Lightspeed Perspective

Worst Birthday Ever

2012-01-03T10:32:00.001-08:00

My parents broke my heart. That totally ruined everything.

But my baby sister, always the angel, and my dear friends: K Bhai, DK Bose, Orangie and Mrs.Orangie saved the day for me.

Them, and so many other people: friends at work who made sure I went home with a back pain (ouch), and all the ones who wished me made me feel special.

But nothing like Ma giving me a hug and blessing me on the day that marks her bringing me into this world.

Anyway. I am 29 now! Hurray! And I am stronger than ever, look forward to the year to come, with mouth watering!

As of Now

2011-12-22T05:45:00.000-08:00

I'm at such an interesting phase of my life, but it's all thresholds as of now. Took a lot of hard work and of course, the Almighty's grace. :)

Lost songs!

2011-12-13T04:56:00.000-08:00

- Out to the meadow lands we go
- Side by Side
- (Our version of) La Cucaracha
- The Ash Grove

No youtube or grooveshark can bring back the school choir memories! :( Where is Mrs.Suryavanshi!? :(

Here and Now

2011-10-17T23:38:00.001-07:00

Mind meanders lazy honey like
Time ticks away forgotten unaware
Here is here, now is now

Here was always here
Now was always now
Both will be so, as true
As that ticking clock

What use then, your here, your now?
How will you peek into the beyond
If you cannot break these?

Listen, hush!! Listen
That sound of bloodrush
A revolt for freedom
To run, to fly

Away from here, away from now.

So, What do you do?

2011-10-17T23:37:00.001-07:00

The question about my occupation has many answers, depending on who asks them! :D
Hot girl's dad: Software engineer
Hot girl: photographer, songwriter
Income Tax: struggling musician
Rich business guys: freelance PR
;)

Greatest Fans

2011-08-23T14:14:00.000-07:00

My band was going through a lean period. We were all slowly drifting apart, the music was not really getting created, and well there were no shows lined up really.
Finally, one day I got a phone call which gave us the breakthrough. One big venue, which had just decided to start hosting live music, and we were to be the first band to play there!

This news got us awake and ready to go. The band was back on our feet again. We looked forward to and prepared for this show like never before!

D-day came, but the sound guy didn't. The idiot showed up 2 hours late, so we had to just make do without a full blown sound check, because the crowd was already swelling. Anyway, the sound guy never really figured out his game, and we were sounding *absolutely* lousy. We would've stopped playing, except that the owner of the club kept insisting that we go on playing (he didn't seem to know much about music anyway).

The crowd were supportive for a while, actually for longer than we hoped for. That too, fell flat, and finally I shook my head at the owner and told him that we're done.

When we finished packing up and were all getting a drink around the band table, two diminutive guys walked up to our table and beckoned to me. After I went close to them, I realized that they couldn't talk, because they were trying to say something in sign language. It looked like appreciation for our performance!

One of the guys took out a piece of paper and pen and wrote this down. I was not wrong. He also wrote that they were 'deaf'.

Now this was confusing. I asked them, in whatever signs I could make, how can they be appreciative of our music if they couldn't hear a thing?

The two boys exchanged looks. Then one of them grabbed my hand, placed it on his chest and smiled and nodded. I knew what that meant. They meant that they could feel the music, much beyond what we, the audience or even that fool sound guy could feel.

Today, I have parted ways with that band (I wish them all the best), but will never forget those two pairs of shining eyes that stood out in the crowd.

101!

2011-08-23T14:00:00.001-07:00

100 posts down.. and I realize that this blog has become a venting space for depressed thoughts. I am not always sad. I promise I will write some of the good stuff here too! like the next post.

Whiskey Lullaby

2011-08-12T01:18:00.001-07:00

Note Indestructible

2011-07-29T10:30:00.000-07:00

Not everything is in black and white. Not everything falls either under the realm or 'right' or that of 'wrong'. Some things just are.
Like the last suicide note I wrote about a week ago. Only this time, I did not destroy it. I have it with me, to remind me of it. To pull out and take morbid pleasure out of it. I don't know. I just somehow felt that this would be the last one, if I didn't destroy it.

