aliceincyberworld

Yours hatefully!

2012-01-04T17:08:00.000+05:30

I have never really understood the difference between 'yours sincerely' and 'yours faithfully'. In Bangalore my steno had once tried to tell me when to use what. But instead of listening to him as usual I had taken a walk on the wild side while all the time pretending to listen. You see, I can think of absurdity in any and especially serious matters. All I was thinking was, 'I am not theirs to sign off the letter either way'!! All I wanted to say was 'am nobody's, sincerely or insincerely for that matter'. How can you write yours sincerely when may be the person to whom the letter is addressed is a complete stranger to you? Or if the letter is addressed to your irritating boss in whom you don't have any faith, how can you close it with 'yours faithfully'? I just cannot think highly of the bum who got the idea of using such phrases in official letters. Tell me, what do they mean by when they use such phrases? Is it, 'I am officially sincere and faithful to you'? Is it, 'on paper you have all my loyalty and earnestness'?
Don't you think that these words purely and truly belong to the world of personal letters? How romantic it would be if a husband gets a letter from his wife closed with yours faithfully or yours sincerely! But it may not be romantic. Because if he is some kind of a possessive jerk, he might forcefully say, you are mine even if you are unfaithful. Or if he is a suspicious psycho he might find an element of insincerity in that.
But just think, what is the need of signing off that way, say if you are sending a letter of invite or updating your boss about your office. Huh? Anyway its a phony convention to follow especially in official letters. I mean I would prefer 'with warm regards' to any other phrase for closing a letter. But that somewhat,maybe, sounds cold, so I should, may be, say warmest instead of just warm. But it would be definitely great to write a stinker and sign it off 'yours hatefully'!

PS: This came about because I received a card with a closing phrase which I had not come across before viz., 'Yours Cordially'!!

The sense of essential

2012-01-04T15:02:00.001+05:30

Somewhere on this blog I have written somewhat about the magical narrative of Life of Pi. For unknown reasons the faceless Mr.Pi Patel got a face in my mind when I came across an article by Pico Iyer few year ago. Okay, agreed. I truly believe that my mind is stupid enough to associate Pi with Pico!! Anyway here’s an article titled The joy of quiet by Mr.Pico Iyer which is a treat. I love getting soaked in the words of people like Pico. When you read them its as if they are taking you on a ride, occasionally throwing pearls of wisdom making you realize for the umpteenth time its not the place but the manner of journey which counts in the end.

Its even more gratifying to know that in this technology driven life/world, when I was almost on the verge of getting a huge complex for having kept myself away from any social networking phenomena there is a person as famous as Pico who is ' yet to use a cell phone and (who has) never Tweeted or entered Facebook!' To me the very idea of social networking stinks. Both the words, social as well as networking sound odious. Anyway, I do not want to rant about that here. In the article Pico writes,
'We have more and more ways to communicate, as Thoreau noted, but less and less to say'. 'The central paradox of the machines that have made our lives so much brighter, quicker, longer and healthier is that they cannot teach us how to make the best use of them; the information revolution came without an instruction manual. All the data in the world cannot teach us how to sift through data; images don’t show us how to process images. The only way to do justice to our onscreen lives is by summoning exactly the emotional and moral clarity that can’t be found on any screen.'
How true, isn't it?

We try to embrace whatever comes along. May be the child in us never dies. The novelty catches our attention and we want to toy with it. There must be something more to life and living and this quest may be leads the westerners like Pico points out to Yoga, and what not. But what if there isn't anything more is the question I ask myself constantly. Being a quiet person I enjoy quietness a lot so much so that when I met a large number of people at a gathering recently my head started spinning. I had to steady myself otherwise I am sure the ugly, noisy crowd would have swept me aside like a tsunami. But then I do believe that even when you are in a crowd you should be able to be away from it. If you know what I mean. May be thats when we feel the sense of oneself, the sense of essential.

Not-so-best moments of 2011

2011-12-30T16:58:00.001+05:30

This was supposed to follow the best moments post but somehow, I couldn't resist the spur of the moment posts.
1. Watching blue eyed Shah Rukh! The King Khan should now know whoever advised him that blue eye would be a red hot hit, is definitely not his friend!
2. This has happened several times over the past few months. See, these mundu wearing mallu men, the moment you start talking to them have this habit of picking the edge of the mundu and pulling it up, as if they are ready for a fight. It was scary in the begininning, but now its more embarrassing.
3.Getting unnerved by the sight of two women in white sari in the middle of the night around 1 am on a highway in Kerala where we had stopped to have chai in the roadside chai shop.
4. Leaving Bangalore!
5. Leaving Bangalore!

PS: I thought this would be a longer post, but I give it up!

Best five moments of 2011

2011-12-28T16:19:00.004+05:30

1.Morning of 23rd November : With palpitating heart I switched on TV searching for sports news. Everything around me became still and even that stillness was fast fading out from my mind's eye, which could see nothing but that shimmering TV screen and when I finally read the headlines 'Federer crushes Nadal 6:3, 6:0', I thought my heart would explode! I cann't put into words the emotions that I felt at that moment when I kept stupidly repeating to myself 'Fed bageled TFA!', 'Fed bageled TFA!'. Yes, it was repeated with exclamation marks and to tell you the truth it was infinite!! It surpassed the joy felt after Federer won the tournament record 6th time. BTW it was the best birthday gift I've ever got.
2.The sense of ending I felt after I completed Somerset Maugham's Of Human Bondage. Fighting sleep and exhaustion some two months ago I finished reading that novel because mentally it was unputdownable. May be I had read a crappy Booker winning novel just before picking up this classic which enormously helped me to get engrossed and read it with extra veneration. I don't know. All I remember is wonder like Scarlett wondered about fate of southern woman in GWTW as to who would read these classics if everyone between 15 to 60 chose chetan bhagat, because while coming back from Bangalore just a few days before that I had the unenviable company of one young girl and another youngish looking woman, both tightly clasping chetan bhagat's some fiction.
3. Watching a local MLA in a remote place in Kerala alight from a scooty! I don't know whether I was amused or pleased but was positively stirred. In Karnataka I was used to all these boorish but clever politicians but this type of unassuming member of a political class, I had not come across. Even the nouveau politicians of Rahul brigade have a sense of self and identity which is larger than life. But perhaps I guess they are obligated to feel that way.
4. Finding DFW's unfinished work in Thiruvananthpuram. This city, I should have known, is quite a book crazy city. They have more book shops than medical shops here and every month somebody or the other will be organising a book fair. Though the book was not extraordinary it did help me see that man in a different persepective. But it still excites me to relive that moment of surprise and excitement I felt when I saw DFW's book in that not-so-big shop on that particularly humid evening.
5.I would like to believe that I'm like a chameleon and like that creepy creature I have this special talent to adjust to any environment. So eversince I have come to this place the agenda has been to at least look like a malayali and gel with the crowd. Hence at a workshop when the speaker from Kerala speaking about Kerala pointedly told me that I would know since I am Malayali I was thrilled and slightly titillated and obviously took no pains to correct the speaker.

Listening without Lending ears*

2011-11-11T17:22:00.001+05:30

One often thinks that how rarely one meets right sort of people to talk, interact and have stimulating or boring conversations, so to say. Day after day passes without speaking as such but just mouthing empty words. In the process conversations become so unsurprising and predictable that you can do it just like brushing your teeth in the morning. You can do that even with your eyes closed so as not to lose but hold on to that precious dream that you dreamt a while ago. You humbly remember Caulfield and gingerly agree that he was right. Few people know how to converse. People are such lousy conversationists. This is what he said, right. I am not talking here about discussions, arguments, debates that widen your perspective and make you feel elated from inside as if you’ve grown an inch taller and gained an ounce more of grey matter. I am not even talking about casual interaction that say, you might have had with a cab driver or somebody on the net which gave you several reasons to smile about. When was the last time I had a good conversation. Oh god…I thought it would not be so difficult to recall. Anyway let me put the blame on oldage and amnesia.

All I do in the office is talk pretty non-sense all the time, now it has become all the more difficult since I don’t understand Malayalam and of the 9 people in office, two can understand English and if both of them are on leave I feel exactly like Crusoe! So cursing one and everyone, I was sitting grumpily in the office when this man who must be over 50 ( which I calculated after he left) but looked anywhere between 35-45 walked in apparently to give a letter or something. You know, when you are bored in life you prolong any distraction even if it’s a lousy and pointless distraction like TV and take double the time than what you normally take to do simple works like reading a letter. So while I was taking my own sweet time to read the letter, I heard him say ‘Its good’. Now looking at him with a quizzical eye, I asked ‘sorry, what did you say?’ Pointing to something on the table he repeated his choice word of praise. Like a parrot, I thought I should think because I have heard that phrase but never seen a parrot actually doing that repeating trick. When I saw what he was pointing at, a grin which I thought I had left in Bangalore spread over my face. Because on my table was this pencil sketch which I had done only the day before after hours of hard work.

Tell me, its human nature to gloat and bloat when you are praised and appreciated. Tell me, theres nothing perverse about it. Because that is what I did when I realized that some stranger had paid tribute to my workmanship even though he was seeing it from some 2 feet distance. I have always loved this phrase ‘self-effacing bureaucrat’ and maybe I became a bureaucrat so that I can act self-effacingly! So with that fancy smile I accepted the praise and in my mind I had already seen myself graduating from pencil sketch to charcoal sketching (since the telangana strike was all about coal, there is no dearth of charcoal anyway) and was on the verge of organising an exhibition when my reverie was broken. ‘Its Steppenwolf, isn’t it? ‘, he said. It was more of a statement than a question. The man raised a notch higher in my eyes. 'Wow', I thought, 'this man not only has the faculty to appreciate my talent but also knows about Hesse'.

'Yes', I said and added 'thank you'. 'The book is very good', he said as if taken aback by my gratitude and feeling sorry for the misunderstanding. 'I read Steppenwolf long ago during my college days, it was during Emergency’, he added. My immediate reaction was to find out whether all along he was referring to the book. But I didn't do that. If I had asked he would have obviously stated sketch is also good. Theres no point in fishing compliments from strange visitors, is there? So I had to appear unworried and complacent, few more qualities of an everyday bureaucrat. The man would not stop. People who are getting old never stop recounting their experiences especially their college and post-college life incidents and accidents. He had read Siddartha, Steppenwolf and also the The Glass Bead Game but liked Steppenwolf the best. He also told me to read the works of some other writer and fell silent. Now it was my turn to say something or ask something. We always listen without lending ears. After listening for over five minutes the first thing I wanted to ask was ‘Do you think Hesse was gay?’ I almost asked him. Just imagine, all the while I was complaining to noone in particular about lack of people who can talk sense and there I was when confronted a man who had read all the works of Hesse and what else, who knows, and all I could think of saying or rather asking him was that. Of course, good sense prevailed and like an academic I asked ‘why do you think Steppenwolf is Hesse's best?’ knowing that I was least interested in knowing. Fortunately he didn’t go analyzing the book like I expected him to do but evaded the question saying that in those rebellious years the book had made some kind of impact.

After he left, I thought I found the answer for Caulfield's riddle!

*An extension to Sound of Silence lyrics, if I can say like that!

Watching Tee Vee

2011-09-28T17:16:00.001+05:30

In the last few months I have become sort of addicted to TV. I have been watching whatever comes on TV without making distinction between political dramas on news channels and other sitcoms/romcoms/ ‘solve the crime’ shows on entertainment channels. You know, its like saying ‘anything chalega’, when someone asks you ‘Tea/Coffee/Juice’. I just loved the Anna episode. It got over just when I was wee-bit getting bored of it. So there I was right in front of Tee Vee, sometimes never even knowing when the last show got over and the new show began. It never seems to end. Thats the best part, I tell you.

I guess it all began when one day I accidentally watched 'How I Met Your Mother'. I found it funny. And the guys, Barney, Ted and who was the third guy, the tall one, the married one. Aargh, not able to recall his name. Anyway, there is no point in remembering the names of married guys, even if the guy happens to be a Tee Vee character, is there? Did I see you nod? Thanks for agreeing with me. The show was quite funny unlike Two and a Half Men. Aaah. There it is. The source of my addiction. Yup. It all began when I heard on the FM radio, I used to tune in to off and on in Bangalore, the ruckus that was created in their studios by the news of Charlie Sheen being kicked out of Two and a Half Men. The girls in the studios had gone crazy because of the news and created online petition to get him back on the show. See, I had kinda liked Charlie Sheen as that kid as opposed to ‘Greed is Good’ Man Gecko. So I wanted to know what he was doing on Tee Vee. So in the process of catching Sheen on Tee Vee, I seriously started watching How I met….. the characters of which I found funny and sometimes witty as opposed to the Two men who were in more ways obnoxious and repulsive though the half man played by that chubby kiddo was brilliant. So I guess watching How I Met…was in a way no accident at all. Anyway, when this show got over I continued to watch whatever came in in its place. So these days I am watching Bones. And also the fascinating never-ending political shows.
What will be the next step of the Home Minister? He is the last line of defense. If he quits, he shouldn't be blamed. Madras regiment was not much known for its bravado. But I would love a 'Kiss and Tell' episode from him. Anyway, I somewhat love conspiracy theories also. I wonder whether HM had it all planned in his head. You see, but for the spark he provided I think Hyderabadis would have enjoyed their regular weekdays and even more regular week-ends. So he is kind of a venture capitalist for these two shows. And the payment may be as per the agreed terms and conditions. My lawyer friend who eons ago saw him arguing a case in Bangalore told me that a superlative word should be coined which expresses his brilliance. So this man in impeccable white dhoti has all my admiration. I think its time somebody started talking about collective responsibility. I think its wrong to use words like honesty and integrity to defend or condone wrong decisions.

PS: Marshall was the name of the third guy in How I Met… Okay, I didn’t google about it…I was able to recall it. So you see, I do remember the names of married people.
PPS: While surfing the other day I was very amused and surprised to see samskrit movie on Shankaracharya directed by G V Iyer on, hold your breath, Lok Sabha TV.. he he he....who the hell decides what should go on this channel...and who coined the motto or whatever it is called for this TV. Its I think 'Asatoma Sad gamaya'. I mean, whats your premise? Is it 'we are living a lie so lets go towards truth'....anyway very funny.... I should write about the movie. I leave that for some other day.

Frozen thoughts

2011-09-28T13:47:00.005+05:30

All summer, in the race to beat the heat
I found myself numbed, thoughts frozen
As winter approaches I am excited
May be your hot breath can unfreeze some of them.

The game of squares

2011-09-27T15:52:00.004+05:30

I don’t exactly remember what exactly the game was called. We played it I guess only once or twice during our childhood. We played this game at my uncle’s place during the annual shradhdha of our maternal grandfather. The game was played by 5 kids with one of them being the ‘outed kid’, which was decided through an ingenuous elimination process. When I think about it now, I wonder why nobody disputed the process. Because the method of finding the outed kid went somewhat like this; all the five kids would put their palms on top of one another, then I think we chanted some stupid thing…its completely erased out of the mind, at the end of the mantra we would throw up our hands and when it came down, we could either keep it down or up facing the sky. It was individual’s decision. You see, this is something not explained by the Newton’s law. Anyway, if two persons had put their hands facing down and three facing up, the first two would be in the safe zone, so to say. The other three would repeat the process. A pair has to emerge you see. There was no cheating. You could not switch your hand position once done. And I should tell you here, there was no match fixing, anyway I don’t quite remember anyone doing it actually. So in the end the person who is not in a pair is the odd person, the kid was ‘out’. That was the expression we used.

Now coming back to the game, for the game a big square was drawn on the middle of the street, not exactly middle, but almost middle. You see, as far as I remember we played always in the streets. I don’t ever remember going to any play ground. The games were played within the compound or in the streets never in the playgrounds. We in fact had a ground nearby but we never went there to play. In fact it was a nice little park with a lake. But I think we never even thought of going there. It was forbidden so to say. We preferred playing in the streets. There was little traffic in residential areas and few cyclists who happened to pass would swerve around without disrupting our game.

So now coming back to that game, for the game a big square was drawn with a piece of red brick, not chalk piece. Not because we did not like chalkpiece, it was because it was easier to get a piece of red brick than chalkpiece. And the square was divided in to four parts. The name of the outed kid was also written on the road. All the safe zone kids got one square each. Now the kid who had unfortunately got out in the beginning had to stand in the middle of the big square and watch like a fox for any movement in any of the squares and catch anybody trying to shift in to the adjacent square. I hope you got the idea. It was the duty of the other safe zone kids to keep this ‘outed’ kid occupied by trying to jump or pretend jumping in to the adjacent square. If in the process the outed kid caught anybody, that kid became the outed kid and the earlier outed kid would get a safe zone/square for himself/herself. But if all the kids somehow got in to one of the squares, we would shout something huge, I don’t remember what, but in unison we would scream something loud sometimes eliciting reprimands from the elders waiting for the ceremony to get over. With our unique, magical hurrah of triumph the first round of the game would get over and the outed kid would get M against his/her name on the road for failing to catch and get a square for himself. Now the game would start afresh. The outed kid would get another chance and other four kids would get another opportunity to outwit the lonely kid struggling to catch any one of the four. If for the second time the outed kid failed to catch anybody moving out of the safe zone and the other four kids got successfully in to one of the smaller squares, O would get added next to M. It would go on like that. Once it so happened that I was playing the game, and I was the eldest of the group since my sister had declined to play. It so happened that one of the smaller cousins in the family could not get in to safe zone. So after hours under the scorching sun, MONKEY –DONKEY got written against her name on the street. I should tell you that it took less than half the time to write Donkey than Monkey against her name. You see, kids are mean. We knew that somehow she was not quick enough and we through our own little signals and misdirections completely misled her during the second round to make her defeat complete. And the jubilation that followed, even to this day I don’t know nor sure whether we were celebrating her defeat or our collected effort to defeat her somehow. The cries and shouting that followed involved ‘Nila* is a Monkey and Donkey’ so that everyone in the 15+ houses in that street would have heard even if they were taking afternoon nap. The girl was of course in tears. And it added more fire to our merriment. You lose a game and on top of it if you cry, you will never be comforted by other kids. I told you kids are mean. You will be ridiculed and laughed at. The merriment came to an abrubt ending when one of our college going cousins made an entry and verbally thrashed us which silenced all of us. And we never played that game ever.

Interestingly I don’t remember playing this game near our house or teaching it to my neighbourhood kids. Its quite funny that we waited for that annual death ceremony of our grandfather to get squared in to a corner!

* of course, not her real name. In fact, I don't know anybody by name Nila.

The Man Doth Protest too Much, the Govt thinks!!

2011-08-16T15:35:00.004+05:30

I would not have come here today had not Anna Hazare's early morning detention reminded me of a similar scene from Kafka's The Trial. I just hope Hazare and his movement do not meet an end like Joseph K's life, though the chances are pretty high if you ask my opinion. Parliament is supreme, cry the people who hold the reins of power. And what if the Parliament is manipulative and what if its wrong and what if Parliament itself, as it is in our case, is completely and irreversibly corrupt? Who should raise voice against it if not people like Hazare?

If Hazare and his team are adament that Parliament should consider their Jan Lokpal Bill, is not the Government equally intransigent that its version should get passed in the Parliament. And in cases like these Parliament will work at a pace faster than the speed of light to get the Bill passed. And God knows how it will be of any help for the common man in his fight against corrupt lower or higher bureaucracy. People have lost faith in the legislature and they don't believe that it will come up with laws for electoral reforms or against corruption. Government will not move even its little finger because it will adversely affect its vested interests.

Yeddyurappa's fall came because of Lokayukta. It happened because Lokayukta had powers to investigate a sitting CM. So why shouldn't a sitting PM come under Lokpal?

