

Lie to me, don't ever tell me the truth
Hide it from me, so I have the brains of a boot
Begrime me, cover me with soot
Undermine me, dont care two hoots

Beat me, when I ask you why
Don't teach me, make me shut my eyes
Hate me, don't even pretend to try
to educate me, just leave me dry

I end up like you. Lettered.
Yes I can write my name.
But I still am fettered
It's such a crying shame.
Tomorrow, someone else is sure
To sing these lines back to me.
Then should I say it is your
fault that I am what I be?

What will you do then...

2007-10-08T14:05:00.000+05:30

So here you go again
trying too hard
to play the bard?
to please? to dazzle?
to hold the world in awe?

They remain unwritten
The words that fill you
the ones that are true
because you fear
they make a poor show.

Obsessed with rhyming
Using every battered cliche'
learnt till today
Rhyme after rhyme of trash
to the can they must go.

Yet people listen
"Oohs" and "aahs" break out.
They cheer, they scream, they shout
They keep you unprepared
for what is to come tomorrow.

When the day finally
comes when you just can't
write another chant
That's when people will cheer
at this horrible blow.

The unspoken

2007-10-08T01:25:00.000+05:30

Filled to the brim,
Gleaming in the dark
Unspoken words
Lingered in the air
For me to hear.

The urge to write this
Springs from within me
Quite meaningless
When compared
To what they said.

Emotions conveyed
Through these deep lakes
So simple
Yet so profound
Can I ever respond?

Can I ever say
In a million words
What was said
When your eyes spoke.
It still keeps me awake.

Inspired...

2007-10-06T12:49:00.000+05:30

(My first attempt at poetry or rhyming - whatever you choose to call it. Sorry for inflicting this on you.)

Inspired
to fly
to soar
to be myself and something more

Inspired
to change
to learn
and to inspire in turn

Inspired
to think
to breathe
and stand up on my feet

Inspired
to rhyme
to write
and to turn on that light

For this I thank you...