That said, one of my friends jokingly asked me the other day if I have made out a will. I think I should.

2011-06-21T01:11:00.000-07:00

I keep imagining I see you, dear friend. You see, my mind has not yet completely accepted the fact that you are gone. Though I saw you lying quite dead in that dirty gurney. A week ago.

I have to keep reminding myself that I need not plan on buying the nice green guitar that I was going to gift you.

I have to find a new friend to discuss utter nonsense with. Complete nonsense with the utmost sincerity. That's hard to contrive, no?

Lunch times are the hardest. Today, I imagined three different people to be you. A flash, sudden excitement, and then darkness.

There is life after death, but I am not sure whether you know what your friends and family are going through here. I hope that you feel that whatever you did was worth it. And I would like for you to know that you were cherished. And loved, deeply. ~~Were~~ Are.

Why, Jahnavi!?

2011-06-17T20:52:00.000-07:00

She didn't have to go. My dear friend didn't have to take her life. She alone knows the reasons, but no reason is enough to do this. And *I* say this, an admittedly suicidal looney bin.

She was smart, beautiful, kind and yes.. the most enviable feature about her: she had an aura. The way she carried herself, you could not get too close to her, it was like she had a bubble around her, and she walked in the air.

She just DID NOT have to go. We saw the dark side flash a couple of times, but who can tell that someone is going to take this step. Even so, I feel guilty for not having lifted a finger to help her.

I want to feel alright now, and in a hurry. I am more afraid for myself than before, and afraid for a few people around me. I will try to ensure that I do not lose any more friends. I cannot. Too many have gone. And this one didn't have to go.

Meanwhile, I go through the motions of a private mourning. No one can help/console me, because it is all happening inside. I hate being like this sometimes, but I cannot change, somehow.

2011-06-09T06:35:00.000-07:00

Sometimes the carefully constructed delusion comes crashing down. And it is such a bore to sit and rebuild it all over again. But I know I must, lest the dreaded wallowing comes back.

2011-05-30T04:28:00.000-07:00

Dear LoL,
I have moved on - oh so long ago. I think. I guess.
Anyway, I would like to say that I have moved on.
But the little boy inside me: he is still madly in love with you. Yes, all this while, and he is still in his own world. The mourning has not even set in yet. I fear for the poor fellow, for when it does.
-Ro.

Venom

2011-04-27T15:38:00.001-07:00

You need, I provide. I need, you spurn. I smile and shake the head. For after all, I am only adding to my treasures in Heaven.

Advice about Annelids

2011-04-22T23:15:00.001-07:00

Look 'ere, Eddie. Stay AWAY from people who will hurt you. Me, I can't. I don't know, I have this inclination somehow to such people. But you stay clear of them, you hear me!? They are not all bad people, necessarily. But the worst of the lot definitely are the ungrateful ones. They are the absolute worst, Eddie, my friend. They are invertebrates.

Incommensurate, yet all Together

2011-04-12T12:26:00.000-07:00

Creaking branches
Below a sorrowful moon
Above a wonder-struck me
-----------------
Silence grabs
Everything it can
Including the courage
To break it
----------------
The off-focus reflection
in the ancient mirror
Looks strangely familiar
----------------
Eat while you can
For who has seen
Tomorrow's feeding hand?
----------------

Untouchable

2011-03-30T12:28:00.001-07:00

He is untouchable now. This was bound to happen sooner or later. Well 'later' it turned out to be, but now no external thing affects him anymore. If at all, then only for a short while. His only struggles are with the demons in his head. He is not sure whether this is all as good as it sounds!

Guilt

2011-03-15T21:05:00.000-07:00

This story is from a long time ago. I was a little boy then. And, like most Indian kids, I was crazy about cricket. More crazy about Mohammed Azharuddin than about cricket, really. He was my hero, and like all heroes, he was born with the inability to do anything wrong. There was at that time some cricket tournament happening in India, and someone in school told me that there was going to be an India-England match in Bangalore in a month. (!!!) This piece of intelligence sent me right over the moon! I asked Dad about it that very evening and he promised to get tickets.