The government's intentions are not clear. It wants to play on the minds of the people by either picturing Hazare as just another corrupt person or some stubborn, arrogant, inflexible asshole. And I just hope that fails.

Its somewhat discomforting and I dont know whether its just me but I find a lot of similarities between Gandhiji's movements and this movement. You can certainly draw a parallel between how British government treated Gandhiji and his satyagraha movement and what Government is doing with Anti-corruption movement. They wanted to isolate Gandhi and thats what the present government wants to do also. But they better not underestimate the power of people like the Britishers did. But on second thoughts I think its good if they do!!

Call of the Sea

2011-06-07T21:08:00.000+05:30

I listen to the hoarse, rhythmic voice of the sea
Trying to understand its language.
It appears as if the moon, the stars and the wind
Are in secret collaboration to mock at man, the mute spectator.

Waves

2011-06-07T20:47:00.000+05:30

From the shore I watch the waves demurely recede
Only to come back with a vengeance.
I remember how I floated in silence in your presence
And felt the flood of unshared thoughts, words in your absence.

Lost Soul

2011-05-30T23:01:00.000+05:30

Drifting and dithering
I long for a safe nest for my heart
Disparate and unconnected everywhere
I wonder whether I am heartless.

After the rains

2011-05-30T22:46:00.000+05:30

The tree in the wind
Jubilantly shakes off the superfluous rainwater
While I stand here with palmful of rain drops
When my heart is a desert and eyes burn like fire.

Lord Anantha's Abode

2011-05-20T17:20:00.000+05:30

When they changed the name from Trivandrum to Tiruvantapuram, I don't know when they did it, but I guess it was during those swadeshi frenzy years when Calcutta became Kolkata, Madras became Chennai and so on, I actually did not like the new name. It was a kind of tongue twister. I thought it had too many h's, though now I know that you can write it without even a single h!
I still don't know what made me opt for this city for my posting, may be the fear that I might get posted to Delhi prompted me to say this tongue twister when pressed for a choice. The day I came here was the day of the swearing-in of the new CM. I feared road blocks, morchas, celebratory marches and so on. But I was within 25 minutes in the office, without getting stranded in a single traffic signal. I was thinking when was the last time it happened and in which city, that too capital of a State and on top of that on a day when a new popular CM was being sworn-in! No other precedent for this type!
A friend says Tiruvantapuram is similar to Mysore. Theres a semblance of regal quietude in both these cities. The quiteness of both cities exude the confidence that they have in themselves and their past and their culture. I feel it borders on ethnocentricity.
Lord Anantha has a special place in our family. Every year, my parents keep the vrata and they do the puja on Ananta Chaturdashi, the preparations for which begins 5-6 days before the puja day! Its done with lot of piety. It is not like Ganesh puja done on Chaturti of Bhadrapada maasa, where you complete the puja in max 60 minutes and then eat the kadabus and participate in the street revelry and enjoy to some extent (1). Ananta Vrata is a more solemn occassion, not clearly cut out for enjoyment. By the time the lunch gets served it would be nearly 3 or 4 pm. But even then at the end of the day, theres a sense of satisfaction, of having completed something. So I am not totally unhappy to be in the place of Lord Anantha.

(1) You know, I don't get this thing about happy Ganesh festival messages. They are so silly. We do not celebrate as such during Ganesh Chatrurti, isn't it? We perform puja and then eat sumptous lunch. I mean, I can understand exchanging happy festival messages during say Deepawali or Ugadi but during Ganesh and Gowri Vrata, its so absurd!

Encounter most Unexpected

2011-05-20T16:10:00.000+05:30

What do you do in a strange city in the evening for which you have not planned anything? You gotta do something, because you cannot simply sit in the guest house and wait for the clock hands to move so that you can finally with a clear conscience sleep. Though most of the times I do exactly the same thing i.e. wait for the clock to strike atleast 10 pm so that I can sleep, yesterday because I liked the streets which were devoid of too many human and animal forms hustling and jostling to reach their place of destination, I decided to take a walk.
While strolling on the famous MG Road where the Secretariat in its pure whiteness belying the actual colour of the people who work there is located, I happened to cross one uninviting bookshop. They were switcing off the lights and I realised that it was closing time for them. Ignoring the obvious signs I entered still speaking to a friend on the phone. They of course, being the Mallu gentlemen could not interrupt a person on the phone nor manhandle a lady determined to defy them. I was just glancing and reading the titles randomly when I stopped dead and stopped breathing. Cutting short the call with a brusque 'will call you back', I continued to wonder whether to believe or disbelieve. There nestled amidst so many books a name which gave me joy that I had not felt since I was in 9th standard when I thought I was truly, irreversibly and horribly in love with my teacher! It was not the title but the name which had stopped me dead. The name was David Foster Wallace. I mean, I cann't describe how elated I felt to hold some work of this great man in my hands. I frantically gestured to the manager. He came running, I dont know what he must have thought. I didn't even care. I asked him whether he has Infinite Jest by the same author. You should have seen the look on his face. Just to placate him I told him that I was from Bangalore and had gone to each and every bookshop in my hometown to get one book of this author without success. And added that it is a grand thing that his bookshop has this book. I could see that he was feeling the pride that I wanted him to feel. So they switched on the back lights once again and for another 10 mins searched for my book but could not get it.
Anyway, I walked out with The Pale King, the unfinished work of a genius of our times. And spent the night reading and wondering what would have got edited, what would have got re-written if DFW had lived to tell the story. The book is about 'sadness and boredom' says the Editor. I connected instantly. We all grow up believing life to be noble and glorious and when we realise that theres no glory in the lives we live what we experience is an inexplicable sadness for something that never existed, something that lived and died as an idea. How horrible it is! Anyway initially I feared that I may not like the book because I doubted my ability to understand and appreciate DFW. I still feel that certain nuances of his writing is escaping me. But after a long time I am compelled to read a book with a pencil in hand. I tell you, The Pale King, though was clearly not the final approved draft by DFW, still dazzles you with its brilliance and you feel that bizarre gratitude for the glimpses of perfection.

As the sun goes down

2011-05-17T23:31:00.001+05:30

Birds have gone back to their nests
Stars, blinking shyly, have reclaimed the sky
Somewhere a creature of the night cries foul
As the living earth gets enveloped in a black cloak.

A lonely drinker

2011-05-17T22:57:00.000+05:30

I raised a toast to your memory
Neither was in short supply.
After a night of dreams,
I wonder what caused it.
The drink or your sweet memories.

Blank Verse 1

2011-05-17T22:53:00.000+05:30

Can you feel the undercurrents in the dark, still waters?
Hear the sounds of silence in the hollow, empty caves?
Words will not escape from my sealed lips
You should have by now found a way to know them.

PS: What a mess! Could not even think of a proper title for this!

The Squirrel

2011-04-29T21:23:00.002+05:30

The Squirrel looked at me with questioning eyes
And without waiting for an answer ran away
Laden with unverified views.

Garden

2011-04-29T21:17:00.000+05:30

Earlier the evening cool breeze used to bring
The sweet fragrance of many flowers
From the faraway Garden.
The heady cocktail of scents was a heaven-sent.
These days I may stand here for eternity
The empty winds blow as serene as ever
But reveal nothing.

I wonder what happened to the garden and the blossoms.
Has some fair maiden plucked them all?
Have the fresh blooms become an offering to God?
May be the season of blooming has come to an end.
May be the plants have wilted and withered.
Or perhaps, I wonder,
The Gardener has died.

Unbroken

2011-04-28T12:31:00.001+05:30

Pieces of shattered mirror lay there

Reflecting as many images.

Deep within, my heart is broken

But still beats as one for you.

Survivor

2011-04-01T21:58:00.001+05:30

His life revolved around his family but when their lives were strewn in to pieces, he was away on business in a foreign country. He lived an ordinary life finding meaning, purpose and beauty in the people, family amidst whom he lived, celebrated life. He had a loving wife who took care of him and his parents and their three little children. The twin boys and a girl. He derived his identity from being a father, a son and a husband. His daughter who had just completed 5 years was the princess of the family. Everyone adored her. Only a week ago they had admitted her to a nearby pre-school. They had got her a small bicycle. She enjoyed sitting on it while they pushed the bicycle around.The extended family lived together, for each other in his parents ancient two-storied house in the old part of the town. He had gone on a three day business trip when the disaster hit his town. He was supposed to return to his family the very next day after the tragedy. He saw everything on television with complete disbelief, a dead heart and dry eyes. The catastrophe had wiped out the entire town said the news channels. And he watched and read them with urgency searching for some news that disproved the general belief.
He could not rush back home immediately. In the mean time he filled his head with the images of his family. What he saw on his return to his town was worse than what he had seen on the Television or read in the newspapers. It looked as if the game played by man and nature had gone awry. Enraged by the unfair and underhanded ways of man, nature, the dejected player had destroyed the playthings with one stroke. A town humbled by nature. He had no hopes of finding his family. He had lost his mobile. Not even a photo was with him. He didn’t know how long the images of his family would remain with him. He trembled at the thought of those images dearer to him than his own life slowly slipping from him. He felt guilty. He felt as if he betrayed those already dead by beginning to doubt his ability, capacity to hold on to them for the rest of his life. But he also despaired and shivered when he thought of ‘rest of his life’. He had survived the catastrophe by not being present at the time. But how is he going to survive the aftermath of the disaster which held nothing for him. In his heartbroken state he didn’t realise that he was more scared than he was distressed. He walked about without grieving for the loss. He had not cried. He was still in a state of shock and felt numbed by the sight of debris, wreckage which were once homes, shops, schools. Somehow he reached the part where his house was supposed to be hoping and praying for a miracle. He sighed when the last hope was finally lost. But he lingered there, aimlessly moving. When he stumbled on the broken remains of some cycle, the image of his bright girl laughing and enjoying her ride came back and hit him like a high wave. And he fell on his knees and wept in agony for having survived.

P.S. : The image of man finding the broken cycle and breaking down is from Michael Jackson's Earthsong or Cranberries Ode to My Family or Zombie, I am not sure. But its there in one of those songs.

A Testament to remember.

2011-04-01T20:07:00.001+05:30

While reading Milan Kundera's Testaments Betrayed came across this on the art of novel writing:

"(Because) appehending the real world is part of the definition of the novel: but how to both apprehend it and at the same time engage in an enchanting game of fantasy? How be rigorous in analysing the world and at the same time be irresponsibly free at playful reveries? How bring these two incompatible purposes together? Kafka managed to solve this enormous puzzle. He cut a breach in the wall of plausibility; the breach through which many others followed him, each in his own way: Fellini, Marquez, Fuentes, Rushdie. And others."

I had not read anything that explained the fascination of Kafka so beautifully and so truly. Kafka wrote about reality while creating an implausible plot which nevertheless managed to make the readers understand and see reality in a different light than if somebody had written graphically and more realistically. I don't think Marquez or Rushdie, eventhough Kundera writes that they did, could do what Kafka had done. I love them. But whether its Midnight's Children, or Satanic Verses or Hundred Years of Solitude or Love in the times of Cholera, they are all more nearer to fantasy than plausibility. Kafka managed a perfect balance of both. Thats the genius of Kafka.

Self Organised Criticality

2011-04-01T19:44:00.003+05:30

Have you heard of this concept or theory or whatever, called Self Organised Criticality (SOC)? Well, when I heard of this thing at a seminar in Bangalore, it didn’t make much sense to me. I thought the people who were participating in that seminar were just crazy. How is it possible to explain everything that has dazzled and puzzled man in nature be it earthquakes, avalanches, forest fire, with one standard theory? And they said that this could also be extended to social phenomena such as revolutions as well as financial phenomena such as share market crashes and also to the use of the English language in newspapers! Incredible isn’t it! You can google about SOC but I don’t know whether it will be of any help.
Why is it that man is afraid of the inexplicable? Some things cannot be understood, like the pleasure and pain caused by unexpected encounters and partings. Hmm, I was talking about SOC isn’t it? When I heard about it I thought it was another attempt to explain the inexplicable by man. I wasn't very much fascinated with Freakonomics and books like that. I rely too much on black and white and found it too absurd and preposterous. But SOC was something beyond that as well. I found the theory little funny, because it tries to explain things happening at the macro as well as the micro level. One of the scientists, I guess, a biologist, I met at the seminar told that they are verifying whether this could be used to explain human birth and death. I thought ohh good , a good way to explain suicides, murders and also natural deaths.
Anyway my mind was thinking about SOC again and again when a few weeks ago I stopped by Hampi, the capital of forgotten empire of 16th century. Actually, I was in no mood to go visiting this place, but those people told so much about Anegundi and Hampi, I decided to please them by making myself go. It has changed much since the last time I had gone there as a kid. Of course UNESCO is the force behind the transformation (1). If you have gone there, I bet you must have heard from the guide that gold, diamonds, pearls were sold in open market during Vijayanagar empire. And he will also tell you how the final fall of the golden empire of the South came about. And with much vehemence and emotion Muslim invaders are accused for the downfall of this glorious empire. I was moved. But suddenly I found one real practical utility of SOC. Don't you think if SOC is used to explain things like this people will not be forced to harbour hatred and ill-feelings! It can become an entertaining theory that way and we can rewrite history.

(1) We went from Anegundi to Hampi and I was so much surprised to see a great number of white skinned people. Whats so fascinating about Hampi that this Goa-type crowd, with bohemian ways, knotted hair has made it their permanent residence? Beats me! Anyway I could not even guess the language they were speaking. I heard something which sounded like ‘kei thel?’ But somehow I didn’t feel comfortable, because they didn’t look like dedicated researchers or curious tourists. The tourist department person told that they come, stay, make merry and then leave. But why have they chosen unpicturesque Hampi with its boulders, temple ruins & broken statues, rocks as their place of recreation?

Switch on!

2011-04-01T13:24:00.000+05:30

‘Why the invention of steam engine is the worst thing that happened to the mankind?’ was the provoking question posed to us by one of our lecturers in the college. His argument was that man had time on his side and coal was a non-renewable energy source so which should be exploited and exhausted first? Though all of us were initially dumbfounded by the question, a lively and heated discussion settled the matter in favour of steam engine. I don’t remember how. What got struck in my mind was the logic behind the question which I could not completely disagree with.

This came to my mind because of this article in The Hindu as well as this in The Week. Post-Fukushima everyone’s wondering whether we are ready for Nuke plants. I cannot help but see the irony of it all. Our highly principled, technocrat PM fought tooth and nail to get the Nuke Bill passed in the Parliament. Perhaps he came to the conclusion that end justified the means and did whatever the Wiki cables have suggested the Congress did during those testing times in Mid 2008 to pass the acid test. There was something wrong about the way the trust vote went that year. I remember thinking well of the Left for having stood their ground on Nuke issue. I remember hoping for PM to become less intransigent. I remember feeling not surprised when the government survived the trust vote. I remember feeling that it was not right. I guess fatalism runs in our blood. It catches up with us. Now the PM is getting petitions from all corners signed by all and sundry to review the Nuke policy. And he has assured that he will. West Bengal ousted Tatas because all said and done they thought the project was anti-locals. You think people of Jaitapur are ready for Nuke plant? Oh, God save them!
Of course, there is huge gap in demand and supply situation of Power in the country. But should the government focus only on supply side and take no steps to tackle demand. Why should it assume and accept increase in demand as given? Why can’t the government take stringent steps to prevent misuse, abuse of power? Why do we need neon lights that burn all night in cities and now even in remote towns? When thousands of villages are yet to see electricity cables shouldn’t the Government take steps to encourage day-time matches or day-time inauguration ceremonies etc? These examples might seem silly at the outset but if you look at the larger picture it may not appear as silly as it did in the beginning. The government can devise hundreds of ways to reduce consumption if it really wants to. Tinkering with price policy will not be able to achieve much since money seems to be not an issue nowadays. There is a need to curb domestic consumption for industrial purpose or otherwise. But since we are now a full-blown capitalistic economy and not, what was the term.. ohh yeah -mixed economy, putting clamps on the consumers will become a crime. But Government would be wiser if it remembers Gandhi's words and stops pandering to everyman’s greed.
Tailpiece: Most ungracious and unkindliest remark and a hare -brained suggestion I heard with a wide grin and utter disbelief from one of my seniors : ‘ Japan with its history of earthquakes is not even fit for humans to live, leave alone for erecting nuclear reactors. It should be evacuated.’

Unrolled stone

2011-04-01T09:23:00.001+05:30

You can see unrolled stones with moss
Only when you climb a hill
Let others watch the games of their choice
I shall play and be played with.

Entropy

2011-03-29T15:13:00.001+05:30

The transformation was swift
Friend, master, father to my kids.
With every change what got lost was invisible but felt.
Does the fresh, new leaves of trees make its fruit taste sweeter?

The question that makes me go....aargh!

2011-03-26T19:16:00.001+05:30

One of the all-time, top-10 irritating questions that I hate to answer is which is my favourite book/movie? Its not the question per se which causes irritation. I actually dread that line of questioning. I have read quite a few books and intend to read many. I have seen a lot of movies and I want to see many, many more. In spite of that I am unable to give a ready answer for a simple question like that. You know whenever I get asked which book or movie is my favourite, my mind goes blank and I feel dumb, confounded and clueless. Imagine the sufferings of my ego. How badly bruised I’d be to know that I still don’t know what is most preferred by me. So I get irritated. Whenever faced with questions like that, to conceal my inability, my failure I joke about it and say that my favourite is Dilbert or Dennis the Menace!
Anyway, tell me what one means when one says that this book/movie is his/her favourite. Does it mean that that book/movie is the most loved for whatever reasons or for no reason whatsoever? If a book/movie has become your favourite for some reason then it, in my opinion, cannot be The Favourite of all times. The chances of you finding another book/movie which can gratify that reason in a better way are greater. And if something becomes your favourite for no reason, then there is no reason why others should not be included in the same category.
When one says that this book/movie is one’s favourite do they mean that that book/movie stands out from whatever else they have read or seen, that it had a great impact and in their opinion it would be like that for the rest of their life. If you agree with the first part of the statement then it means that that book/movie was the best thing you have read or watched. But if you say its the best and hence it is your favourite, you cannot take it out of the competition. Publishing industry and show business is a thriving sector. Like defending champions of any game this book/movie which you call your favourite because its the best has to every year face competition from the flourishing tribe of writers and directors which is growing at a rate faster than the India’s population. This somewhat does not sound alright; one’s ‘favourite’ slogging out every year to prove its worth. So I am not in favour of putting one’s favourite under the best category.
Sometimes people call a book/movie their favourite because they would have read or watched them as kids and they cannot forget it. And then as grownups even if they are able to see the obvious flaws they cannot help but love it because it helps them to relive the memories associated with it. I would somewhat tend to favour this if this is what everybody means by their favourite. This loving something in spite of its flaws. But if you call a book/movie your favourite for this reason and not for its greatness or for its artistic quality then nine out of ten times others would be surprised by your choice. And they would try to reason with you and try to convince you why it should not be your favourite by listing out/tearing apart the book or the movie you would have described as favourite. So its better not to call them your favourite.
If I actually try to answer in all honesty this ‘my favourite’ question, so many books/movies rush to my mind. Its difficult to say that one book or a movie can become one's most preferred book or a movie. I love so many books, so many movies for so many varied reasons. I don’t have a favourite book or a movie. Of course, people who know me expect that I would say GWTW is my favourite. But it isn't. I won't deny that I like it, love it most. But I like it not because it is a great book, though it is a great book. It was the first romantic fiction I ever read and the memories of reading it comes back to me every time I talk about it. But to say that its my favourite is like admitting that the Nimbu juice I had when I was 8 in my neighbour’s house after a day of outdoor games is my favourite drink! I have read far better novels than GWTW. But I love it the most but I hate to call it my favourite. In fact I cringe at the thought of it being my favourite. No, it isn't!!