Promise or no, I still pestered him every day until finally, one week before the match, there it was: a shiny colourful ticket that would admit me into Chinnaswamy Stadium. Sadly, though, Dad couldn’t go along. I don’t remember what exactly, but I do remember that it was something quite unavoidable for him. Anyway, one of Dad’s friends was going too, and he had promised to take me along. I was particularly fond of this Uncle, so there was no doubt in my head that this match day would be the greatest day of my life.

Match day came. I will not go into details about all the ecstasies that I was transported to, while I was there. This story is about something else that happened that day. Quite something else. So, Uncle and I found our seats, and were enjoying the show. The crowd was unbelievable, at that time, for me. I had never seen so many people. I had never been pushed for space like I was that day. Finally, the players came out, and I was pointing out each one to Uncle. I didn’t realize then, but now I know, because of the gift of hindsight. Uncle quickly got bored with my nonsense prattle, and his eyes kept straying to the pavilion stand, where the drinks were being served.

When Uncle couldn’t stand it anymore, he pushed a sweaty hundred rupee note into my hand, said “Get yourself something with this. I need to meet some friends and I’ll come back”. Even then, I had questions about how he will find me in this crazy crowd. About what exactly I could get for myself, in the middle of this crazy crowd. But hey! The match was just starting, so I let it go.

It was a good match. I think England batted first, and then there was a break. Throughout the break, I was too hesitant to get up from my seat. I was getting hungry, but there were just too many people around who would grab my seat as soon as it was vacated. Besides, there was a sea of humanity between my seat in the stands and the food stalls in the back corridors. Break over, and India came in to bat. Some twenty overs into the innings, I got really hungry, and there was no sign of Uncle yet. I just decided this is it, and took off to find something to eat.

I pushed and stumbled towards the food stall. I think it took me about fifteen minutes just to reach there. I bought a cold (and quite sticky) sandwich and gobbled it up right there. Then I bought a pepsi to take back to my seat, without an iota of insight into how stupid that purchase would turn out to be. I started the long arduous journey back to my seat. I only knew the direction, and had either forgotten or was completely confounded about more details on the co-ordinates.

It was impossible to push between all those knees with this Styrofoam cup of pepsi in my hand. I made up my mind and decided to down that too. Just while I had finished half of it, I was pushed violently, and fell down. My pepsi was now adorning the shirts of many angry grown-ups around me. All this was too much. I was alone, I had just lost my pepsi (and all my money, I realized), and I didn’t know where my seat was anymore. I had even forgotten the direction by now.

All this was too much for me, and I started to bawl. I gave it full vent and I was crying! I heard some people around me ask questions like, “What happened?”, “ Do you want something?”. There was also a man I overheard, who said, “He looks too old to be crying like a baby”. Little did he know. When I turned up to find the speakers of these questions and that ugly statement, I saw that everyone was suddenly looking away. There was nothing else for me to do but to cry some more.

Then I felt a hand on my shoulder, and heard a voice, “Come, come!” I looked up and immediately recognized the man. His seat was to the left of my seat (when I did have one). I remember being creeped out by him. I remember thinking only half an hour earlier how bad he smelled of sweat. But now it didn’t matter. One kindly voice among sixty thousand. So, immediate trust was automatic, and without hesitation.

He carried me through the crowd, and found two seats for us. These seats were better than the ones we had before. I remember immediately feeling completely comfortable. So much so that I forgot to ask the man’s name. Soon, we were exchanging ‘nonsense prattle’ with equal enthusiasm. I really did have the time of my life back then, for the rest of the match. And it did help that India won the match. My stranger friend stayed back until Uncle came back (swaying happily, face flushed) to find me. A simple wave of goodbye and a word of thanks, and the stranger was lost in the crowd again.

I didn’t tell my parents anything about this episode. And my parents didn’t say anything either. I did notice, however, that this Uncle was no longer in favour at home. How exactly my parents knew, I had no idea.

A week later, we were off to visit some ‘family friends’. This family had two obnoxious boys, both around my age, and both of whom I absolutely detested. Once the usual grown up parley was over, us kids were left to ourselves. I went off to the gate and started swinging on it, studiously ignoring the other two goofs. They, however, danced up to me, and started with a sing-song voice: “Cry baby! Cry baby!” I wanted to keep ignoring them, but my curiosity got the better of me. It turns out that I was on TV a week ago. The live telecast of the cricket match. Bawling my very face off. For a few seconds really, but that was enough.

I was horrified. Now the whole country knows I am a cry baby. All my friends know I am a cry baby. I didn’t want to go on living anymore. I was thinking all this while swinging on the gate with more and more ferocity. The swinging was calming me down a bit. Just then, I heard the tinkling of a cycle bell. “Hello!!” the voice called out. A voice that I only half recognized. I looked up and saw, just outside the gate, my stranger friend. This brought back again all the anguish that was starting to abate a few minutes ago. All of it, somehow, was now this man’s fault. I sneered at him and shouted “Go away! I don’t know you.”

The expression of his face just went dead. He turned his head away, and his bicycle took off.

I have never stopped feeling guilty about that incident. I have done so many bad things after that, but somehow, every time I think of the word ‘guilt’ my stranger friend’s face appears. Maybe, I got a chance to meet my guardian angel face to face, but... :(

Unshakable

2011-02-27T05:51:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, I will it to rain.
Sometimes, I will the Sun to shine.
Sometimes, though, the weather just buffets me.
Thankfully, now I am unshakable.

Blinded

2011-02-20T19:52:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I stare into darkness.
Sometimes I stare into light.
I am blinded by both:
'Everything emptying into White'

Experiment

2011-02-18T03:51:00.001-08:00

Try this and let me know if this doesn't work.

Pre-requisites:
1. music player
2. shades (if the experiment is carried out in your day time)

Step 1:
Make your day a little miserable. If you're already having a miserable day, then good. If not, then consider getting in touch with me. I could help you with this. Also, try to find a time when the weather is reasonably good. Not too good, though. For example, I picked around 11AM on a summer day. When it is not exactly pleasant, but not too bad either.

Step 2:
Escape. Considering you have managed to make yourself miserable, there is a strong chance that there are people (or other compelling circumstances) around you. Maybe you're at work. Or at a party. Get out of there. Tell no one that you're leaving. Just slip out.

Step 3 (if day-time):
If it's day time, put on your shades. This is important. Put on those shades. If you don't have shades, you should have already bought a pair. I have mentioned these as one of the pre-requisites. If you do not have shades even now, then bail out. I know, you are miserable now, but I can't help you with that. You have brought this upon yourself.

Step 4:
Pick a route. Plan a route. This should be at least 2km in length. You should be able to walk easily without much visual or aural noise. As a plus pick a route that you don't know too well.

Step 5:
Find favourite music and plug in the earphones. OK. Not any favourite bloody music. Please make sure you find something with soul in it. Something that is not a mockery to the generations of soul behind us. Something with elaborate phrasing. Western Classical would be fine. Indian Classical too. Or Led Zeppelin. Some jazz, or blues, or blues rock. Or just good old-fashioned slow soul music. For this experiment, Lady GAGA (ugh totally a mockery of the g's of s b u), Pink Floyd, Metallica, would go against the spirit of this experiment. You get my drift? I picked Led Zeppelin. Make sure the music is just loud enough for you to be at least barely aware of your surroundings. It would sort of spoil my mood to know that you got run over by a truck or something.

Step 6:
Walk. Walk to the music. If the beat is too fast, walk at half time. But walk to the music. This step has to be undertaken in various stages, as enumerated below.
Stage (i): In this stage, you are trying to get into the music. Forget about the music becoming a part of you. Listen to the music. Not the lyrics necessarily. Just the serial bus that is carrying the various sounds to your ears. Continue this until you have mastered it. Ignore people, trees, and whatever else that you can safely ignore.
Stage (ii): Now, let the music speak to you. Yes. Quite the opposite of the previous stage. In the previous stage, you tried to get into the music. Now slowly extricate yourself, and let it come to you. Make sure you don't allow any distance between yourself and the music during the process.
Stage (iii): Look around, while you're walking. You need not ignore people, trees, birds anymore. Just look around. Not too intently. Just look at them with a sort of birds eye view. Right now, you are ~~walking to the music~~ letting the music walk you, and looking around.