Mystery

2011-03-24T12:06:00.000+05:30

The town was wrapped up in the early morning fog
The daylight brought clarity
But it also demystified the reality
Shattering the unseen beauty seen through the mist.

Workplace humour

2011-03-20T19:33:00.000+05:30

I had gone on a site visit to this sleepy town in North Karnataka. By the time we reached the place it was getting dark. The maidan where we had gone along with local officials was huge and dirty. You could see garbage in every corner and all the walls had become urinals. Pigs were having a jolly good time and naturally with so much dirt and stink, it had become the official residence for mosquitoes. To break the ice and also to hide my disappointment I said,
'This place needs to be fogged/fumigated every evening. I don't want to go back to Bangalore with Malaria.'
There was a bit of embarrased snickering from everybody. Then this small, shady, docile character who was accompanying the local official with a very clever grin on his face said,
'Madam, not all mosquito bites cause Malaria. Its caused by anapheles.'
If I was surprised I didn't show it but with a grin to match his grin I said,
'But how would I know the mosquito sucking my blood is anapheles or not? Tell me!'

PS: See, what kind of dramas I have to do to keep myself alive and kicking and also to keep my interest in the things I have to do!

Love of Life

2011-03-20T19:11:00.000+05:30

I flirted with the thoughts of death. I romanticised about death. Death had in my mind a glorious halo which my dissolute life didn't have.
Then without a cause sickness embraced me. Feeling feverish I became delirious. I, who was so much in love with death, so firmly fixated on death should have been glad at the prospects of the final union. But strangely my thoughts were about nothing but life and then the realisation dawned on me that my real love is life.

A journey to nowhere

2011-03-14T15:19:00.001+05:30

I returned from the woods
My flying adventure had gone astray
In the mean time my master has gone
Perhaps puzzled and hurt by the absence
Taking it as a betrayal

It was the joy and pride of being his consort
That had pumped me to fly alongside him.
As he flew higher and higher, I watched dazzled
But didn’t notice that unable to keep up
Lower and lower I fell

In the foreign woods I nursed my broken body and spirit
Unhindered by the travails, I regrouped
Thoughts of re-union spurred me on
All my efforts were in vain and my nest is empty.
Why do the rancour I feel, feels unnatural?

Understanding

2011-03-14T11:45:00.001+05:30

I understand you.
Without having met, without exchanging glances
With unsaid words, I understand you
Like my feet without direct contact through the slippers
Feels the softness of the carpet.

Bizarre sentiment!

2011-03-12T17:32:00.000+05:30

Satisfaction and a sense of achievement felt by people who run orphanages and old age homes. Just imagine, listening to a management guy making a speech about expansion plans at the 10th anniversary celebrations of a orphanage!
First of all, celebrating the existence of something which should be a damning indictment on the civil society is itself bizarre. Continued existence of orphanages and old age homes should cause grief and introspection and not celebrations, isn't it? Then, on top of it if one looks forward to such 'successful projects', its not a healthy and positive mindset.
I know its utopian and too idealistic to wish for a future which has no need for orphanages or old age homes but chalking out plans for more of them is by no means unselfish, altruistic, charitable and humanitarian, in my opinion.

Unfinished agenda

2011-03-11T14:00:00.000+05:30

Leaves fluttered gaily in the wind
Curtains flapped defiantly against the window
The Moon shone regally and full
I lay there in bed chasing my thoughts
A dog howled nearby, several others joined from far and distant
Was it a roll-call?
Or an affirmation of their numbers and strength?
Or is it their way of protesting against the intruding moonlight?
Questions were many but answers, none I could find
I closed my eyes in despair and woke wide awake in the Dream
I moved without any sense of weight,
Prattled, preached without straining the lungs,
My fists balled and lips curled in scorn,
The target was unrecognised and unknown.
Then I swam through the nightmares back to the surface
But it was not daylight yet
So I eagerly went back to finish what I had started out.

Thanksgiving

2011-03-07T10:18:00.001+05:30

With the first rains
Smoke of satisfaction
Rises in gratitude to the skies
From the parched earth.

Exalted and subdued, I reach out
Heart dances to unheard melodies
Parted lips remain muted
Words escape from the moist eyes

Whats the word?

2011-03-01T16:56:00.000+05:30

The words emasculate and effeminate are many times used as synonyms, though I think its not right. May be one thing leads to another. Emasculation is widely used in novels when the man has been presumably deprived of his pre-ordained position as the male in the family or society or any organization. In a patriarchal set-up when the strength, power of the man is snatched from him and his spirit broken which renders him unable to fulfill his role as the male be it in social or physical context then it is said that he has been emasculated. It is said that physical or psychological emasculation is the greatest damage that could be done to a man.
I was wondering about the word to describe the opposite phenomenon. I mean, how do you describe a hardened woman; a woman who has no traces of femininity in her except for the form. Tomboy is a term usually used for girls and teenagers. What I am looking for is a word not to describe a woman acting like a man but for a woman who has lost the spirit and charms of a woman. For lack of better word I am using unwomanly here. I know, I am treading on a dangerous territory here. Unwomanly behavior is not uncommon. Just think about sex-workers. Long ago when we met a few of them that was what struck me. I thought how can they do business if they are so uninviting. May be we were not customers, that why they were so hard on us. But I felt that they had lost that femaleness in them. I don’t think there is any word to describe that loss of feminine touch.

Eclipse

2011-03-01T16:12:00.000+05:30

Grey clouds whizzed past the Moon.
Feeling teased, unable to hold on
robed in complete white, the moon
blinked and winked.

On the day of consummation
It was Over powered and Overshadowed
While the mortals stood dazzled
And then they bathed seeking salvation.

Note: The idea was to relate consummation, eclipse and bathing. Bathing after sexual act and eclipse is a regional custom and not universal, so its not a good idea anyway.

Rebuff

2011-02-25T16:09:00.000+05:30

The wanna-be disciples gazed with hope and wonder
Puzzled, unable to deciper the meaning
The master went away like dark clouds in summer
Disperse without a drop of water conceding.

Unmusical

2011-02-18T14:55:00.001+05:30

They looked at her with wide eyes, fingers acting as ear plugs

Music from the headphones had sealed her eyes shut

And she sang along, loud and clear but perfectly off key.

Quest for the Extraordinary

2011-02-15T17:04:00.002+05:30

Ask any parent about their child and without doubt they would narrate at least 4 or 5 stories about the exceptional qualities that they had seen in their kid. Parents make you feel special by doting on you and constantly evoking few clever things you did as a child and would lose no opportunity to share it with anybody who cared to listen. I am not saying its wrong. Its their need, I guess. When love, praise, attention is so freely showered on you, it is but natural for you to think you are a gift from heaven to the mankind, that you are here for something big. And if by chance you are something of an above average student or a topper in your class/school then you are bound to become a 'favourite' with many teachers, who are supposed to be non-partisan. Thats when you begin to see yourself as different from others. Thats when the suspicion, the notion that you were born for a mighty purpose acquires more weight. You, then, more than anybody else await for that moment when something extraordinary about yourself gets revealed to the whole world to gape and admire. Parents in the mean time are happy with whatever you are doing and still consider you the best of the rest. And then they marry you off and you give them a grand child. Now the whole cycle starts all over again. The parents trying to see in their child something exceptional they failed to see in themselves and the grandparents discovering those remarkable qualities in their grandchild, talent and attitude that they did not even observe in their children(1). So a genius is nurtured once again in the hope that someday he/she would make justice to what he/she has been endowed with.
Ufff.. I will tell you why this came about. But before that can you tell the difference between a child psychologist and a mother? Okay. This is my take. While the former believes that each child is unique and special, the later feels and knows that her child is unique and special!

PS: This came about because I am reading Sartre’s Words, a retrospective record of his first 10 years of childhood. Long ago someone had suggested that I might like Sartre, because I admired Kafka very much. But I found that his novel –I tried only the first of the trilogy- was too complicated for my few grey cells. I picked up Words from a second-hand book shop recently. And this book is indeed extraordinary. More than the book I guess, his childhood was special. I don’t understand Sartre. Even this book in which he is writing about his childhood leaves me many times bewildered (I have not completed the book, yet). He read Gustaev Flaubert, Victor Hugo and 'wept with joy' after reading Jules Verne when he was around 7 or 8 years! I don’t think I used to read anything apart from Chandamama and Amar Chitra Katha when I was 7 or 8. I was fascinated with stories. Stories were important and not how it was told. I used to read Vikram-Betaal stories and would try to answer the Betaal's question, if I could, before reading the king's answer. That was fun because it felt like a quiz. But weeping with joy after reading a book, as a result of reading a book came much much later. That feeling of exhilaration when you know that you have read something great came later, may be during the early college years. Sartre, may be, prepared himself for an extraordinary life from his early years.

(1) What Madhur Bhandarkar did with Chandni Bar was just the opposite. Remember the closing lines which went something like this ' I wanted to see my future in my kids but what now I am seeing is my past (I don't exactly remember the Hindi words though in Hindi its far more touching and hard hitting).

A birth

2011-02-15T16:10:00.001+05:30

A number of unreal images leap up in the mind like fire flames.

Unable to fight I try to expunge them with the help of words.

To my consternation I realize that the unreal has become real.

Time capsule

2011-02-15T15:07:00.000+05:30

I was listening to this call-in session on the FM radio about Time Capsule to record Bangalore for the future. The listeners were to provide suggestions for the time-capsule. The RJs were asking like what people would want to record about Bangalore for the future generations, what they would want to tell the people say some 100 years from now about the present day Bangalore. Lovely and bizarre suggestions flew in. From avenue roads, beautiful gardens, a/c weather, coffee bars, beer bars, theatres to Vidyarthi Bhavan Dosa and filter coffee! I was surprised and also amused to find so many aspects of my city that people love, cherish and extol. And I was wondering how can one know Bangalore without knowing Bangaloreans? So why not give the future a chance to know us, the cosmo citizens of Bangalore. We can preserve us for them, you know. No, no, I am not talking of mummification. Its in a way just the opposite. I mean, why not freeze a couple of hundred eggs and couple of thousand sperms along with the know-how of turning them in to real people!

It happened thus!

2011-02-13T00:39:00.001+05:30

One day in the palace of a great and vast kingdom. The King has left the kingdom after nominating his twin sons as the joint rulers. The brothers L & K, who lived in an ashram since their birth unaware of their lineage are new to the art of ruling but with the blessings of their father and approval of the public have taken over the reins of the kingdom. A great number of well-built, sturdy, tough looking soldiers guard the living quarters of the new princes. The identical twins can be differentiated by the colour of their dress and also manner of their speech. K is assertive and persuasive and L is vulnerable to suggestions. Both of them look drained by the new responsibility.

L. We should get a bigger throne that can comfortably accommodate both of us. I feel rather constrained in it.
K. [startled to hear the voice] Yes, I know. We should tell the Minister about this.
L. [looks closely at his brother] You seem rather distant.
K: Everything has happened so suddenly. This is a huge responsibility. I am yet to come to terms with it.
L. I also feel just the same. I feel disconnected with everything. The court, people’s veneration, power bestowed upon us. It all feels like a dream. No, not even dream. We can’t possibly dream about something we don’t even know anything about, can we?
K. No, it is not a dream. It should not be a dream also. This is the reality which should have been the only reality from the moment we were born. Since it was not so, we can’t take part wholeheartedly in anything.
L. I agree. We were not brought up as princes. We are used to the simple life style of the ashram. All this pomp and grandeur mean nothing to me. I feel like turning away and following the footsteps of our father.
K. We were adjusted to a certain way of life. Now this is totally different and may be just the opposite. Culture of the ashram is different from the royal life. That is the problem.
L. I know. I feel like fish out of water here. And it holds no charm to me. Music, dance and anything they do to amuse and entertain us look foolish.
K. [flinging his arms around] Look, if we had been born here may be you would not have felt alienated. Due to circumstances we were forced to get used to simple, minimalistic lifestyle of the ashram. Due to the values and principles that we were taught there, we feel this palatial royal living as luxurious and extravagant. The pleasures of regal life appear excessive.
L. [reflecting on his words] May be you are right.
K. I am also facing the same moral dilemma. The cause for this volatile conscience is our unfortunate and unnecessary past in the ashram. I can neither enjoy the delicious food nor the silks without feeling guilt pangs about how wasteful and worthless it is all.
L. Even I don’t have appetite for the many variety of dishes they bring every day and night. Other people who eat the royal food perhaps do not feel the way we feel about it.
K. No. They don’t. Just look at those guards. They grew up eating warrior’s food hence they are so well-built and strong whereas we look thin and frail because we were nurtured on satwik food during our growing years. I don’t like to think about it. But it feels as if our rightful childhood was stolen from us.
L. You are right. Our father was hasty and...
K. [before his brother could complete the sentence, gets up from the seat semi-excitedly] But I think much of the blame lies with that washer man who unfairly accused our god-like mother.
L. [with wonder and astonishment at last grasping K's point] Yes, the washer man is responsible for our present situation which is like [gesturing with hands] ‘we are here and also not here’.
K.He is responsible also for our loss of royal childhood. Don’t you think that that man should be made to pay price.
L.[meekly agreeing to the suggestion] He should be brought to justice.
K claps his hands to summon the guards
K.[like a man who has suddenly found the purpose of his life] Call the Minister and convene the court and bring the old washer man of the town to the court.

In the court, the twins are sitting on the throne, presiding over the session. They are guarded by two soldiers on either side. There are about 8-10 Ministers and other officials of the Palace. The old washer man and his two sons are standing at a distance from the royalty. Considerable number of people have gathered out of curiosity to watch the proceedings
Minister. Raja, as ordered by you the old washer man of the city has been brought to the court. He is waiting with his two sons to know how they may serve your highnesses
L & K. We wanted the washer man’s presence to settle an old inequity.
Washer man. Your highness, I will be much obliged to be of any use to you.
K. Minister, do you remember why our father, the most righteous king of our great and grand kingdom, deserted our pure, innocent mother?
Minister. [flustered by the allusion to the past]My lord, I have heard about the circumstances due to which the most revered king, your father had to take that drastic step.
L. But surely you know and you would agree with us when we say that this man who stands here before us pledging his body and soul caused that tragedy.
Washer man. Your highness, the most merciful kings, I beg you not to..
K. [cutting the speech of the washer man, angered by his audacity] Dhobi, you will speak only when you are ordered to speak. Minister, because of his comment our mother had to leave the palace and we were born in a ashram and we spent our best growing years there devoid of all the facilities and the benefits that would have come to us as the heirs apparent of this great kingdom. We lost our childhood and he is to punished for that.
Minister. [looks disconcerted] Washer man, what says you?
Washer man. [bowing before the kings and extending both his hands] Your highness, the most merciful kings, I beg you to not to punish this worthless soul for an innocuous comment made years ago in total ignorance of the consequences that might follow as a result of that remark.
K. [looks vindicated, beaming with pleasure] Look, he has accepted his guilt. I pronounce the verdict. The old washer man is guilty and he will be ....
First son of the Washer man. [in a pleading but with a voice of conviction] I beg your pardon, your honour. Kindly pardon me for this impudence. But it is our humble opinion that if the royal masters have a grievance and hold our father responsible then it is not appropriate for them to sit in the seat of judgement.
(sounds of consternation and murmurs of approval from the public and also from the palace officials)
L & K. [enraged and also alarmed by the turn of events] How dare you say so. It is not a grievance but a fact and your father has accepted the guilt. We are pronouncing the judgement.
[murmurs of disapproval]
First son of the Washer man.[without raising voice but speaking calmly and confidently]Raja, if you hold our father responsible for your loss of childhood, then you should also punish the old maid of your grandmother, who we were told, was responsible for the exile of your father, the most loved and revered king.
(giggles and snickers from the public corner. L& K look more and more shocked and at a loss as what to do next.)
Minister.[coming to the rescue of the naive princes] I beg my lords not to let the emotions dictate actions.
K.[enraged by the hint of disloyalty] Minister, you are taking their side. You are dismissed. Guards, arrest the washer man and his sons. They will be beheaded in full public view on the next public holiday to warn the people not to speak lowly of royalty.
L .[prompted by his brother, though looking stupefied] Guards, arrest them.
Murmurs of discontent and disapproval. Booing all around as the guards come forward to arrest the sons first. Public prevent them from arresting the washerman and his sons. Instead they rebel against the kings and establish people’s princes on the throne.
Public. Kings are gone long live the Kingdom!

Disclamer:This post is meant for entertainment purpose only. Any resemblance to mythological characters living or dead in the hearts and souls of anybody is purely coincidental. If you find any similarities to anything it is a credit to your perspicacity and I beg you to be generous and share it with me.

Enigma

2011-02-07T21:21:00.002+05:30

Water in the fish-tank is still and dark
Perhaps heavy with the secrets, unsolved mystery of death
I see the lines that make you in to a perceivable shape
But you remain just like your shadow: eerie and unknown.

I shall not overstep

2011-02-04T23:56:00.001+05:30

‘Yaava purusharthakke?’ is not actually a question but a classic statement often made to express disdain in an imposing manner. For example if someone jealously guards the wealth that he has amassed over his life time and refuses to indulge for his sake or others, then the above thing is said. It literally means for which of the purusharthas? A man’s existence on earth revolves around the realization of four purusharthas viz., Dharma, Artha, Kama and Moksha as per the vaidika dharma. I guess, since there is no sub-clause, all actions, you name it, can be justified as fulfilment of one or the other of these four goals. You can thieve or commit a fraud and then say that you were pursuing financial well being; Whoring as the fulfilment of uncontrolled libido. May be I have missed something. I don’t know.
Is Marriage set as the pre-condition for the Purushartha Sadhana. May be that’s why both the boy and the girl take the vow 'Dharmecha, Arthecha, Kamecha Naaticharaami'. I guess the father of the girl assures the groom that his daughter will not transgress him in these three areas. It is a strange vow. I will come back to the strangeness of the vow later. The assurance that neither of them will do each other wrong while pursuing Dharma, Artha and Kama can strengthen the union. Chasing material prosperity, satisfying physical and sensual desires and fulfilling religious obligations has to be done keeping in mind the capabilities and needs of the other. Just imagine, if the woman is highly religious and ritualistic but the man is an atheist. Though it may not break the bond, it can still create a strain if both of them turn a blind eye to each other’s aptitude and needs.
It is such an apt observation that one’s religious beliefs and practice, matters pertaining to finance and pleasure are the core issues that can make or break a marriage. Its such a clever promise. If financial pursuit, fulfilment of all types of desires and quest for religious and spiritual growth while being still wedded is taken independently then it can wreck marriage. Perhaps the vow does not mean that these goals have to be pursued together. But while pursuing these goals independently they have to keep each other as the centre of their respective universes. I think, when both of the partners are actively involved in the spiritual, material, physical gratification of each others needs, it can lead to a state of tranquility and not stillness, complete union and not just togetherness. And it can in no way provide an opportunity for the most dangerous threat to the instituion of marriage viz., boredom to raise its ugly head. Shaw defines boredom as a condition which makes men susceptible to disgust and irritation as headache makes them to noise and glare. I believe that boredom is the first sign of disintegration of marriage.
I don’t know the origin of this 'I shall not overstep' wedding vow. But don't you think it creates a sense of equality. We, at least I, think that women do not or rather cannot transgress. I guess, after hundreds of years of lessons in morality she is now genetically and biologically programmed against transgression. But this vow since it is taken by both the girl and the boy gives a feeling that when it was created perhaps woman had the same type of freedom enjoyed by the man. Since she was also made to abide by this vow, it means that her not transgressing was not taken for granted. That is why I said its strange.
I got thinking about marriage, because I am losing yet another dear friend to it. I am none the sadder for it. I may have attended a thousand weddings. Okay, that’s a bit of exaggeration but I am quite sure that I have gone to at least hundred weddings. And in spite of that I still find dynamics of a marriage quite interesting.