That's it. Stop. Evaluate.
The desired results are:
1. You have strayed from your planned path.
2. The thing that was messing up your day doesn't matter to you so much anymore.
3. You feel at peace with yourself. Not happy, mind you. But at peace.

Now you can continue walking.

And yes, I know. No great shakes. This is an experiment. I did not say this is an experiment in rocket science.
And yes, you might have done this before. I did not claim to have invented this.
And yes, I love writing. I can be verbose at times. Even unnecessarily so. If you don't like it, but still somehow cannot ignore my blog, then let me know.

If you do try out this experiment, please let me know the results if you feel like. I will be happy to collect the (possibly millions of) results and publish a report after diligent analysis.

Re-Metamorphosis

2011-02-17T21:19:00.001-08:00

The last three years have shaped me thus. And I am convinced this is how things are going to stay.

idealist-->realist-->rabid idealist
romantic-->indifferent-->hopeless romantic
activist-->extremist-->pacifist

Maybe, they all mean the same thing. :)

The Other, Not Lesser, Self

2011-02-17T00:20:00.000-08:00

Go ahead. Keep on laughing just so you won't cry. Can’t cry before them. This gay laughing person covers the inner layer, the cold, dry person. And that layer enshrouds another: the person that you think you really are. And that, in turn, hides the little child within: this child is all about what you want, what you feel. Not what you are allowed to be or allowed to feel. Who makes those allowances anyway? You. That’s who.

Sometimes you just need a leap of faith. When you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. The only way to live is to be a hard-headed believer. Believer in good. Of course, that will fail most times. And if, towards the end of your life, everything has failed, you would at least have the credit of having lived for good. Peace, joy, love: all for your soul. Above all, Love: your very life is supposed to be shaped by it. Not by it’s consequences. That's a fallacy.

So, go ahead. Make yourself miserable. Smother that child.

Kites

2011-02-12T04:09:00.000-08:00

This is a true story. The following sequence of events unfolded themselves on a hot August afternoon in Delhi.

I was just coming out of a phase that I can say was the worst in my life. This was back in 2009. I wanted to get away from the negativity for a while, go see a new place. So I called my friend Vy in Delhi who’d been asking me for a while about making a trip to Ladakh. Plan was set, and I took off to Delhi. I remember being quite excited at the prospect of really seeing Delhi, and of course, there was the trip to Ladakh. I loved Delhi. The city has so many colours to it. Every aspect is so… Indian. Subtleties are shunned, and everything is just bold and extreme. Including the weather (my only complaint about the city).

Well. I was in Delhi for about a week. It seemed like all of our planning for Ladakh was falling through. Nothing was working, so this naturally brought back some of the blues. The depression was always there, really. It was like faint background music throughout the trip. Like an undercurrent, like another participant in every conversation.

One day, Vy and I decided to take a walk through Pahargunj. The streets of Pahargunj are similar to Chikpet in Bangalore. Narrow, grimy streets lined with shops offering anything from nuts to curtains to cameras. Vy ducked into a nondescript eating place. Puzzling, because I had been complaining of the hunger and the heat, so I expected to go to a place with air conditioning. Well. I had no choice but to follow. The tables in this place were nondescript. In fact, everything: the proprietor, the waiters, furniture, the scattered customers, everything about this place was plain and grey. Vy made straight for the kitchen and then through the back door towards a corridor. This was completely hidden from view. We then took the stairs and climbed up five floors. The door opened and there before me was a beautiful scene, thick with Delhi-ness. We were on the terrace, and this was an extension of the restaurant. Extension, true. But I saw a complete different world here. Young people at every table, many of them expats. And the music, the parasols, the tables, this place would be best described as ‘chilled out’.