Roleplay

2011-02-04T17:24:00.000+05:30

Don't ask me. Tell me, what I am to you that I will be. If you say I am your friend, I will be friendly and one among the many; if you say I am your mentor, I will be the light that would guide you to a safe shelter; if you say I am your lover, I will be the invincible love till the end of time; if you say I am your customer, I will pay a hefty price and set you in a high rise ; if you say I am a cheater, I will lose myself to the rest of the world; if you say I am the would-be father of your kids, I will be your husband but then lady if you say you don't know who I am then I will be a stranger and pass by without another look.

Geekifying Alice

2011-02-03T14:29:00.005+05:30

GL(GMO)
d s:->+ a? C--- W N--
PS+ PE t- X- tv---(++) b++ m++(--) DI+ MO+++>$
e* h* !r x?
You can decode the code here

Washerwoman

2011-02-01T15:34:00.001+05:30

She carried a pile of laundry for the washing
But could not find fresh water for the cleaning
Either she had to wait for the rains or pay a huge price
Luckily, she discovered that the new ones were cheaper and nice.

Another Brick..

2011-02-01T15:27:00.000+05:30

As a man of high principles, we were told that our former PM Shri Lal Bahadur Shastri had resigned after a rail accident when he was the Railways Minister. Owning moral responsibility for what had happened he resigned from his position. That was a mark of integrity. He grew in stature and set a precedent (not followed always). That came to my mind because of the refusal of all these Kalmadis, Yeddyurappas, Thomases to resign. There we had in Shastri a noble, honest-to-the-core person who resigned because some rail accident happened in some corner of India killing some unknown people. And we have these guys who refuse to resign when the writing on the wall is too clear to ignore. Shame on them, isn't it?
But think again. Was Shastri right in resigning the way he did? In what way he was morally responsible for the accident? Why did he take the blame for somebody else's probabaly a drunken railway employee's mistake? The challenge would have been to continue and ensure that such things don't happen again by setting things right. Shastri's gesture was highly self-centred not needed in a public servant. May be he was hungry for that medal of greatness which Gandhi-Nehru had shared for so long. Resignation is a response of a meek-hearted person. So I was not that horrified to watch the recent drama over resignations.
I mean, I feel like actually saluting Mr.Thomas for not budging from his stand. I admire him for that. It requires lot of guts. I guess, the India which woke up to life and freedom in 1947 is now most probabaly imprisoned by a thick wall of corruption, dishonesty. Nobody can see or feel how thick the wall is and from where it begins and where it ends. Everyone is a brick in the wall. Its unfair to take out one brick and reduce it to mud. May be its time for someone to rephrase Bangles hit song Walk like an Egyptian.

Repentance

2011-02-01T14:42:00.001+05:30

I plonked on the couch in front of the TV ready to leisurely savour chapatis with my favourite Bendekai Gojju. Wagging its tail, jumping up and down delightedly my dog followed me and sat on its hind legs in all attention, alternately looking without blinking at my face and the plate. I ignored him. He tried to woo me to throw him a piece by changing his position. He came and sat right in front of me looking earnestly. I shooed him away and got engrossed in the riveting drama of our leaders refusing to resign. Suddenly I felt the chapatis being slowly pulled under my hand. When I turned to see, my dog had the chapatis which I was eating with so much pleasure. Furious that my meal had gone to the dogs, I held his mouth in my left hand and snatched the chapatis. Then I hit him. He yelped more out of fear than in pain because I had hit him with my left hand. Ruefully throwing the chapatis and the bhindi gojju in to the dust bin I washed my hands and again hit him with right hand using all force. Now he screamed in pain and went and sat in the corner of the divan trembling. I had taught my rowdy, greedy dog a lesson and I knew for sure that he would not repeat it ever. But I was still feeling angry.
I went to the kitchen to make tea. When I came out he had settled in to a cosy position, lying on his stomach with face between the front legs. From the corner of my eye I caught him watching me from the corner of his eye. As soon as he sensed that I was looking at him, his tail started wagging real hard and fast. My heart went out to him. He had taken chapatis from my plate but I snatched it out of his mouth. But even then, there he was, happily smiling away wanting and waiting to be forgiven. I told him sternly that he should not do it again and hugged him, he was all over licking me, trying to show me how pleased he was.

Fear

2011-01-26T22:10:00.000+05:30

As the loose strands of hair dance to the rhythm of wind across my face, I feel caressed by it. I want to open my eyes but dare not, lest the dust gets into my eyes clouding my vision.
The fire can give me the much needed warmth on this cold, cold night. But I stay away because few flying sparks might burn holes in my chiffon.
I prefer today to tomorrow, though tomorrow promises novelty and adventure. I fear the ennui and tedium that would follow once the excitement wears out. Why should I exchange one type of boredom to another?

Nationality

2011-01-26T21:33:00.000+05:30

In the poem Where the Mind is without Fear in one place the great poet writes,

'Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls'

and in the end concludes with a contradictory wish

'Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.'

Sort of thinking along the lines of Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam, but believing in the heart Janani Janma-bhoomi-scha Swargadapi Gariyasi. Isn't it?
As far as I am concerned I was a proud Indian till I went to New Delhi. There I became a die-hard South Indian.

Reasoning

2011-01-18T22:46:00.000+05:30

I am not upset because the show got over. It had to. But I am disappointed that it didn't end the way I wanted it to.
You didn't wait and I was not disheartened but I am sad since we parted even before we met.

Hopeless

2011-01-18T22:33:00.000+05:30

You look so hopeful. May be I should not have said its mixed feelings. How do I tell you what are they? How do you separate grain from chaff? Do you want me to use the sieve? May be what you will get is a few grains of curiosity, affection and half a grain of admiration and more than a palmful of chaff of indifference. Would you be able to bear it?
Didn't you once say that you would rather get burnt by the scorching sun than shielded by a veil of indifference?

Hope

2011-01-11T21:28:00.001+05:30

She is waiting for her Master to return. He went yesterday as per her wishes. Before he left the overjoyed Master asked 'Tell me, what you want? Your wish is my command'.

Flattered by the suggestion she said ‘nothing’.

So the Master went in search of nothing.

She hopes that he might come day after yesterday and expects nothing from him.

Futility

2011-01-10T13:53:00.002+05:30

I dipped my brush in to all the seven colours one by one and put the colours in to the empty well of the palette. When mixed up I thought I would get white, to depict ceasefire, peace. But it was not the colour of daylight I got.

I merrily plucked fresh flowers from different plants to sew them together in to a garland. It was to be my offering to you. But the thread refuses to hold together assorted flowers of varied sizes.

I set out to solve a puzzle, painstakingly picking up all the scattered pieces. Now looking at the strewn bits before me that do not match I realize I may have here more than one puzzle to solve. It was not what I had bargained for.

Mea Culpa

2011-01-09T20:16:00.001+05:30

From the moment I wake up theres nothing I do wholeheartedly except may be two things. I go for work and do whatever I have to do quarter-heartedly. Reading books and other things like that I do with 3/4th of a heart, because if I pick up a novel or a play, my heart says that its time do some serious non-fiction and if I pick up non-fiction, I feel as if I deserved to relax with some light stuff. All other things including breathing-I have not learnt Pranayaam, you see-I do half-heartedly. I guess only things I do very sincerely is make and drink Tea and cheer for Federer whenever, wherever he is playing! So any or every time I see people who exude that 'child-like enthusiasm' for whatever they are doing I feel overwhelmed. This child-like enthusiasm was available in plenty at the World Samskrit Book Fair, which is a happening event here in Bangalore. If you have not gone there already, please pay a visit. You can get all details about the fair here.
Yesterday when we went to the fair, it was teeming with people. We spent nearly half a day there. I was looking for Subhashita Manjari but strangely none of the 100+ stalls had a copy of that. One of the highlights of the event is the exhibition where they have showcased how all sciences, arts and crafts could be sourced to samskrit literature. The exhibits diligently prepared mention theories/facts from science, maths, chemistry, medicine, cosmetics, space science and where in samskrit literature it could be found. I was hugely impressed by the exhibition and I was reading everything with interest. My mother pointed out 'look even the science of test tube babies was known to them. Drona and Kripa were test tube babies it seems'. I said ‘then maybe we should look for medicine for AIDS in samskrit literature’. It was quite unnecessary and very bitter and rude but I couldn't help it. I had to admit that I was just joking. But something was lost in that moment.
Reading about something is okay but believing and accepting it as true? Well, I can't do it. Okay, if Samskrit has everything then why not close down space organisations, astrophysics institutes and all research organisations. We could save billions of dollars that way. If samskrit was the language of ancient India and we trace our origin to Indus civilisation then why the scripts are not similar. They may be diametrically opposite. While Samskrit is written from left to right, the Indus script was from right to left. I wondered whether the world described in the samskrit literature in various puranas, samhitas, Vedas was something like lost world of Atlantis. Was it truly there, nobody knows. Suddenly this effort to revive samskrit to understand the ancient Indian wisdom became distasteful. And I rememberd how difficult and painful Samskrit was during schooling.
And today I tuned in to watch again Bharat Ek Khoj that we had watched may be 20 years ago. To my shock it was about samskrit and great dramas of samskrit.
Perhaps its a mistake to describe Samskrit as the great repository of all knowledge. But its definitely a mistake to ignore it as the language of Gods not required in this age and day. May be we learnt samskrit language the wrong way. Why samskrit has not survived as one of the spoken languages is still a mystery to me. All dravidian languages have existed for over two thousand years.

Frog in the Well

2011-01-08T21:14:00.002+05:30

Like many people I first heard the story of Koopa Manduka from my teachers in primary school. The story as well as the moral of the story was told not just by the language teacher but also other teachers as well. I guess, the mind tends to react differently and assimilates in a different manner if something is told repeatedly. The way multiple readings of a book can give several perspectives. So in High School when the much loved Sanskrit teacher again told the story to stress the importance of keeping an open mind, I had by that time kind of developed a bonding with that little fool of a frog who thought that nothing could be bigger than its well. I wanted to shout, ‘Leave the frog alone’. The frog could not believe that something like sea which is bigger than its well could exist. So what of it? As long as it did not try to destroy sea to prove its belief Frog should be left alone, isn’t it? It was ignorant and not delusional. May be the frog lived happily ever after in the well and died a fool's death. So what?
I feel this whole business of keeping an open mind is highly overrated. I mean, by not knowing about sea or ocean, Frog didn't suffer a great deal, did it? It was blissfully unaware of the constant dangers above and or the ocean storms. Whats wrong if you create and live in a small universe and do not care for the joys of a bigger world (1).
Naipaul or R K Narayan has written about the simple unquestioning mind of old South Indian women who have pure,unshakeable faith in certain things. Theres no turmoil in their head. Its as if they have fenced their mind and would not entertain repudiation of their beliefs. I have seen such women. And I have felt that they were mentally stronger as a result of that unquestioning mind. When you have an open mind, your belief system can become somewhat shaky and fragile. I used to tell in my younger days that Ignorance is more often than not a bliss. Knowledge can be a burden. The state of Blissful Unawareness can be rewarding as well. I guess, in Mahabharat if Duryodhana was unaware of his rights as the son of Dhritrashtra, the eldest son of Vichitravirya then the Kurukshetra battle would not have taken place. On the other hand, if Draupadi were to be aware of her rights as a woman then she might not have chosen to slave for all the five brothers. She might have selected the hunky Bheem and Charming Arjun, rejecting the sidekicks-Nakul and Sahadev and Yudhishtar whose whole and sole wife and life was Dharma. Or Draupadi might have caused a mini bharat among the Pandavas!

(1) On a different note, there are infact several advantages of living in a small place. After watching their contingents in Olympics and Asiads I have often considered migrating to this or this country!

Borrowed Unreality

2011-01-07T21:57:00.001+05:30

I simply enjoyed yesterday working on that piece. What started as fun turned mysterious in between, I rubbed my hands in glee while I gave that twist and in the end I had to stop because I realised it was becoming without my knowledge Dostoyevskian. Then I had this eerie feeling and hazy pictures of a similar scene from some unremembered movie. I thought may be its an unconscious rip off, I couldn't tell for sure. May be Nirmal Pandey's Is Raat Ki Subah Nahin or Raj Babbar's Andha Yudh or Tom Cruise's Collateral or John Travolta's TheTaking of Pelham 123 or some novel, though I don't read crime/thrillers, had influenced it. I couldn't tell.
I have many times regretted that the list of must-read books and must-watch movies keep growing and have blamed myself for that, for not being diligent enough. With so little reading and so little movie watching I am forever confused and dazed about the source of my thoughts, opinions, ideas, viewpoints. I am always asking where did it come from, how did I come to that conclusion? and so on. Some great guy said that we have a short life, so must learn from others' experiences. And disregarding Hesse's words that Wisdom is not communicable we form our Weltanschauung based on others' glorified and glorious words, exaggerated or understated experiences. At one level it feels borrowed. And you weave a web based on that borrowed material never stopping to verify, never trying to budge from the comforts of your cozy arm chair. How bizarre! There is no easy way out, because the web keeps getting denser. May be the only options would be: asylum or suicide!

Dilemma

2011-01-06T22:13:00.007+05:30

'Is that your car?'

'Huh? ...Yeah!'

'Nice colour! Pearl Silver, isn’t it?'

'Must be! Don’t know. Anyway, thanks.'

'Your car has my name on its back.'

'Okay! That does not make it yours! Ha..ha..ha'

'Yeah. Nice joke! I was forced to follow you from that jammed road to this parking plaza.'

'Oh, really! Nearly 1.5 kms. Damn traffic. Makes your life hell...huh?...Ufff.'

'And navigating through the traffic with my name in front of me felt as if I was trying to catch up with myself.'

'Ha..ha..ha'

'Its a funny feeling. Trying to catch up with oneself!'

'I guess trying to be what you want to be is also one way of catching up with oneself.'

'May be.'

'You are here for shopping?'

'May be.'

'You are with your backpack and alone, so I asked.'

'Why? One can't shop alone, is it? In that case you are also by yourself and I suppose you are going to the mall.'

'I am here to meet my friends. Pardon me for my excessive curiosity. I was just wondering how can one do shopping with a backpack?'

'I said may be I am here for shopping, I didn’t say I am here for shopping.'

'Hmm.'

'May be I am here for a specific purpose.'

'Like?'

'May be I am here to commit a crime of passion. To catch my cheating lover red-handed and kill them both.'

'Oh!'

'And may be I am carrying a loaded revolover with a silencer here in my backpack.'

'May be you are joking.'

'May be I am not.'

'But why would you tell me, a total stranger, your plans. I could shout now and alert the guards.'

'You could. But if you do and then find out that I was joking, what will you do?'

'Then I would say that you fooled me.'

'Then I would sue you for defaming me publicly and claim damages.'

'May be I should walk out right away without wasting another second.'

'Okay, if you prefer to see the images of three people in a pool of blood on TV or in newpapers tomorrow.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean, may be I am carrying a fire arm with three bullets. And I intend to use them against those two cheating souls and myself after that.'

'But if that is your purpose, why are you sharing it with me.'

'Hmm. May be because I liked your car colour. And hence I am chosing you for a 3-minute fame which you could enjoy as my representative after my death. See, I have bared my soul before you. You can tell TV channels how cool and composed I was before going on a shooting spree'.

'But I guess its not easy to shoot at point blank. It may look like that in movies.'

'May be I am from police or army. I am equipped with necessary skills and also the right weapon. Why do you think I would kill myself after killing those heartless cheaters? Huh? Its to escape suspension, internal inquiry, dismissal from service and all-round humiliation.'

'Look, I don’t know your whole story. But its horrid. You should not snuff out a life like that. You...'

'Wait a minute... Are you trying to sidetrack me from my objectives?'

'Please don't do it. Its not the solution'

'Why? Why do you want to stop me? Think about it.'

'May be I don’t want to feel guilty later. I don’t want to regret later that I didn’t try to prevent, didn’t do enough to stop you.'

'But how would you feel if even after listening to your sermon patiently I went ahead with my plans.'

'At least I will have the satisfaction of having tried to prevent it.'

'But what if your good efforts were proved not good enough. And you realise that you had failed to prevent 3 horrid deaths. Won't it weigh on your soul heavily? How can you feel satisfied if you fail to succeed in your mission? It should cause more misery and disappointment, isn’t it?'

'Oh god! What do you want me to do?'

'You believe in God?'

'May be.'

'Pray then, try if it can change my mind.'

'Oh!'

'But would you become ambivalent about God if you read in tomorrow's newspapers about my crime? How can violence and crime be compatible with Existence of God?'

'I..I don’t know.'

'Don’t worry. May be I am here for my haircut or just to collect my clothes from the tailor!'

'Okay, Good Bye'

'God be with you! Didn't some great Indian sages say that 'you are that' or 'I am God'?'

'May be'

'Remember that if you happen to read about bloody killings tomorrow!'

AH-TSSCHI ! (1)

2010-12-31T15:41:00.003+05:30

A Sneeze is like love. It can catch you off guard. You wouldn't know what caused it in the first instance. You may have to kill time mercilessly, if you have it that is, muse and ponder over the suddenness of it all, groping for the reason. Of course you can find out what caused the sneeze if you try a bit harder, just as you might be able to understand why love whelmed you. Just like love a sneeze can slowly sweep you off your feet as well. Theres a build-up to it. You feel it growing inside of you leading to that tickle in the nose and finally to that "hih...heh...huh-t-choo" release. Like love a sneeze can also be stifled. And sometimes much to your distress you realise that its not in your hands. Try as you might, you find it hard to stifle a sneeze. Just as you might fall in love even after avoiding it for long.
Dear reader, this post is essentially about sneeze. Hence I will stop here the analogy between love and sneeze but go ahead with my expositon on sneezing. You can continue, I beg you to continue, but I have forewarned you!
A sneeze is usually preceded by whats commonly called a pre-sneeze expression. You might have noticed a person standing with his head slightly tilted backwards, half-open mouth, half-shut eyes looking as if focusing on something distant. Well, thats classic pre-sneeze expression. Its caused by a ticklish nose and I reckon that the mind of the about-to-become sneezer would be thinking as to how to look less silly if sneeze vanishes. It can happen, you know. You grandly pose with that about-to sneeze expression and suddenly realise that sneeze has royally ditched you, for reasons unknown. You feel as if you overhyped your own sneeze! And you feel mortified and silly.
Theres a variety of ways in which a person can sneeze and make that inimitable sound-noise or music, chose your word, my dear reader! It can be a masculine sneeze or a feminine sneeze not necessarily by the respective gender. I hope you got what I mean. A delicate looking, fair, lovely lass might raise a hand to her mouth and powerfully sneeze with a particularly loud AH-ECKOO--TSSCHOO, a sneeze so forceful that it might rock her forward slightly.
And a well-built, hunk of a man might sneeze with a short, relatively noiseless atchoo!
Sneeze varies from person to person. From high-pitched CHEW! to soft sort of a sneeze to nearly-inaudible stifles to enormous, uncovered, unstoppable explosions in the form of multiple sneezes. But in my opinion they can be broadly divided in to two types. Dry sneeze and wet sneeze. A dry sneeze is, as the name suggests fortunately or unfortunately dry. You won't get any output here. No watery snot or mucus. Allergy, dust, and in South Indian homes like mine, preparation of rasam powder can cause dry sneeze in people who happen to pass within a 2 km radius! A wet sneeze is as a result of cold in most cases. But in recent days bollywood movies as well as Ekta Kapoor have also been found to cause a running nose which ultimately leads to a wet sneeze. Heavy nose blowing is observed along with wet sneezes. Mucus and phlegm tend to get collected on the clothes of the sneezer or in the hanky of the sneezer, if he is using, or on the person standing opposite the sneezer.
Now we come to the reactions to a sneeze by the sneezer. I am tempted to state that you can define a man's character by the way he handles a sneeze. I will not go that far!(3)
One way of handling a sneeze is just to sneeze. You know, just achoo, atchoo, achew, or atishoo or whatever variety you are capable of producing. If you take the photo of a person against a dark background while he sneezes you can capture the bioparticles like in the following photograph. (Sorry, about the logo).