Vy and I found a quiet table a little away from the crowd, and we ordered some drinks. The conversation was easy that day, and we went from one thing to another. I noticed there were some kites flying in the distance, and my eyes kept straying to them. “This is the season, you know,” said Vy. Kite-flying-season. Nice. Beautiful kites, with little hands at the other end of the manja. I admitted to Vy that I had never flown a kite in my life. Yes, a 26 year old Indian male who had never flown a kite. There was no reason for this, it’s just that the opportunity never presented itself to me, and I never heard a particular calling to indulge in kite flying. But being in the phase I was, I started to feel a welling up of a secret sorrow about this. Unreasonable, but there it was.
Vy explained the game of pench to me. The game had simple rules. Your weapon was the kite and the manja. And the objective of the game was to cut your opponents’ manja. The execution though, did not seem simple at all! Vy explained the strategies the kids were probably employing. It was all exciting, really. But I said again, “Man! I’ve never flown a kite. It’s my wish now to fly one!” Pench!! One of the kites had ‘lost’. The manja was cut and the kite was coming down, down, down. It was so far away, that I could only see that it was a green kite with a yellow circle in the middle. My eyes followed that kite for a while, maybe close to a minute, then I turned back to carry on the conversation that I was having with Vy. Then it happened. The manja settled itself in my lap! But this could not be happening!!  I grabbed the string and tugged for a bit (as instructed by the ever patient Vy), and sure enough, the green kite was flying again. And I was flying a kite!

The act of flying the kite itself was fun enough. But I took away so much more from that incident. Being human, we have a failing, a tendency to look for signs and miracles to supplement our faith. And here was a sign. And my faith, which had taken a beating recently, was back on its feet and smiling away. And so was I.

The Unmailed Letter

2011-01-23T19:20:00.001-08:00

Found this in the foreword to a book of plays by Tennessee Williams:
-------------------------
When I came to my writing desk on a recent morning, I found lying on my desk top an unmailed letter that I had written. I began reading it and found this sentence: "We are all civilized people, which means that we are all savages at heart but observing a few amenities of civilized behaviour."
Then I went on to say:"I am afraid that I observe fewer of these amenities than you do. Reason? My back is to the wall and has been to the wall for so long that the pressure of my back on the wall has started to crumble the plaster that covers the bricks and the mortar."
-Tennessee Williams
-------------------------
This sums it up. Now, if I were to slip out of that back-to-the-wall position, all these years' effort would be a waste.

Brrr.

2010-11-24T03:27:00.000-08:00

Another summer has passed. Then the deluge. And now we're bang in the middle of winter. Metaphorically? Maybe.

Stories

2010-10-01T02:14:00.000-07:00

A story, however fantastic or fascinating, always has an end. While you are listening to the story, you are it's slave. You have absolute faith in it, that the story will transport you to a place. That's just it. The destination.
Wouldn't it be such an awful let down if the story just stopped mid-sentence, never to be continued again? Never to reach any logical end?

No fun, this.

2010-10-01T01:48:00.000-07:00

Unrequited love can be a bummer, right? How about being on two ends of unrequited love, and this time there are at least four people involved? I can tell you in all seriousness that being in the middle of it all really sucks. Humph.

You too, eh!?

2010-06-29T03:19:00.000-07:00

I feel more indignant when someone cuts into the queue ahead of me than when i hear of police brutality.

I feel sadder when India loses a cricket match to Pakistan than when I hear of another lynching.

I feel happier when a goal is scored than when I hear of another tiger being rescued.

I feel more anxious about my annual appraisal than I do about global climate change.

What is wrong with me!?

How I have Changed

2010-06-14T02:39:00.000-07:00

Please read this post first!! I had written 25 things about myself a little more than a year ago. Was just going over how I have changed in that much time.

1) Nobody is scared of me anymore. I think I have used the words 'lover not a fighter' one too many times.

2) I still read almost anything! this is one habit I hope I will never lose!

3) Thanks to my friends Valay and Shetty, I am now developing an interest in photography. Now to save up for that DSLR...

4) I still think going to movie theatres is a waste of time and money. But because of point (1), I end up getting dragged to them!

5) Still looking for that dream job! :)

6) Too many stories of Naxalites' ideology going wrong, so the rebel army thing is out. For now at least!

7) I see now that the Navy would've been not a great option for me. Cannot stand being away from my loved ones for that long!!!

8) Still do!! Maybe even more than before!!

9) ..and even more patient

10) ...and still struggling with it

11) Yep. Still the same

12) Nah! I feel like I am 17 right now!!