If you cover the face of the man and ignore the logo, dont you think it looks like a group of tiny asteroids in space! Cosmos to errrr....nano, may be.

Going back to sneeze, this is I guess the most common way of sneezing. Open sneeze.

Next when you have handkerchief or a wad of tissues or a cupped hand. When a medium is used you get a muffled sound from the sneezer. Here a person spreads the hanky like a mid-day tabloid across the face covering the mouth and nose and sneezes in to it. And later with the same hanky he wipes his mouth, nose and also, hold your breath, the rest of the face! When the person is sneezing into cupped hands it is observed that he later wipes the hand clean either with his shirt or pant or the nearby wall!

There is no perfect art of sneezing. But following are the preventive techniques as given in Wikipedia (4): deep exhalation of the air in the lungs that would otherwise be used in the act of sneezing, holding the breath in while counting to ten, crinkling the nose and keeping the eyes open, or gently pinching the bridge of the nose for several seconds.
But if you try these techniques there is the danger of people mistaking you for trying to ape Johnny Depp or Jim Carrey!
[1] I sneezed while standing in the mild sun of winter. And that was the inspiration for this post because for the nth time I failed to observe whether I closed my eyes while sneezing. Look, some time ago there was this email which said that it is impossible to sneeze and also keep your eyes open. Unlike smile or tears you cannot trigger a sneeze, can you ?(2). You need external stimuli for that. The thought did occur to me, but you see I am good in thinking many thoughts but very poor in putting them in to action. So I thought I will verify the truth of the matter whenever I sneezed. So I was on guard for may be 24 hours. But alas, it was a very bad day. And I didn’t sneeze. And after a bad nights sleep all was forgotten. Sometime later a sneeze, at the speed of Federer’s serve caught me off guard. And I realised that I didn't observe. The thing is, I know for sure that one cannot keep eyes open but still wanted to know first hand!
[2] Of course you cannot also burp, fart or hiccup at your will. I sort of thought of doing a piece on any one of them. But settled down on sneeze, because I thought the chances of getting that errrr ..Yuck reaction from you was more in this case!
[3] I am told that one can know the character of a person by his/her choice of books, music, color, friends and who he/she sleeps with or how a masala dosa is eaten! So why not how he/she sneezes. I thought of trying but it means more work.
[4] BTW, I would like to believe that my plea sometime ago on behalf of Wikipedia worked. They have almost reached their target of fund raising. I would have given not just $5 but more than that if only I knew how to send it in `.

Uneven hand of Justice

2010-12-26T19:46:00.002+05:30

I guess Ms.Roy hit the nail on the head with her comment “A couple of years for the bosses of Union Carbide and a life sentence for Binayak Sen,” referring to the sentence handed down to those accused in the Bhopal Gas Tragedy of 1984.

The much used legal maxim is
Justice delayed =Justice denied.

So I can suppose that
Justice delayed + Justice denied = The End of Rule of Law

An era of hyper-transparency?

2010-12-24T17:11:00.002+05:30

We have all heard of Wolf, Wolf story, isn’t it? I am beginning to wonder whether Assange can be described as the man who cried wolf! I mean we have not got any earth-shattering information from WikiLeaks, information that could derail decades of diplomatic work, information that could send countries in to a shell of isolation while the US unsheathed and sharpened its sword for the eventual war against the pen, as believed generally. It is too early to come to conclusion about the content of leaks, I know. But if we continue to get information from the Leaks that would only titillate and cause many to snicker and annoy a few, then we would have to admit that it promised too much but delivered too little. Did US fear these revelations? Its hard to believe. There must be something more to it. Otherwise it wouldn’t have gone at it hammer and tongs. Does it mean that the establishment has won the first round of battle? And the first casualty was free access to information?
What US has done and what it might do to fight Leaks and whether it is justifiable depends entirely on the contents of the cables and its authenticity. If the Leaks can indeed expose conspiracies, corruption and cover-ups then in a democracy it should not be silenced directly or indirectly. But if the Leaks are just a collection of unauthentic information, juicy gossips that can only plant a seed of doubt, suspicion in other's mind then what is the use of it. We are already living in an uncertain world. Why should we become more paranoid and obsessed. Can what one has said off the record become a fact? I would say it would be ethically wrong if it is presented as a fact. It is opportunism of the highest order to fish in troubled waters.
In spite of Assange’s arrest and release, WikiLeaks declared that it would continue to expose facts. US has assumed an enviable role in directing the discourse of international community in any matter of global importance be it climate change or nuclear for civil use or GMO or war against ‘terrorism’. It looked as if Leaks would shed some light on the actual role of US and it was guided by what. My mind is sculpted and chiseled to believe that wars are fought not for ideology. I thought Leaks would let the world know how and why US dragged it to participate in so many wars. It benefitted whom? Whether it has left the countries which it freed from the ‘oppresive regimes’ better off? US fearing publication of the cables makes sense if it can unveil how economies are derailed for the wealth and health of US and thereby endanger the position of US in the world.
But if Wikileaks is a ploy to hold the only super power as a hostage with the help of unauthentic, unverifiable information then it is dangerous. Here I am reminded of how RTI in India is being misused for ulterior motives and small gain. The US has said that Assange is an anarchist and stated that "He is trying to undermine the international system that enables us to cooperate and collaborate with other governments and to work in multilateral settings and on a bilateral basis to help solve regional and international issues."
But being a democratic country how can US stop the flow of information. So it throws up the question raised by Ms.Roy i.e whether the Democracy as we know has been used up? Can WikiLeaks lead to an era of hyper-transparency, where you can be what you are?

The Face from the Book/Quel dommage

2010-12-24T13:27:00.000+05:30

She saw the happy and contented face of her bespectacled friend whom she had not met for more than seven years on Facebook. She surmised that lovely wife and a lovelier daughter was the reason for that look of contentment on that face, which looked a bit puffed up. It brought memories back. Both of them were jobless back then. For him nothing in the world was sacred. He could make anything and everything look ridiculous with his silly imagination and irreverent logic. That was the time she used to maintain Notes on People, ingeniously merging, observed and imagined physical characteristics and personality traits of different people to kill boredom. That was the time they took pleasure in learning and using french words. That was the time they found nonsensical joy in chatting with strangers under fake identities. She had 'enlightened' him that typing in Upper Case while chatting meant shouting. She remembered how afterwards grinning from ear to ear he had continued to ‘shout’ in the chat room while she was ROFL. She could not remember the jokes he sent to her but remembered the laughter, glee that was the result of the jokes. She remembered how she had dropped her handset in horror when he had sent her an utterly obscene joke and how hesitant she was to pick up the handset as if it had been dirtied by it. She also remembered how he had dismissed her objections to obscenity and attributed it to her prudishness. His matter-of-fact attitude had emboldened her to discuss issues, often to his surprise, without the fear of being judged. She had felt completely free and liberated.

But how abruptly everything had come to an end. He stood her up one evening at the cafe. He neither called again nor tried to meet her. She received neither explanation nor apology for his inexplicable behaviour and silence. She did infact see him once more. She wanted to convey how wounded and angry she was through just one look. Had he given her a look of recognition, she could have done that. But he looked through her. How could he? more than Why did he? enraged her and extinguished the desire for reconciliation. No self-respecting girl, leave alone an egotist like her, forgave and forgot being stood up, she reasoned.

She again looked at the face on the screen. En famille photo in the profile. Three people becoming one in one single profile, she smiled to herself. Suddenly on an impulse she fished out the Notes to read her description of him. A chill went through her spine when she opened the page in which she had written about him. Bold letters in his writing glared at her.

CRAFTY, SCHEMING CHIENNE. SHAME ON YOU. DAMN YOU.

With palpitating heart she read the entries.

Looks: Tall, bespectacled, handsome but not dark! Intelligent eyes, sharp nose, dimpled chin, curly receding hairline. Broad shoulders, hairy limbs. Strong, Muscular body.

Persona: Diffident, depressed loser. Unenthusiastic, lazy glutton. Has neither ambition nor goals in life. Taker not a giver. Like all men fixated with one single idea.

'It was a mix-up, they don't even match', she cried and trembled in agony. Pain and guilt battled on the same side with increasing ferocity. Clenching and unclenching her fists she thought,

should she try to do the explaining now, after seven years of misplaced trust?

If my heart had a colour it would be...

2010-12-22T15:08:00.001+05:30

Lovely Lavender

You're creative and smart, maybe even a little shy. You know what's best for you, and are a good friend.

You can check out your heart colour here!
And also find out who you are in my world here!

Ahoy! Look out!

2010-12-16T15:51:00.001+05:30

Journalism allows readers to witness history;
Fiction gives its readers an opportunity to live it- John Hersey (1)

And WikiLeaks?(2)
May be gives a reason for the witnesses of history to kick the makers of history in the butt!
And may be allows the brood of conspiracy theorists to grow!
And perhaps allows the nerds to raise the slogan 'geeks shall inherit the world, virtual, ofcourse!'

1.I am worried. Read further only if you have checked the above link. As I said I am worried. Because everytime I open Wikipedia I see the much wrinkled face of its founder leading me to this link. And the blue line is never closer to the target. So People, please help this guy to help us!
2. See, WikiLeaks in neither fiction nor journalism. According to Time Magazine 'It could become as important a journalistic tool as the Freedom of Information Act'. We know pen is mightier than sword. And Leaks can provide continuous flow of ink to that mighty pen! Anyway I should stop being frivolous about WikiLeaks, I know. Its an interesting phenomena. But could be dangerous as well. I shall do something more about it in my next post.

Undeserved

2010-12-14T16:39:00.002+05:30

Untimely death. That’s what people say when you die young. I wonder what is the right time or age for death to cruelly snatch the joy of living. Is it when you are 70 or is it when you are 80 or is it any time when you cross 90? I don’t know. But it is true that death is unfair. It does not distinguish between those worthy and unworthy of living. Some great poet once proclaimed that death is the great leveler. It is so absurd. Don’t you think Death, if it can, should make a distinction between people who deserve to go on living on this earth and those who have lost the merit? If it cannot then why write poems about its leveling qualities.

A life full of dreams, that spawned admiration and awe and also inspired many that came in touch with it perishes all of a sudden without even giving a moment’s notice. How unjust death is?

To do justice to the injustice of death, the wise living souls have these inadequate words:

Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.

[Entire poem here]

How does it matter to the one who is dead? And is it any consolation to the aggreived who probably close eyes hoping to find it as a dream?

Open Sesame

2010-12-07T22:23:00.004+05:30

You know, I have never liked people who cannot speak their minds or who prefer to speak whats on their mind when the subject of conversation is not present. Like this lady who once told me about a person that he is a womanizer. So I naturally asked, ‘Why do you say so? Did he make a pass at you?'. She replied in the negative. So I had to ask, ‘then how do you know?’ All I got for reply was ‘I know’ and a very meaningful look, which she must have thought would convey in greater detail than her words. She must have thought I am smart enough to understand. But I decided to play dumb, so I persisted ‘Do you know anybody who has been jilted by him?.’ Though she was horrified to hear me speak so plainly, in a very maternal tone she explained the reason behind her confiding in me. She wanted me to be ‘safe’ since I meet this man on and off due to work, though God knows I was safe and secure and may be needed to be little unsafe! Okay, that’s not the point. The woman gave me the impression that she actually had some strong evidence to suggest that the man in question had ways with women but did not want to share with me because I wasn’t to be trusted. So I didn’t go further.

On another occasion when we were together again we met this man whom she had earlier described as a womanizer. So I expected her to recoil and hiss like a snake when it perceives danger but what I saw instead was the most polite and congenial behavior. And I resisted the temptation to tell the man about the lady’s opinion of him. May be she was pragmatic and what she did was right, perhaps one has to be civil no matter what. But in my mind she had become a hypocrite.

Where do you draw the line between outspokenness and brash,hasty and indiscretion? If you are not frank enough then you would be dubbed as a hypocrite and if you are not discreet enough you would be described as a thoughtless, reckless fool. Middle ground is the terrain of diplomats. They are the masters of art of judiciousness.

I don’t know whether diplomacy can win friends, but I am sure lack of that art can ruin relationships. No wonder US feels threatened by the WikiLeaks. US goes around the world with its ‘Holier than thou’ attitude. Now its shamed, embarrassed by the publication of WikiLeaks. I really liked the idea of Wikileaks. Its as if the world had found the magic word to know the real US. It is important for the public to know American diplomats' private assessments of foreign leaders and politics. Those against WikiLeaks may point out that it is their private assessment and not the policy of the State. In that case they need not fear the Leaks, isn’t it? Nations in awe of the Big Brother/Uncle Sam will not remain naïve as far as US is concerned because of WikiLeaks. The face value is different from the intrinsic value. Next time Ms.Clinton meets our Yuvraj, she would know that he knows that she called him gay in private. May be he would take whatever she says in praise of him with a pinch of salt. Those who do not favour WikiLeaks mainly state that it endangers diplomacy as in this article. The article argues that Leaks damage trust one way or other. But may be leaks help in overcoming blind faith that the whole world seems to have in US. Somehow this article seems to me a poor case against Leaks.

IMO WikiLeaks should be taken as a lesson by diplomats and nations. Probably after Assange's arrest for some crime he allegedly committed ages ago, his enterprise may get fizzled out. US may or may not be behind his arrest or freezing of his accounts or suspension of payments. It is in a way very sad.So I just cannot help sadly smile at the news of Assange's arrest.

Beauty

2010-12-03T12:49:00.001+05:30

How do I describe your writing and the effect your words have on me? Beautiful sounds, may be too lame. But I, who thought beauty fades, beauty withers away, have found ethereal beauty in your writing.

How do I know its beautiful? I will tell you. My eyes read your words, the mind comprehends and interprets it in a million different ways. And I feel the tics, tingling in my finger tips to touch the words, hold them aloft so that my quivering lips can kiss them in reverence. I feel the same way whenever I catch that serene, oblivious expression on the sleeping face of a baby or my dog. They make me want to hug that placidity and clasp it in my heart for eternity.

You are like the sun, and I am not even one of those unseen stars waiting for you to disappear for the night so that they can twinkle for a while. I am just a wavering light that burns by itself under your uncaring glare. I feel as if I am scattered sand in a desert over which you blow over like a Simoom and I find myself transformed in to a dune, marvelling at the power, force of your words.

I feed on your words, thoughts, ideas. And I am nourished. And I feel grateful.

How do I thank you?

Will it suffice to say that my heart, a non-believer's heart, feels filled enough to exclaim ‘bless you’!?

Men who strut like kings

2010-12-02T17:21:00.007+05:30

Many who strut like kings up there are such
As here shall wallow hog-like in the mud
Leaving behind nothing but foul reproach

-Canto VIII. I- Hell

The Divine Comedy- Dante

translated by Dorothy L. Sayers

And what wouldn't the peeved onlookers give to see such people struggle in dirt like pigs? But where can they find Virgil to take them there? Maybe Virgil won't come, since seldom people wake up to find themselves lost in dark woods. And they wouldn't have stumbled in to dark forest like Dante. They would have walked in to the woods seeking adventure. They might have enjoyed the gradual fading of light. They would have romanced under the starry nights. They would have embraced darkness and found it more comforting than the harsh light of the outside world. When the light can offer only sights of not actual monarchs but men who walk like monarchs then won’t Darkness be the obvious choice?

PS: Come to think of it, if Dante’s words are true then it might lead to heavy rush at the gates of hell. Even after reading the stern order to ‘Lay down all hope, you that go in by me’ at the hell-gate, instead of abandoning all hope people might walk in with anticipation and great expectations, shouting hallelujah just to watch those king-like creatures perpetually bathe in muck and then to exult with gratification like fully fed cats. It may also result in a stampede. Because isn’t it heaven, sweet redemption for you to see those you hate, disapprove in hell?

Happy Birthday

2010-11-24T17:21:00.054+05:30

She had always loved Happy Birthday song. She would sing it the loudest whenever any one of her classmates celebrated Birthdays. She wanted them to sing for her as well. She wanted to stand there, on the stone platform, just beside the teacher, in front of the black board where she could see the entire class while they sang for her. That was her wish. She waited for her ‘Happy Birthday’ to come, spinning dreams, debating between Eclairs and Ravalgon, Pink and Blue dress, Sandals and Shoes, Pony tail and plait and so on. She waited patiently, occasionally throwing tantrums why her Happy Birthday was not coming sooner. Fed up of her little petulance, the Father promised that they would celebrate her Birthday on January 1st, New Year’s Day which was just next week. Her seven year old heart leapt in joy. She danced around the house singing the Happy Birthday song.

The promised day finally arrived. She carried the box of Eclairs with pride, walked with a spring in her steps to the school in her pink dress. Once inside the school compound, her spirits were little dampened when she saw everybody wishing each other with high-fives. It was New Year’s Day and the joy was on everybody’s face.
As the teacher completed her roll call, she went up to her with her box of Eclairs.
‘Why Radha? Is it your Birthday today?’she exclaimed.
The child could not say yes or no. She was confused and flustered. She was celebrating her Happy Birthday. She just bobbed her head and waited for her classmates to sing for her. They sang but the chorus lacked her voice and she was the only one who noted its absence. Then the Teacher wished her on her Birthday and wished everyone on New Year’s Day. She didn’t think it would be like this. The happiness of New Year’s day had eclipsed her Happy Birthday.
She came out of her class with a lighter box and went from class to class with heavy limbs to give chocolates to all the teachers. Everywhere the same questions and the same mumbled answers were repeated. At last she went inside the last class. In the front bench sat the boy who recited the morning prayers and national anthem from the dias.
‘Is it for the New Year?' the teacher asked her.
And the class found it funny and giggled. She stood there more embarrassed than ever before.
'Well, speak up child!', the teacher insisted. She remained silent.
'What is your name? Is it your Birthday?', she continued.
Radha opened her mouth to say her name but her little nerves could not hold up, she started crying instead. The teacher shocked, tried to console her and directed the boy from the prayer group to drop her back to her class. The boy walked her out. Soothing words followed.
'You should never cry on your Birthday. You should be more happy because the entire world is celebrating your birthday', he said as if he actually knew that it was her grouse.
'Where is your class?' he asked and walked down in the direction pointed by her. They met a peon and the boy told him that today was the little girl's birthday and told her to give him chocolates. The old peon made her smile with his childish talk. As they neared her classroom, the boy once again told her ‘Don’t you ever cry on your birthday, it’s the beginning of a new year, happy time. Go, be a good girl’.
She never cried again on New year’s Day. But years later when she became aware of the bitter, horrid, sad truth that she shared her Happy Birthday with her mother’s death day, the garlanded photo of her mother would trigger the lacrimal glands and tears would roll down. She could never have happy birthday because her mother, whom she had not seen, not talked to, nor touched nor had felt had died on the same day. May be out of self-pity she shed tears of anger, frustration. But she cried always on her birthday.

Fragile & Precious

2010-11-23T17:23:00.025+05:30

Like a dry leaf attached to a branch, moving to the rhythms of the wind, that would eventually get its release, floats in the mid air for a fleeting second before dropping down for the final crush; Like a brittle, glittering sheet of mica that entrances a child and turns in to powder under his excitable fingers, a person makes the journey of life riding the high and low tides of emotions, at times gloating, at times ruing in the end ravaged by its force but nevertheless perplexed by the ephemeral nature of them.

Unmakers of India!

2010-11-04T17:26:00.000+05:30

I have been planning to read Ramachandra Guha's India After Gandhi since so many days err...years and in the mean time he has written another book! Lamenting about the state of affairs in India today, one of the journalists I respect has said that Guha should have written about 'unmakers' of India who have 'influenced' India of today. I thought, no way. Ms. Roy would protest. She would put her foot down and vehemently insist that India was never there in the first place to 'unmake', so the question of unmakers of India does not arise!
Anyway, it would be interesting to analyse how India has been 'unmade' and by who, if at all the country has been undone. Maybe it wouldn't be interesting, because we might end up with policies and not the persons responsible for the mess. Guha is a voice of the sane in a mad world. I am partial and also proud of Guha because he is a Bangalorean! But somehow I am not much interested in knowing about Indians of the 19th century! I will be loyal to India after Gandhi.

Winds of Change

2010-11-03T14:04:00.016+05:30

(O WILD West Wind)
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like wither'd leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,

Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth

The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

-From Ode to the West Wind by P B Shelly. The entire poem is here

I will not attempt to write about the poem over here, you know how much I fear poems. I only know this poem because of the famous last line, which is often used to dispel gloom. In the above poem, the poet is seeking a rebirth, a renaissance with the help of West Wind. Wind is used as a metaphor for change in poems, movies, fiction etc. It is rather the catalyst for change. Wind would bring in new things, whether good or bad, does not matter, but it does what it does. Wind blows away the dead matter. Language, be it English or Kannada or Hindi, spoken as well as written, has undergone a tremendous change in the last two decades. Whenever my mother lamented about degeneration of Kannada, I would argue that what has to go will go. If it lacks staying power then it will be swept away by the winds of change, was my argument. Man developed languages, he set rules for them and hence he should have the freedom to change the rules as well. Discarding things in the face of opposition can give a great amount of satisfaction. And there can be beauty in the new way also. So I admired slangs in English or Kannada, they were 'cool'. Later when texting/smsing/short text messaging became a rage, I liked to use them extensively. To send cryptic emails using standard abbreviations, inventing new ones was fun. B.Russel used to correspond in old English it seems, using 'thou' 'thee' 'thyself' etc in his letters. So using abbreviations, alphabets instead of words gave me a weird feeling of liberation, because you were flouting the rules of grammar, spelling etc. It was as if they were the 'thee' 'thou' of modern age. But I don't know what wind has blown over me now, I am done with the new form. I cringe whenever the columnists, especially in TOI, use lower case for I and use other abbreviations. Since the new language is shaped by the necessity of sending an sms or a twit using limited characters, it should be used for those purposes only. Why use it in newspapers where space is not a constriction? Language is not a mere means, an embellishment for thoughts. Whenever I read anything nowadays, I see myself looking at both the content as well as the form. Earlier grammar, syntax etc didn't matter much. But it makes a difference now. So much so that I have digged out Wren and Martin which was given to my sister when she got in to IV Standard! I don't know how long this phase will last. I should wait for another wind perhaps!

PS: A post about Wind was supposed to follow the water, fire posts. But I don't follow rules even if it was set by me or may be if it was especially set by me! Anyway two images from movies which have windy element associated to them that I have been able to quickly recall is mentioned below.

a) Vianne played by Juliette Binoche in her red shoes standing against the Wind on the dock, perhaps waiting for the return of Roux played by Johnny Depp is one of the poignant images from the movie Chocolat. There are other intense scenes associated with the wind in the movie for eg Vianne and her daughter answering the call of the north wind, wind blowing through the fields, Vianne boldly throwing the ashes in to the wind etc. But Vianne standing against the wind to quell the storm raging in her head is the most remembered scene.
b) I would have gladly forgotten Kamal Hassan's (1) badly scripted, badly directed, badly acted movie Hey Ram but for the last scene in the movie where Tushar Gandhi opens the windows with the picture of Gandhiji in Saket Ram's room. As he opens one window after the other, the whole outside world emerges. This instantly reminded me of Gandhiji's famous words 'I do not want my house to be walled in on all sides and my windows to be stuffed. I want the cultures of all the lands to be blown about my house as freely as possible. But I refuse to be blown off my feet by any.”

(1) I think Kamal Hassan is the most overrated actor in India. I have liked him in Sadma, Mahanadi and to some extent in Pushpak and Sagara Sangam. But I think I liked Sagara Sangam more because of Illayaraja's music than widely appreciated story and performance of the lead actors. The innocence of Balu in this movie gets personified again on a larger scale by Kamal in Swati Muthyam. I was completely put off by that movie. In most of the other movies Kamal's acting is to be tolerated. He just goes overboard. In Mahanadi its the subdued yet a strong, intense performance which overshadows the usual Kamal Mannerisms. I don't know who directed it but its an extraordinary film with a great climax which compensates for all the terrible things that might haunt you forever.

Ek Kisan Ki Maut

2010-11-02T14:03:00.001+05:30

I was a bit hesitant to watch Peepli [Live]. I thought I wouldn't be able to connect the anchors who have been spoofed in the movie. Its no fun, isn't it, if you dont know who is being ridiculed. But since the DVD was gathering dust, I watched the movie. Its a real blessing for people like me that the movie DVDs now come with subtitles. After watching the movie I thought the title could have been Ek Kisan Ki Maut. After all the movie is about 'Live' suicide of Natha, the poor farmer who actually fails to die and ends up as a construction labourer. Figuratively speaking, death of another farmer, isn't it?
Peepli [Live] set in rural North India is about brothers Natha and Budiya who are about to lose their agricultural land because they have failed to repay a bank loan. While searching for ways to save their land, on which the family of 6 depend upon for livelihood, brothers seriously consider the idea of committing suicide, jovially mooted by local politicians, for monetary gain since the Government, in the backdrop of byelections, has announced Rs 1 lakh as compensation to the kith and kin of dead farmers. A national news channel in the race for TRPs and 'eyeballs' somehow gets the whiff of the suicide scheme and puts it as 'Breaking News'. What follows can be described as the Director's attempt at making this a kind of Black comedy. All TV channels descend on this sleepy village like vultures waiting for the last breath to escape from its target. While the ruling party wants to ensure that Natha lives, Opposition wants him dead because it is election time and death of a farmer can bring down the government. Natha becomes a puppet in the hands of everyone- politicians, media,family-. This is the story of Peepli [Live].
After watching the movie I was not able to decide whether it was a satire, spoof or a black comedy or a serious movie. A good black comedy is supposed to make you laugh and also make you squirm in your seat. It should make the audience laugh while at the same time make them feel the tears sting their eyes. Peepli [Live] though makes you laugh in places hardly causes discomfort because the protagonists are in a way resigned to their fate but waiting for the final seal. I didnot get who was being spoofed. May be the Hindi TV journalist was based on Deepak Chaurasia. I have heard notorious things about him and he also sports a beard, others I did not get.
The movie, I guess, was meant to be a critical commentary on media through the issue of farmer's suicide. I think it has failed in both the objectives. It is hardly a harsh commentary on the media. It shifts from being absurd to being serious. Like the Agriculture Minister, played brilliantly by Naseeruddin Shah eventhough its such a short role, propagating indutrialisation in rural areas. This absurdity could have been stretched instead we have the anchor seriously interrupting and questioning the idea. If you are mocking something make it a complete mockery then it can serve the purpose but if you try to check it with actual facts then it loses the steam. Another example is when the local journalist talks about the death of the mud digger, if the media forgetting Natha had run after his death it could have been just hilarious and at same time conveyed the message about the fickleness of the media. Instead we have the conscience stricken face of the local journalist. The director could have taken few lessons from Woody Allen on making absurdity speak volumes.
Further, I really dont believe news channels care much for TRPs. TRPs can be manipulated as well. They are not always based on the content. Its the advertisements that rules the world. The absurdity of ads during 'Live' coverage of a serious issue. Just imagine Kerala Tourism Ad interrupting Mumbai Blasts coverage. Make hay while the sun shines. Media version of this could have been shown.
About the issue of Farmer's suicide, the movie is neither sympathetic nor realistic. Long ago I had watched a Kannada play called Baavi Kaledide (A well has been stolen), I think Shyam Benegal's Well Done Abba was based on this play. I have not watched the movie so cannot say for sure. In the play bureaucrats pocket the money meant for digging a well in the land of a poor and illeterate farmer after taking his thumb impression on the sanction form. Other officials give him letters certifying the existence of the well as well. After some years when new inspectors find no well in his land they decide to take action.Then enters a wily but a smart lawyer who knows what has happened, he comes to the rescue of the hapless farmer, files a FIR for stolen well since he has official certificate for its existence. I think in the end there is some kind of compromise, lawyer also gets something but the farmer does not get anything. The play was a harsh commentary on the corrupt system and showed how the poor are doomed inspite of themselves. The farmer was doomed for doing what they told him to do and he would have faced a worse fate if he had not obeyed. But in Peepli [Live] it is not so. The chief characters shape up their destiny, whether by taking loan and not repaying it, or by seriously taking the absurd suggestion of suicide or playing the 'roles' for the media etc. They are not the mute and helpless spectators in the drama unfolding around them. They set the ball rolling. I mean, I wish it was some externality which tempts them to take a loan, you know, some subsidised hybrid seed or some super cow or some pesticide promoted by the government. The vicious debt circle in which the farmers often get caught unknowingly is not shown. So I was unaffected by Natha's plight.
But the movie is seriously worth a dekho. Its a nice experiment like No Smoking, Dev D, A Wednesday, LSD, etc.

Ibid

2010-11-01T14:22:00.000+05:30

My search for Ibid began when I chose humanities over science as my college subjects. There was a reason behind the choice. I chose Economics, Logic, Sociology, Psychology because I thought that would save me from slogging. Arts students dont study, they dont need private tuitions, they can pass in high first class by studying for the exams just a week before the exams. That was the perception. In a way its true. But thats not the point. As students of humanities we were not required to study only the prescribed texts. For every chapter in the syllabus, the lecturers used to suggest a list of books which were in the library. I used to check them out once in a while. And most of the books though unrelated had more often than not Ibid in their footnotes. I was fascinated with Ibid. And my fascination and curiosity about Ibid increased when I found ibid in general books like biographies and autobiogrphies. Ibid, must be something like an encyclopaedia if everybody quotes from it on all subjects under the sun, I concluded. I wanted to read Ibid, because that would solve all problems. One book for everything. I was greedy to get hold of this one masterpiece which would help me deal with everything. I checked in the library and Ibid was not to be found. I checked the catalogue, there was no mention of Ibid to my greatest annoyance. I asked the librarian for Ibid and he asked me in turn who wrote it and I was red faced because I was clueless.
Since it was not to be found so easily, Ibid became even more valuable and my need to find it grew stronger. There was this guy in our class who cited 'metaphysics' as his hobby during a discussion. He knew a great deal of things and cared less for formal education. I thought this guy would be able to help me find Ibid. I dont know why. May be I had already decided that those who dont read are the ones who actually know. Since I knew his hobby was metaphysics I threw in some titles like Make believe, Unended Quest by Karl Popper etc which I had just glanced upon in my cousin's place. The guy became a friend because I had heard of Karl Popper!
One day I asked him 'Tell me, where can I find Ibid?'.
Without looking up he said 'In the same place'.
In my mind I completed his answer as 'In the same place where you find all other books, i.e.Library', so I said in an exasperated tone, 'But its not in the college library.'
Then he looked up and asked me to repeat my question. I patiently said 'I want to read Ibid, but its not in the library. Where can I find it?'
He thought for a while and said 'If you keep looking for it, may be you will find it'. I thought that since he also did not know where it was, he was trying to escape with a philosophical type answer.
I looked for Ibid in two more libraries, then sort of gave up the search. One day while I was checking the dictionary for the exact latin words for i.e., (1) I happened to glance upon ibid as well. I read the meaning of ibid and continued to look for i.e but within a fraction of a second something struck in the mind and I reread entry for Ibid which said 'in the same place' (2). I was stunned into silence when the association of ibid in the footnotes became clear. I let the realisation dawn on me with a cringing heart. At first I was ashamed of my stupidity but huge disappointment followed which was greater than shame. Ibid was to be the one stop solution for all the great questions. It was to provide repreive from referencing so many books. It was to be the drink having all the nutrients and drinking that I would have become omniscient, so I had hoped. But my great hopes of finding the magnum opus had been dashed because it did not exist. I had counted upon something without any existence in reality. Perhaps it was my delusional mind which created something out of nothing and made me believe in it but I still cann't stop myself from glaring at Ibid whenever I see it in any book.

(1) http://dictionary.reference.com
(2) Ibid

Mahabharat

2010-10-29T17:17:00.002+05:30

Its the story of cousin brothers fighting over a kingdom.The Pandavas and Kauravas wage battle for Hastinapura. The struggle for supremacy, hegemony culminates in the epic Kurukshtra War. All the kings and princes participate in this battle. They become allies of pandavas or kauravas. It is said that Krishna was the reincarnation of Lord Vishnu and he preached Bhagwad Gita or the Song Divine on the battlefields to the reluctant, conscience stricken warrier Arjuna. At the end of 18 days battle the Pandavas emerge victorious. Kauravas are vanquished and they perish without a trace. Yudhishtar gets to rule the kingdom of Hastinapur for 36-37years. Heroism, Dharma, Loyalty, Divinity are the themes of this epic story. But why did Vyasa chose to call it Mahabharat? Is it because the descendents of King Bharat managed to get all the kings, princes, cheiftains entangled in this sovereign struggle? My mother had recommended Rajaji's Mahabharat long, long time ago, when we were still in school. But back then, Ramayan and Mahabharat was something you discussed and joked about since you already knew what it was all about. I read the book now. And now I want to somehow read the entire translation of original Mahabharat. The last few chapters of Rajaji's Mahabharat throws light on what happened after the war. I knew the story of Krishna's death, annihilation of Yadav clan (1), Yudhishtar's journey to heaven, but even then I was affected by the tragedy. May be its because Rajaji's observations, thoughts add a greater value to the simple narration of this great tragedy.

(1) If Yadava clan was destroyed completely by the curse of a sage, then all these Yadavs from UP and Bihar, where did they come from? Thats why, I feel like agreeing with Periyar and his followers who claimed that Indians borrowed Mahabharat from Odyssey and lliad

Burning memories

2010-10-22T17:25:00.000+05:30

It was perhaps the chipped nails that ignited the loathing. She had not made herself up,which was not an encouraging sign. She was gleaming with enthusiasm as usual but strangely it was dousing his flame of passion, all he received from her animated chatter was discouragement. Thats what he perceived. Her comment that he had adapted the mannerisms along with the accent of his country of choice scalded him. He wanted to be warmed by her presence but as the minutes tickled it burned him. His face started glowing and inside it was an inferno. She was like goddess of fire. Source of light and heat and also fire that could reduce him to ashes. He had to escape that. Only way was to burn his hopes and these memories. But there was no escape from the charred remains which continue to smoulder long after he had razed them. The thought that he would reminiscence about it worsened his mood, it was like adding fuel to the flame which would only make it rise higher and higher.

PS: Whoa, whoa. last post kind of had watery element to it, but this one though very short is all about fire and what should be next. Yeah, thanks much to Dylan, got an idea. This one, the idea was to do something about Hestia and Apollo. Will elaborate it some other time.

Chasing waterfalls

2010-10-20T14:19:00.005+05:30

I am what I am

You are not what I am

I am what you are not

You are not what you are not

I am not what you are

You are what I am not

You are what you are

I am not a Pig

So you are a Pig

Conversely,
I am what you are not

You are not a pig

So I am a pig!

PS: Its just that my mind is in pieces. I would like to believe that its because of trying Great Dialogues of Plato. Reading the dialogues of Socrates is like wading through a stream. You don't know how deep or shallow is the stream. You step into it expecting the experince to be heavenly. Then suddenly you realise how cold the water is, how difficult it is to balance, you can neither go forward nor come back. Once you are on the otherside of the stream, you realise the cuts and after a while you feel the pain and heaviness in your lower limbs. Thats the impact of wading through a running stream. Dialogues is really unputdownable. Its not that its that interesting. I like arguments, dialogues etc. Dialogues of Yama and Yudhishtar, Yama and Nachiketa and I think Yama and Savithri. Theres a point to it. But its not so in the Great Dialogues of Plato. Even then the sheer beauty of the debate pulls you into it like a vortex. Its like standing beneath waterfalls. From afar waterfalls are magnificient. They are very tempting as well. But once you stand under the waterfalls, you realise the huge impact of the rush of water. You want to get out because its taking your breath away literally. You feel like getting physical with this natural phonomena. At that moment you realise that waterfalls are beautiful but yet can be brutal. They are to be admired from a distance. So one should remember the sermon of TLC and stop chasing waterfalls!

That man deserved his revenge! (1)

2010-09-30T21:32:00.000+05:30

Thats the thought that crossed my mind after watching Michael Radford's The Merchant of Venice(2) few days back on TV in which Al Pacino has played Shylock. Al Pacino is described as a method actor. But it was not his acting that made me long for revenge on Shylock's behalf. I mean, who would not feel enraged to see a man spat at in the opening scene of the movie. I had to reread the play after the movie to get to know Shakespeare's Shylock. The difference is that in the movie Shylock is not so cruel and he is not shown as a sinister and a despised character. In the movie its the fear that rules the relationship between Shylock and all others, whether its his daughter or his boy or other Christian brethern. Shylock's 'hath not a jew eyes?' speech from Al Pacino completely justifies in my opinion his need for revenge. But nowhere in the movie do we get to understand the real reason for Shylock's hatred for Anotonio. Antonio's reason to explain Shylock's malice is not shown. Its unfair. In the play you get to here from Shylock that he had been spat at by Antonio and humiliated by others because he is a jew and a money lender. And it is visualised in the movie. But Antonio words 'I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures. Many that have at times made moan to me;Therefore he hates me', also deserved a scene. But in the movie even the words are missed. You are also not shown the generous side of Antonio in contrast with Shylock. You will not know why Antonio is generally admired and accepted as a 'good man'. He is infact shown as a weakling. While reading the play you will understand that Shylock is envious of Antonio. And it is that green eyed monster along with intense hatred which prompts him to think of that ominous, evil bond. But if you watch the movie without reading the play you will be at a loss to understand why there is so much of hatred in Shylock for Antonio. The motive behind Shylock's extraordinary bond is lost. In the movie you also do not see the acquisitive nature of Shylock. You feel sorry for the old man when his daughter runs away with all his money and jewellary. But while reading the play the effect is exactly the opposite. The scene is hilarious. Raving avaricious old man. You would say 'serves him right'. One good thing about the movie is that it is completely faithful to Shakespeare's script. Even though its funny to see Joseph Fiennes as Bassanio utter those words.

(1) Yes, its from Kill Bill-1. I have just changed the gender and the tense.
(2) Shakespeare named the play after Antonio, but the names I had remembered from the play were Shylock and Portia. I could not recall the merchant's name till the opening scene of the movie!

Rama, Be Grateful!