13) I still do. If you have a cause, call me. I fight. (Despite what I said in point (1))

14) The rebel is BACK!! \m/

15) Still do. Only.. spicier, though.

16) I think it has gotten even better!

17) Nope. Still don't. They don't make sense to me.

18) The love has grown, the jeep has grown. New shoes, new paint job, new gearbox... absolute smashing beauty!

19) I am with a great band, and we are just shaping up for something BIG!

20) *blush* the man crush list has grown and grown. But Austin Stevens still figures on it. Mad fellow.

21) Remember I said I feel like I am 17? I still have crushes. Maybe I am never too old to have them! :)

22) I still like black! But after lots of beltings from my friends and family, I have extended my wardrobe to include a few other colours.

23) Not anymore. I am DONE. Being sorry, carrying burdens.... DONE.

24) :) guess?

25) Even more promises to remember means that is never going to happen. Ever.

Break It Down!!

2010-05-13T07:13:00.001-07:00

You are the oppressor.
I refuse to be like you.
You will feel the whip one day.
And maybe eat some dirt too.

You with your massive nations
And your great economies:
I choose to remain untouched
By the onslaught of your armies.

My brother sits in silence
Holding his knees to his chest;
Trying to fight the hunger
Trying to find some rest.

You go on with your speeches
And your pointless politics.
Frankly the way you carry on
With yourself makes me sick.

I will break this mantle
Crush it beneath my feet.
You will not be around then
When my country and her future meet.

Some unfinished verses

2010-05-13T03:50:00.000-07:00

Here are some verses that I started at different times, and decided they are not going anywhere. Also that they are somehow complete in themselves.

1....
The morning breeze is a promise
Of a beautiful day to come.
It is on still mornings like this
That I fear for the little boy.

2....
You haunt my dreams every inght
I sometimes wish it weren't so
Because it really kills me to wake up
And not find you at my door.

3....
The drab yellow curtains
Beckon the birds in vain.
While the ugly brown sofa
Slowly strangles yours truly.

4....
Her will was untied
Like a shoe lace.
While he drank his tea
"Slurp slurp", from the saucer.

जल्दी

2010-03-05T23:42:00.000-08:00

साँस लेने भरकी जल्दी है
दिन बिताने की जल्दी है

नशे के चढ़ने की जल्दी है
होश के लौटने की जल्दी है

जल्दी है मुझे जीने की
जल्दी है मुझे मरने की

Night

2010-02-19T00:43:00.000-08:00

Night. I sometimes planned to name my kid that, until a certain Hollywood director's parents stole that idea from me. The Night evokes so many thoughts.. Solitude. Humble. Powerful. Calm. Limitless. Unpredictable.

When the Night wishes to manifest her anger, I have no recourse but to submit to her demands. But all through it, I know she is just as helpless as I am. In throwing her tantrum, she is exposing her limits. She is unconsciously letting me know that this will pass.

It is when she is quiet that I start to realize her power. Calm. Overpowering. She doesn't give away any signs of how far she can go. Some of the world cowers before her. Some others manage to feign ignorance and party on. But overall, she has the power to transform my mood, outlook, thoughts.

There is something limitless about the Night. Limitless as long as she reigns. I do not wish to test the limitlessness. Just, ease in and enjoy the show!

Lights off, Sound on!

2010-02-17T04:39:00.001-08:00

The glass menagerie lies scattered
The curtains complain, themselves tattered.
The carpets and the doormats, they scheme
While all this noise provides the background theme.

The strewn rubies in the dust wink
At the old stained barely used china sink.
The old stained empty refrigerator moans
Keeping time with the ringing of my various phones.

The wooden faces on the wall, they come alive
And with wicked mirth on my ciscumstace they thrive.
The unajar windows sing thier doleful dirge
In recklessness and in reverence, somehow merged.

The music assumes together a tumultous crescendo
I, whereas remain as before: no comprendo.
I have no choice but to watch and listen
And pretend to join the march of the dead risen.

Grey disgust

2010-02-17T00:26:00.000-08:00

The bottle of baby oil
Lies in it's own sweat.
While the greying skin
Gulps it in with relish.