2010-09-30T14:33:00.004+05:30

Statistics can be elusive but not completely misleading. According to a report there are more than 30 million pending cases in Indian courts out of which civil cases are little more than 26 million. And out of those pending cases verdict on one title suit related to Ayodhya,the abode of peace case would be out today. I feel like saluting all those people (belonging to both sides) who have single-mindedly pursued the case. Gathering evidence, fighting skepticism, ignoring politicisiation of the issue and year after year answering the summons of the Court. Monumental effort and faith, I would say. How could they do it? Thousands have invested financially, emotionally, intellectually in restoring Rama’s birth right over Ayodhya. And over the last two decades hundreds of people have lost lives as a consequence. Collateral damage, the fanatics might say. Blood and tears have been shed for and also as a result of Ayodhya. And what will they finally get out of it? Yeah, the verdict will settle many issues apart from finally stating to who the 2.77 acre of land belongs to (I still doubt whether the court can give a clear verdict like that). If at all it favours Hindus(1), I hope the divine Rama has enough common sense to show the humans his gratitude in some manner, lets say by making it plain that he was not all that divine! But what ever I will post the judgement here later. It would be interesting. At present I am scared,I don’t know how I am gonna reach my home today. My darling cosmopolitan Bangalore has become a fortress. Khaki everywhere. Closed shops, empty streets. A bandh like atmosphere. Suffocating and painful. Because it feels as if the city has been held for ransom.
UPDATE: Who could have thought that the Judges, who pronounced the verdict would have kept alive the romantic streak in them after all those years of service? How else can you describe the judgement to divide the land in to three parts and let both Hindus and Muslims construct (not maintain as its done in many places for eg. Temple Mount) temple and masjid side by side?Its a romantic judgement. Its like a climax from a bollywood movie. Is it feasible, practicable? I mean, I don't doubt the existence of temple and masjid side by side in several places in India. But there the people would have inherited that kind of history. Worshipping side by side. But is it possible in Ayodhya after such a violent past? Why not give it a try seems to be the mood.
Perhaps Hindus have got more than what they had bargained for. They will get 2/3rd of the land, since Nirmohi Akhara is nothing but another group in favour of building Ram Temple. And it is not difficult to imagine, if Supreme Court uphold's this verdict, Muslims willingly parting with their share of land in the disputed area. Why would they do so? The big fish eat the little fish syndrome. And I was also reminded of our history lessons about interim Government formed by Congress and Muslim League before Independence and its failure. Our teacher had explained it in detail how ML, which held the finance portfolio made it unworkable. And Congress had to quit. And in Ayodhya Hindus would force the Muslims one way or the other to give up their claim on the land altogether.
Anyway, link to the brief summary of the verdict is here. Who knows, one day I might read it. Somehow I am still miffed that a Court in a secular country was forced to sit in judgement over a religious issue. And with this verdict the Rama tribe has got legal endorsement.

PS: 'Tyranny naturally arises out of democracy : Plato'.
(1) I still dont know who Hindus are. As part of my job I have travelled in most parts of Karnataka and have interacted with various sections of people. And what I have found is that Rama is part of folk lore in many communities but he is not there among them as a religious icon, he is not seen as their god. They have their own peculiar local Gods. They have temples for these Gods. But no Rama any where so far. So I am beginning to equate Hindus with high caste brahmins and others and not with the vast majority who flourish in this land

Interesting Dog Names from Fiction & Movies

2010-09-19T00:34:00.004+05:30

FICTION
Lady- The Centaur, John Updike
Note: I read this novel because I am a Saggi but ended up loving not even the dog but just the name of the dog. Just kidding! It’s a wonderful book. But I cannot remember anything else from the book except Lady and that it had made me feel the snow and that I didn’t like the ending and that I could not connect it to greek mythology and I had thought that Mr.Updike was another great master of description.

Dazzle- The Professor of Desire, Philip Roth

Flossie -Lady Chatterley's Lovers, D H Lawrence

Pilot – Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte

Laska – Anna Karenina

Loony- In one of Enid Blyton’s books. I so very much wanted to rename our dog as loony during school days but everyone forbade it!

Zhucka – The Brothers Karamazov

Bulls eye- Oliver Twist

Dingo – Just So Stories- Rudyard Kipling
Update:
Syntax - The Bishop- Short Stories of Chekov

Kivi - Carvalho- Poornachandra Tejaswi (Kivi in Kannada means ear!)
Movies

Hariprasad – Sadma

Nana- Finding Neverland, based on JM Barie’s Peter Pan

Delgado – The Chihuahua from Beverly Hills. Actually Chloe is the Chihuahua’s name in the movie. But I liked Delgado because of Andy Garcia’s voice.

Maya – Eight Below

Jasper – Rebecca

Shadow- Homeward Bound- Incredible Journey
Update: Chico - Secret Window
PS: I cannot believe that I could get only these many names. I shall update as and when I get the names.

Faith

2010-09-19T00:12:00.000+05:30

‘You can go to devil for all I care!’
‘Not enough!’
‘Meaning?’
‘I mean, you can say ‘you can go to God for all I care.’ Its just the same to me.’
‘You are an atheist, aren’t you?’
'Well, atheism is also a belief. I am not a believer. Not even a believer in nothing. Nonetheless I keep my mind open.’
‘You are a sceptic, an agnostic, aren’t you?’
‘Why do you rush to put a label on people? Why this fetish for categorizing and putting people into definite compartments?’
‘How else can you know a person? It is important to know certain things in a relationship if it has to last a little longer.’
‘I don’t know. But if its helpful to you, I don’t mind. Go ahead and put a tag on me, if that’s the starting point for you.’
‘Not exactly! I would say the starting point is name.’
‘Huh?’
‘I do know certain things about you from your name.’
‘I might have lied about my name.’
‘That is a possibility. But then I would say that you can know a lot about the person by the pseudo name than the real name. After all that is name chosen by you and not selected for you by others, isn’t it?’
‘In a way you are right. But all you get to know about a person from the name is probably his/her religion.’
‘That may be true. But that’s quite important.’
‘Is it? Not to me. Religion & God are key things for you, isn’t it? Tell me, why do you believe in God?’
‘Because it’s the easy way out.’
‘Always looking for short cut, aren’t you? But I know a few people who would disagree with that. They would say God is hard to understand or reach.’
‘I meant it differently. If you have faith in God, you can have peace of mind. You can explain anything inexplicable by attributing it to a superior force. Why not put it on God?’
‘You don’t require God for that. You have sky, air or intangible terms like luck, fate to explain the inexplicable.’
‘Ancients called those forces of nature as God.’
'And modern man humanized them.’
'So you are repugnant to the idea of anthropomorphism of God like some reeks. Do you prefer the idea of a formless God? For instance Allah?’
‘Any idea of God is not an attractive proposition to me. But it puzzles me that on the one hand you believe God is all powerful, all-knowing and what not and on the other, you carve him/her in the image of man who is imperfect in form and nature.’
‘You are like your idol Wallace, aren’t you?’
‘Huh?’
‘You don’t believe but still keep your mind open for any confirmation of perfection, ethereal beauty and may be divinity as well. He thought he got to witness both beauty and perfection in Federer. That is why he called watching Federer a religious experience.’
‘You are looking Wallace from only one standpoint.’
‘Federer Fans believe that he killed Wallace.’
‘He committed suicide.’
‘Probably Federer pushed him to it. His inability to hold out against his nemesis. You know it, don’t you?’
‘We will probably never know why Wallace did what he did. But if you think that he would have considered beauty and perfection as permanent and not transient, then you would be dishonoring his memory and legacy.’
‘You believed in Wallace, didn’t you?’

My dream jobs

2010-09-15T22:54:00.004+05:30

I don’t know whether I am in the right sort of job. Okay, this post is not about existential crisis, I assure you. I didn’t get the job I very badly wanted. Actually I still don’t know whether that would have been the right job. In fact I don’t even know what I am good at. Nevertheless I am sticking with the present job purely for money. Okay, I am exaggerating. The job also provides me good leisure time which is useful for many things, among them to spend time with Alice! So I was thinking of the jobs I would love to do without any second thoughts, of course for the same cheque at the end of the month! Here it goes:

Construction labourer at a PWD project. The glistening bodies in the sun make an attractive sight. Some time back a road project was going on near our house. And I was tempted so many times when we went for our morning walks during weekends to join the crew. I like the smell of sweat. Aaargh! Weird, isn’t! Okay, let me modify. I like when I sweat. Sweat of sweet labour is great. If you are shopping on a sunny afternoon and start sweating then its yuck! It kills the desire to shop. But sweating out in a gym feels good, so also sweat as a result of some physical labour.

A cook for a joint family. Not a chef. But a good cook for a joint family of four generations. That would be just right for my vanity. I would be the captain/master of so many fates. So there I go!

Typist for Sir Vidia. This does not require any reason. Doing that kind of work is an end in itself.

A newspaper vendor. The glory of getting the news of the world to everyone’s doorstep would be mine. And as a bonus I would get to witness the ugly or lovely reality of houses in their early morning nakedness.

A Gym assistant. I did tell earlier that I like the sight and smell of sweat, didn’t I?

An assistant at a video/VCD/DVD parlour. The pleasure of flaunting my filmi knowledge and the gratification of brainwashing the fellow mortals about the films of my choice! Aha. Just Priceless. BTW Tarantino started as a video parlour owner or something!

A model at a high-end car or a liqueur launch. You get the chance to look decorous. Here the people are either curious or bored by the automobil/spirit. And they don’t ogle at girls which is such a relief. To be perceived as just another lifeless product; I guess would be a grand feeling.

I would have also loved to work in a dark room of a photo studio. The joy of bringing the snapshots of someone else in to reality would be huge. But nowadays with the advent of digital cameras they have become quite redundant. So this is strictly not on the list any longer.

Another role I would have gladly embraced would have been that of a devadasi. This is also a thing of the past. We owe devadasis classical music and dance, isn't it? I mean, MS was one. And who would not want to be someone like MS? Who would not want to be part of that system if it can ensure even a miniscule amount of talent in fine arts?

Thats it for now. I shall update it from time to time!

PS: This post came about because I was reminiscencing about my first job interview which was a..wait..I will do another post about that!

The problem with shared memories

2010-09-15T22:05:00.000+05:30

is that it is pregnant with the seeds of disappointment. Shared memories when recalled and expressed at a later date can upset the confidence and composure of the persons who would have exalted at the experience. The realization that they felt, saw and remembered different aspects of the same experience can make shared memory a mere farce, pretence, a make-believe act for self-preservation.

Ice Maiden

2010-09-03T15:13:00.002+05:30

She had the face of an angel. It calmed the nerves of others. They lost track of their thoughts when they looked into her dreamy eyes. Her eyes always shone like a diamond and her smile which never failed to reach her eyes gave her a mysterious demeanor. It was as if she was speaking through her eyes in some language known only to her. It was her eyes which made him court her. Nobody had challenged him but he wanted to unravel the secret of her expressive eyes. Nobody who had stared deep into her clear, unpretentious, unsuspecting eyes which looked at the world with complete trust and faith had succeeded in not getting entangled. So unbeknown to him he had let her eyes carry him to some distant land of beauty, a paradise of perfection. And there came a day when he realized the attachment and the bond which he felt was true and was sure she knew existed between him and her. His joy knew no bounds when she truly reciprocated his feelings. She catered to him like a slave. All she wanted was to hear him speak. She let him speak about his life, his work, his ambitions, his feelings, his world. She asked nothing else. He nonetheless showered her with a variety of gifts which he thought would please her but never really got to know whether she was happy with his offerings of devotion. Whenever his friends came to their condo, they played the card game Bluff. And she never even once lost in the game. Perhaps it was because she had played that game ever since she was a child. Perhaps it was because the other players who were enchanted by the beauty of her unblemished face, happy and care-free manners wanted her to win the game. Perhaps it was because she was the only one who knew how to play the game and win it too.
It was one evening when he came home from work that he heard it first. Choicest swear words in her voice. His heart skipped a beat. It was still pounding when her smiling face greeted him after he rang the bell. Her innocent reply that she was just reading out the subtitles while watching Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs amused him but did not completely satisfy. His antennas were up. And he heard her swear and talk rubbish over phone one night when she thought he was deep in sleep. And again once he heard her mushy voice from the bathroom speaking non-sense. But whenever he confronted her there was an alibi. It got worse. And he feared for his sanity. He thought about it and decided to break-off. If she was stunned or hurt by his decision, she did not show it. Finally the day arrived for his departure. He could see that she was troubled and perhaps had cried all night long. She looked at him with her tear stricken eyes which pleaded him to stay. He would remember that face for the rest of his life. But stay, he could not.
After he left, she dropped flat on her bed. What an emotional mess! He will carry the guilt in his heart for the rest of his life, she thought as she continued to stare at the ceiling. And thought that she did not have to struggle too much this time. He had nothing else to say. He had outlived his utility. She thought of her next date. She would break the news to him. The impact would be huge since she is still red-eyed from the break-up. The thought pricked her. But she thought she was not a gold-digger. She didn’t want men for their money, wealth, property, name, fame or whatever. She wanted them for their stories for her story. It was not her fault if men trusted their eyes more than their ears. It was not her fault if she had become an expert in the game of Bluff. As she preened in to her ice-maiden image in the mirror she wondered, enamored by the beauty in the mirror whether her wish to escape aging like in the story of King Yayati and Picture of Dorian Gray had been truly granted by some supernatural force.

PS: when I thought of doing a piece on beauty with a motive, the face I had in my mind was that of Aishwarya Rai’s from Mani’s best movie, in my opinion, Iruvar (1). The face which makes Mohan Lal look lost forever while staring at it, from his balcony or window I don’t remember. But when after completing the piece I re-read it, the face that emerged and the story it reminded was, horror of all horrors, Ms.Sharon Stone & Basic Instinct. Of course it lacks all that sensuality and seductive trap that Ms. Stone lays for her victims. But the theme is so unoriginal; I stood accused in my own eyes. Since I had spent nearly 4 hours on the piece I did not have the heart to press delete button.
(1) Iruvar is a special movie which I enjoyed watching even though I don’t understand Tamil much. Everything is sort of perfect in that movie. I shall write about it some other time.

Bliss & Despair: Death

2010-08-31T14:18:00.002+05:30

Isn’t it strange that mind at the moment of complete bliss and utter despair meditates death? The wisdom of knowing that the moment will not last forever, that it cannot be frozen in time, perhaps forces one to think of death in order to feel the bliss till the end. And the conviction that the moment might last forever, that nothing can dispel the distress forces one to long for death.

Warped vision? Vicious circle? Or just Verbal Trash!

2010-08-31T14:17:00.000+05:30

I hate the feeling of hatred
I am sad at the thought of sadness
I am angered by the anger
I fear the idea of fear
I panic over getting panic attacks
I am happy being happy
I love the feeling of love
I am helpless because of the helplessness
I am ecstatic contemplating ecstasy
I am disappointed by the disappointment .

Just what’s the point, of this whole joint?

2010-08-20T16:55:00.003+05:30

Unanswered, ( Or is it unanswerable?!) questions from The Dharma Bums- Jack Kerouac
Oh what a life this is, why do we have to be born in the first place, and only so we can have our poor gentle flesh laid out to such impossible horrors as huge mountains and rock and empty space –Raymond Smith (RS)

Who played this cruel joke, on bloke after bloke, packing like a rat, across the desert flat? Asked Montana Slim, Was it God got mad, like the Indian cad, who was only a giver, crooked like the river? Gave you a garden, let it harden, then comes the flood, and the loss of your blood? Pray tell us, good buddy, and don’t make it muddy, who played this trick, on Harry and Dick, and why is so mean, this Eternal Scene, just what’s the point, of this whole joint? (Buddy poem) - RS

Is there a certain and definite teaching to be given to all living creatures? was the question probably asked to beetle-browed snowy Dipankara, and his answer was the roaring silence of the diamond.

'Japhy, do you think God made the world to amuse himself because he was bored? Because if so he would have to be mean.’
'Well, it says in the sutra that God or Tathagata, doesn’t himself emanate a world from his womb but it just appears due to the ignorance of sentient beings.'
'But he emanated the sentient beings and their ignorance too. Its all too pitiful. I ain’t gonna rest till I find out why, Japhy, why?'

O gnashing teeth of earth, where would it all lead to but some sweet golden eternity, to prove that we’ve all been wrong, to prove that the proving itself was nil...

What a strange thing is man like in the Bible it says, ‘Who knoweth the spirit of man that looketh upward?’

And also some esoteric statements..

Its only through form we realise emptiness -JR

When you get to the top of the mountain, keep moving- Zen

Tea –the first sip is joy, the second gladness, the third is serenity, the fourth is madness, the fifth is ecstasy.- JR

Make no formed conceptions about the realness of existence nor about the unrealness of existence – Diamond sutra

And then some mocking POVs..

Colleges (are) nothing but grooming schools for the middle-class non-identity which usually finds its perfect expression on the outskirts of the campus in rows of well-to-do houses with lawns and television sets in each living room with everybody looking at the same thing at the same time while the Japhies of the world go prowling in the wilderness to hear the voice crying in the wilderness, to find the ecstasy of the stars, to find the dark mysterious secret of the origin of faceless wonderless crapulous civilisation.

Comparisons are odious -JR

While reading The Dharma Bums I found myself thinking about J D Salinger and his Franny and Zooey. Both books have angst-laden youth on a spiritual quest to solve the riddle of human existence as main characters. Both have an autobiographical flavour. Kerouac and Salinger, perhaps never corresponded with each other. But I feel both represent a cultural high point of the American literature and life in the middle 20th century and may have given fillip to the rebellious youth spirit of that period. Salinger’s Franny and Kerouac’s Ray Smith somewhat stay disconnected from the realities of life, are in a messy, complex, struggle to reach and understand the divine, ultimate truth. Characters in both the books grope and drift aimlessly, in my opinion. Both of them are intellectually superior but unhappy, dissatisfied with the known. Their lives revolve around a certain form of spiritual strife. Interestingly both of them look to eastern philosophy, religion for spiritual answers and solace. Even though the characters somewhat come to peace with themselves in the end, as a reader I felt it was inconclusive.
Perhaps, it was because I had read Hesse’s Journey to the East much before I got hold of Kerouac’s On the Road(1), The Dharma Bums and Salinger’s Franny and Zooey. Hesse’s work is a mature conception of spiritual fulfillment and self-understanding. May be some other time I will write about HH and Leo and their ‘successful’ journey to the East. The quest of Japhy Ryder and Ray Smith in The Dharma Bums looks childish, immature and non-serious. I thought it is much better to stay put and have unflinching faith in 42!!

1.I had far outgrown my youth, figuratively speaking, when I read Kerouac’s On the Road. There was a twinge of regret. The thought that, had I read the book earlier I could have hitchhiked 2 kms of distance to my college at least once, not that I would have actually done so, honestly, had not failed to cross my mind then. You know, the regret that one feels upon realisation of missing out something because you had not known, because you were ignorant, is far greater and stronger than the regret if at all one might feel for having consciously rejected something for eg non-veg. Whereas your will, choice or lack of chutzpah, is involved in the later, the former is precisely because will, choice was not involved.

When No can mean Yes!

2010-08-17T22:55:00.001+05:30

'Are we having an affair?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Umm, going by the time we spend on chat, people would say so’

‘Do you agree with them?’

‘Hmm, Agree with what? With their opinion or the premises based on which they have come to the conclusion?’

‘Well, you can say, you agree with both or you agree with neither or you agree with either one of them, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, I guess so’

‘So?’

‘If I say, I agree with neither, would you be disappointed?

‘If I say no, would you be disappointed?’

‘Well, I started the questioning, so I should be the one who should get the answer.’

‘Okay, sometimes a no could actually mean a definite yes.’

‘Are you speaking for yourself?’

‘Huh?’

‘I mean, are you saying that you might say No while expecting the other person to take it as yes?’

‘Well, it was a general statement based on an old saying. But it applies to me and also to you.’

‘How would you know whether a no means a no or an yes?’

‘Huh, that depends on the situation and a clear understanding of the other person.’

‘So it is circumstantial?’

‘Hmm, you may so!’

‘In that case, you will have to keep margins for error.’

‘Thats right. But I read people quite well. I have confidence in my accuracy.’

‘Is that so? You mean to say whatever my answer may be, you would know the truth.’

‘I suppose, yes.’

‘But in that case you should know the truth in the absence of any kind of explicit response from me, isn’t it?’

‘In principle, yes’

‘But in reality?’

‘So far, no’

'Why?'

'Because it requires effort to understand and acknowledge'

‘Awareness and understanding comes naturally, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, thats right’

‘So aren’t you contradicting yourself?’

‘Contradictions do not exist. Whenever you think that you are facing a contradiction, check your premises. You will find that one of them is wrong.’

‘Thats Ayn Rand’

'Yes, thats right. How come you recognised it immediately, when you don’t even like her?'

'May be thats the reason I recognised. Is it a contradiction?'

'Well, May be its not!'

Ego Tripping (there may be a reason why)

2010-08-17T15:56:00.002+05:30

Ego Tripping (there may be a reason why) is the title of a poem by Ms. Nikki Giovanni. Actually, I accidentally came across the review of the poem here, which I thought was very harsh and I also thought that the reviewer was unnecessarily critical of the lady. So I had to read the poem to judge the fairness of the criticisms. I hate reading poems, because unless you have a good teacher to explain in simple English the Poet’s idea, poems can give you head aches. Further, poems give the aura of cleverness to poets and I become a dumb idiot in my own eyes for my inability to understand the poems. Who likes the feeling of being dumb, you tell me. So I hate poems. I digressed. You can read the poem here. The poem did not make much sense to me. But the following funky lines I liked, because I instantly understood them, of course, not exactly in the context in which the poet would have liked the reader to have understood them. Well, they are good because you can have your own private understanding of them.

I am so hip, even my errors are correct

I am so perfect, so divine, so ethereal, so surreal I cannot be comprehended except by my permission

Even though I did not understand the poem I thought the review in question was worse than the poem. I feel weird and strange being so presumptious. Criticising the review of a poem eventhough one has neither liked it nor understood it. This is what the reviewer writes about the poem

....the lack of punctuation for no real reason, the clichés weakly masked by NG’s trying to fob this off as being from the POV of a child, the poor music, reasonless capitalization (& its lack), meaningless enjambment, etc

In one word you can say that reviewer has problem with the form of the poem. Can proper punctuation, capitalization make a great poem? Its a substance vs. form question. Of course the answer is not simple. You can argue for both. But keeping the lines from the review in mind I would ask whether its enough if the form is good? Without taking in to account the substance of the matter if it is rejected based only on form, well, I would say its one-sided, biased, unfair. Its like rejecting a girl for wearing lavender makeup with black nail polish (1), isn't it?

(1) That's what one of the reviewers did for Aisha. I would not have disliked the movie if they had not promoted it as an adaptation of Emma. As an adaptation it is a dud, complete failure. But as a chick flick, I guess, it should get its fair share of applause. Indian audience have accepted films like Kal Ho Na, Kabhi Kushi Kabhi Gam, then why not Aisha? I guess, only Javed Akthar was able to get the spirit of Emma with his lyrics for the title song.

Impressions & Introspections..

2010-08-16T17:16:00.004+05:30

The Hindu in order to ‘recreate the spirit of that historic occasion’ when India became Independent, reproduced excerpts from special reports as well as Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru’s Message to the people and its editorial published on August 15,1947 in its yesterday’s edition. The idea to reproduce them for the ‘benefit of new generation of readers’ is highly commendable and the result is quite impressive. But I was surprised not to find any mention of Nehru’s ‘Tryst with Destiny' speech. Nehru’s message to the people reproduced by the paper has rest of the speech but not the most remembered, most repeated part, the part which even to this day can give goosebumps. Well, Nehru making that historic speech was the climax of that historic struggle, that’s what we were taught. You know, it was the end of Part-II of three part Indian history. I mean, even if the newspaper had used the speech on August 16, 1947, it could have said so and reproduced just the same. But missing out Nehru’s that part of the speech altogether when your intention was to recreate the spirit of that day is not OK. So the ‘new generation of readers’ will have to forgive The Hindu for this error.
‘At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom’. I, for a long time was under the impression that the phrase was ‘when the world sleeps, India will awake to light and freedom’, because I had imagined that soon after the speech, skies would have got lit with fire crackers. Sometimes journey becomes more valuable than the destination, once the destination is reached. Perhaps, it was like that for our people back then. That’s the impression I got while reading the Editorial.The struggle was heroic and sublime. And the result was not what they actually expected it to be. Once long ago, not during schooling, but much, much later I had wondered why many names in India’s First Cabinet do not figure along with Gandhi, Nehru et al as leaders of India’s Independence Movement. Following is the complete list India’s First Cabinet. Check it out for yourself.

Jawaharlal Nehru - Prime Minister; External Affairs & Commonwealth relations; Scientific Research

Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel - Home, Information & Broadcasting,States

Dr.Rajendra Prasad - Food & Agriculture

Maulana Abul Kalam Azad - Education

Dr.John Mathai - Railways & Transport

R.K.Shanmugham Chetty- Finance

Dr.B.R.Ambedkar- Law

Jagjivan Ram - Labour

Sardar Baldev Singh - Defence

Raj Kumari Amrit Kaur - Health

C.H.Bhabha - commerce

Rafi Ahmed Kidwai - Communication

Dr.Shyam Prasad Mukherji - Industries & supplies

V.N.Gadgil - Works, Mines & power

After 63 years of Independece,Thus Spake the Masters…

I feel a deep sense of guilt that now in all the 26 years the executive and parliament have not exercised the vigil that they should have done. (Admission of failure of Parliament and the Executive in getting justice to the victims of the Bhopal gas tragedy) – Home Minister P Chidambaram

Democracy in India has become 'of the Bureaucracy, by the Bureaucracy and for the Politicians' – Former Union Minister Mani Shankar Aiyar

Much needed Introspections, isn’t it!

Flags, Flags everywhere...

2010-08-14T13:06:00.003+05:30

...but how to pick the Colours of Freedom?

Is it the dark red stain left by paan spit on the walls of most Government buildings?
Is it the grey of city walls discoloured by piss?
Is it the fading green and brown of trees indiscriminately cut to make way for infra projects?
Is it the yellow-green of algae covering the dying lakes of garden city?
Is it the putrefying black of rubbish, waste stockpiled for ages in the road corner?
Is it the multi-colour wrappers of consumables floating freely in the drainage?
Or is it the white of ruler’s uniforms reflecting all colours?

Well, I don't care much for Ayn Rand but some of her ideas just stand out like the one below:

Freedom: To ask nothing.To expect nothing. To depend on nothing.
-The Fountainhead

Time to celebrate the Spirit of Freedom, isn't it? Okay. Happy Independence Day!

I Spam

2010-08-13T17:10:00.005+05:30

If one goes by Wikipedia’s definition of Spamming ‘as the practice of sending unwanted e-mail messages, frequently with commercial content, in large quantities to an indiscriminate set of recipients’, Self-spamming ought to be considered an impossible and absurd Oxymoron. How, and, more importantly, why would a person send unwanted messages to oneself? It is like stalking oneself! Absurd, Bizarre and Improbable! I do check my spam mails once in a while. Why, don’t ask me! May be out of boredom, may be out of curiosity or may be for just time pass, I don’t know. But the exercise though futile always, today gave me lot of thoughts to chuckle about. This time when I opened my spam folder which had nearly 1000 spam mails, I was in for a surprise. Oh, not a pleasant one, I assure you. Because when the list of mails flashed on the screen, what did I see? Numerous spam mails from me. I was shocked and dismayed at first, then felt funny and intrigued at the same time. I thought, aha, this had to happen. Emailing is the best way to stir up myself from inactivity to activity. It was as if some shut-out part of my psyhe realised this and was using the power of Gmail to influence me by pushing in unsolicited messages. While grudgingly acknowledging the right of this shut-out part, I scanned the contents of my spam mails that I had sent to me. And what were the messages that I had spammed myself with? Special Discounts on Pfizer,Viagra, other pharma products, watches etc just for me. Its as if my shut-out part after a great deal of analysis decided that these are the things that were missing from my life and which I should feel the need. And there were also messages like ‘Give her no rest tonight! and blah blah’. I hope you got the drift. This made me stop in my tracks. See, if I am spamming myself then why its not ‘him’ but ‘her’ in the messages. Why the confusion over gender? Is my cyber self, the shut-out part facing the worst possible identity crisis? I should send a SOS mail to, perhaps, God Almighty!

PS: Come to think of it, spam mails can be an interesting subject of study. You can theorise about how they have evolved over the years, changing contents, methods, targets, rate of success etc.

Your tears and my smiles

2010-08-06T13:01:00.007+05:30

Caption: Maoist leader Marshal Tuti breaks in to tears after his surrender before Jharkhand DGP Neyaz Ahmad in Ranchi

Weeping in front of the Police chief might not have been part of the script. But cry, he did. As the photo clearly shows. What prompted the tears, one will never know. Did he cry overcome with gratitude? Did he cry out of fear for his life? Did he cry because he felt he had betrayed the cause? Did he cry because he felt he was surrendering his will along with the gun he had so long touted?

Do you see traces of a smug smile on the face of Police Chief and the person standing behind him like I did in the morning when I first saw the photo? Do you think the constable holding the Maoist leader is almost whispering 'okay, stop the melodrama!'?

What would be the effect of this photo on the still active Maoists? Will they get tempted to follow the suit? Or will they feel disgraced and so surrender to the feelings of humiliation, anger, hurt?

Draupadi laughing at Duryodana for falling in to a make-believe pond in their Palace of Illusions said to have sparked the Kurukshetra war. Humiliation, rejection, violations said to have made Phoolan, Phoolan Devi which later led to Behmai Massacre. Behind every action there lurks the danger of unintended consequences. Isn't it?

PS: This is what happens when one lets one's fancy run amok! Surrenders do not happen overnight. They plan it well in advance. The men ready to surrender are identified, taken note of, cleared for the surrender and they are prepared for the ceremony. Perhaps they do a dummy-run also. This guy, inspite of all the preparations and rehearsals must have got overwhelmed by the ceremony. And the cops were just expressing sympathy.

Em(Oui)ma!

2010-08-05T16:14:00.009+05:30

Of all the Jane Austen’s novels Emma was the last one I read and it is the only one I have read twice. Of course, at different points of time. Of all JA’s heros I like Mr.Knightley the best. Yes. He is preferred over even Mr.Darcy. You see, he's got Knight in his name! So I have got interested in ‘Aisha’, the Bollywood adaptation of Emma which has a man with a dimple portraying that much admired character. I don’t have anything against Abhay Deol. In fact I liked him very much as an alcoholic, emotionally raped, confused boy-man in Dev D. A dimpled man can become a poster boy for cuteness but I doubt whether he can depict Mr. Knightley, a man of good sense and reason who commands respect, high regard. Its not a comforting thought, at least to me.
Bollywood adaptation of Shakespeare or any classics are not universally appreciated. They have not held much charm for me. I could not make much of Omkara or Maqbool or Kaminey. Its no fun. Language was not the only problem. One is always watching out for any deviations from the original. The effort is tedious. Its tough. Adapting the work to Indian ethos, to cater to the fancies of Indian viewer. And when they do, they keep the storyline close to the original, but just change the settings, milieu and do some tinkering with the characters. It has not worked for me. I mean I liked Angoor starring Sanjeev Kumar and Deven Varma which was said to be ‘inspired’ by Shakespeare’s ‘The Comedy of Errors’. I don't know whether Bollywood has adapted any other English classic apart from Shakespeare and Jane Austen. Hindi Adaptatations of JA as short films on TV or full length movies have not been that good. I prefer to watch BBC adaptations. But its nice when Bollywood tries doing something different. Because one will learn to appreciate the original even more.

What Next?

2010-08-01T22:55:00.006+05:30

Grasshoppers were not a part of our childhood world. Ants, bees, cockroaches, butterflies, all of them, even houseflies, were fun to observe. I remember how houseflies used to torment our dog during summer afternoons. After a while it used to look like a play, a game: hide and seek. But grasshoppers. They came and went once in a blue moon day. They were kind of solitary creatures. One would always spot a single grasshopper. There was an albino in our colony. He never used to come out of the house and socialize. We seldom saw him. So grasshoppers and that albino man had a kind of connection in my mind. Both unapproachable but assured harmless by the elders. This was one of the two reasons that made me pick up Ms. Roy’s ‘Listening to Grasshoppers; Field Notes on Democracy’ from the pavement booksellers paying around Rs 50. I thought I would learn more about the special significance of grasshoppers which we had shunned during our childhood. The second reason was that I enjoy any type of ‘after what’ discussions like after life, after capitalism, after man etc. So naturally I had to read the book which I thought promised to provide answers to the following questions which had been printed on the back page:

Is there life after democracy? What sort of life will it be? What happens once democracy has been used up? Could it be that democracy, the protector of our individual freedom and nurturer of our avaricious dreams will turn out to be the endgame for the human race?

Bold questions. Timely, I would also say. If you have read Sir Vidia’s ‘India: A Million Mutinies Now’ or any of P Sainath’s articles or books you would know what a difficult and complex phenomenon India is. To understand India or write about her as one whole unit is not a straight forward job. You also realize when you read them that response to crisis situations and making use of opportunities for growth and development are not uniform throughout the land. Meaning of Democracy, how it is practiced and its impact is also not same across the country. So if anyone has written about the working of democracy in India and has also felt the inadequacy of the system then that person ought to receive the loudest cheers. ‘Field notes on Democracy’ in the title, though, in small print assured me that I would get a view from the bottom, hear voices from the grassroots on democracy. I was expecting to read about viewpoints of second line, third line party workers, disinterested voters, industry-wallahs who contribute money to party fund, disillusioned and also over-sated politicians. I thought her 'research' would provide some kind of insight in to working of democracy. Whether the definition of democracy by the experts bears any resemblance to its practice in reality etc. It was with these expectations that I began to read her collection of essays. And thought in addition I would also learn the art of listening to grasshoppers.
Ms.Roy's work cannot be considered seminal if one is interested in democracy and its functioning. The book basically lacks unity, a common thread. The best part of the book is Introduction. Because here she has articulated in her especial style the concerns of middle-class Indians and their misgivings about the system. The rest of the book is drawing room discussions on current affairs be it Gujrat riots, Kashmir, Afzal Guru or Elections, based on newspaper reports & newsroom discussions, given out as essays. I am not saying that these issues are not important. They are of course. They have defined and redefined democracy in the country. The result is there for all of us to see. But some parts of the process is missing for the public understanding. And I thought Ms. Roy would have dwelt on them. In 'A Million Mutinies', Sir Vidia tells the reader what is the most important thing to win elections in India from a Minister's point of view. And further tells us about various movements such as Self-Respect Movement in Tamil Nadu, Shiv Sena in Maharashtra,which has empowered people but at the same time changed the nature of society. You begin to understand the slow process through which the country has emerged from the 'darkness' of 1962. And how it has changed the political and social landscape.
Ms.Roy says that her book is ‘meant to suggest that the system of representative democracy- too much representation, too little democracy- needs some structural adjustment.’ I wish she had given more thought and elaborated further that interesting idea -too much representation and too little democracy- in her later part of essays. What does she mean by that? Why has she come to that conclusion? You will not get answer to these questions in the essays. Nor her opinion of coalition politics. She further says that her essays ‘only demonstrate, in some detail, that democracy can perhaps no longer be relied upon to deliver justice and stability we once dreamed it would.’ Well, I thought Democracy’s main objective was to ensure ‘roti, kapda aur makaan’. But I should not mix up my notions of democracy here.
The imaginative title suggests different perspectives, expectations from and viewpoints of democracy. Ms. Roy’s grasshoppers are mostly newspapers of all kind, web journals and magazines. 95% of the reference material listed in the Endnotes is national and regional newspapers, magazines, web journals. This dependence on newspaper reports, articles for her exposition on democracy is extraordinary in more than one sense since you have quietly accepted Ms.Roy’s mockery and cynicism as far as the fourth estate is concerned. That’s when you marvel at Ms. Roy’s expertise in picking up news stories that tell her version of ‘story’ and that which can someway discredit the State or at least raise suspicions.
In the Introduction she states that most of the essays were written in anger at different points of time as response to some incident or some external thing. I was wondering about that. You know, its like saying ‘Oh I said that in anger, don’t take it seriously’. Ms. Roy is a brilliant writer and a passionate, romantic person. But she is not genius enough to keep that anger, passion, longing for romance from clouding her thought processes and judgement. That you will realise even while you have just started reading the first essay. And her efforts to balance the approach, to provide objective analysis are half-hearted. That’s when the thought crossed my mind that Ms. Roy is like girls yearning for ‘damsels in distress waiting for the knight in shining armor’ situations. She wants to be an activist in the real sense. But her writing should not become an act of rabble-rousing. In one of her essays she says ‘ we need to look up and urgently discuss strategies of resistance, wage real battles and inflict real damage. We must remember that the Dandi March was not just fine political theatre. It was a strike at the economic underpinning of the British Empire.’ Shocking, unnecessary exhortation, isn’t it? Why perceive State as The Enemy and fight against it? I mean, tell me what was the end result of Charu Majumdars, Bhindranwales? That’s when I fondly thought of Pyaasa’s protagonist! Guru Dutt in The Saviour Posture mumbling 'yeh duniya agar mil bhi jaaye to kya hai!'
I was quite sure of some legend/fable with reference to grasshoppers, just like the one with locusts. But that story of Grasshoppers and Armenian genocide does not figure till page 131, which is a pity because by then I was just skimming through her essays like a disinterested reviewer.
I enjoy reading Ms.Roy because of her style of writing. Never mind all there is in her books are just words. Never mind if she is writing about red corridor or nukes or dams or in this case democracy, all she has in her armory is words. But this collection of essays taught me to further lower my expectations when it comes to Ms.Roy's non-fiction.

Democracy gives every man the right to be his own oppressor – James Russell Lowell

Slipping in to Darkness

2010-07-31T22:53:00.001+05:30

Her calm face and blank expression did not betray the battle that was going on in her mind between reason and instinct. Reason had piled up evidences. It was showing her the direction in which she ought to move. Instinct was challenging reason. It was giving her strength to disbelieve the evidence. But strangely she felt weak instead of feeling empowered. While she considered the facts she was becoming more certain and exact. But her gut instincts confused her. Perhaps her need to believe was fuelling her instincts, which was defeating the forces of reason. She didn’t know. But she felt an odd sense of solace while she considered what her instincts were pointing at. Beads of perspiration formed on her upper lip because of the struggle to remain composed. As she closed her eyes giving in to her inner feelings, she did not realise that she was slowly slipping in to darkness.

Not my cup of tea

2010-07-09T16:24:00.003+05:30

When I wanted to write about modern fiction some time back, I thought it was quite easy. I had an easy framework to do that. Identify most repeated post-50 writers who have made in to High school/College English text books. Make a list of post-90 writers most likely to join that illustrious club. And compare them with those who have a permanent membership. I thought that it was a good start to have a plan laid out in the mind at least. Perhaps I would have really done something about it, if I had not come across an essay by David Foster Wallace through another brilliant blog. I have been quite desperate to read anything by Wallace ever since I read this essay, which can also be found here on TMF by him, but sadly I have not been successful. So DFW's this essay on Great Male Narcissists completely overwhelmed me and both my enthusiasm and confidence to make an effort to do an analysis were utterly diminished. Hence I gave up the idea altogether.
I am picking this from his essay. This is what he writes about Americans under 40 (though, I think it can apply to anybody) :

‘ Today's sub-40s have different horrors, prominent among which are anomie and solipsism and a peculiarly American loneliness: the prospect of dying without once having loved something more than yourself.’

Wouldn't you say, Bang on?!