Can't Go Out to Play

2010-02-11T00:44:00.001-08:00

His tender skin is broken
In places. It hurts more where
It wants to break out, but has
Only managed a blueblotch.

Control

2010-02-10T00:14:00.000-08:00

His hammer rings on the nail
Rings true, on the nail.
While the other crouches
In hopeless premonition.

Unipolar!

2010-02-09T01:56:00.000-08:00

I have beaten the
Pendulum right in mid stride.
Feels like a smack high.

Kaiku Haiku?

2010-02-08T01:23:00.000-08:00

Haunter of my dreams,
You, the one with the wild eyes,
Why are you so sad?

2010-02-06T10:04:00.000-08:00

He is alone, and inexplicably happy. He only feels his own sense of liberty.
Err.. and. She will be loved.

Happy Birthday!

2010-02-04T10:22:00.000-08:00

He is the smartest man I have met. He was also one of the funniest, scariest, most loving, grumpiest, kindest, fairest, fattest. Definitely the biggest heart!

Happy birthday, Thatha. We all miss you! :)

To Thirst

2010-02-04T09:59:00.000-08:00

You are thirsty, at the stream.
Why don't you drink that water?

You don't drink it because the thirst has taken you to a higher state of consciousness, and now you are scared it will all come shattering down if you quench that thirst.

Your thirst and the water are both of the same source. Yes, your yearning is your reward. You fear that this reward will finally also become your own annihilation.

Shabaash, mere sher!

'Ello!

2010-02-03T03:35:00.000-08:00

It took one compulsive liar to teach me how bad it is to lie. I am now beautiful, happy, and most importantly at peace with myself. When I read in the Bible, that I have to thank God even for the troubles that come my way, I understand now what that means!

Welcome Monologue

2010-01-25T10:05:00.000-08:00

Welcome to my little home.
Here you may sit, rest awhile.
Let me help you with those bags.
And yes, you may take off your shoes.
Would you like some tea, perhaps?
And a story to go with it?
I am full of stories, only if
You wish to hear them. I know
You have stories too! I can't wait
To hear all of them, and I don't
Care much for the morals.

I hope you don't mind that things
Are a little dusty around here.
You see, I wasn't expecting anyone
To visit. Hoping, yes. Expecting, no.
Let me throw open the curtains for you.
And hey, that couch is for you to s-t-r-e-t-c-h!
Better, now? Hmm. I thought so.
How about some music, hey? What sort
Would you like to listen to? I know,
It all depends on the mood. So what
Do we have here? Melancholy? Great!

I am truly happy that you stopped by
To visit. You are always welcome to
Come and unwind here. I hope we both
Understand there won't ever be any
Questions that have to be answered.
I wish you would just stay here, but I
Do understand that you must go. I will
Eagerly look forward to your next visit.
The next time you're passing by, or if
You ever feel like just wandering, please
Stop by like today, and say "Hello".
-------------------------------------
I wrote most of this in a half sleepy state in a post biriyani-lunch stupor. Then I managed to fall good and asleep. When I woke up, there was a nice big boulder rolled across my brainpath. Thanks to help from a certain beautiful friend of mine, I could finally finish this!

Realization of the Emptiness

2009-12-21T02:22:00.000-08:00

You, to me were like my Mother's arms. You were there when my body was still forming. You promised me a wonderful life, a life filled with wonder and with gratification. Yes, I was your son. During those years when my fingers still learnt their motions, when my eyes learnt the beauty of light and colours, I was all yours. You taught me, you lead me to learn the expression of myself. You were always there to appreciate me when I created something, and never asked for anything in return. No tribute, no fee.

Yet as I grew up, I quickly shrugged off the beautiful technicolour cloak and went out into the world, all naked. To other things that were important (for sure). I flew away, and forgot about you. I saw your other children who remained faithful to you and watched and marvelled at them, but never felt anything more that a slight pinch, because the world I was building around me was promising to be a great big successful world.

My world was great and big, yes. But it was also quite empty. Today, I realize that I have treated you like a distant cousin, only indulging in the occasional obligatory conversation. Today, I come back to you, a grown man, but a baby at your knees. Today, I come with the humble request to take me back into your school. I come and beg forgiveness for turning my back on Art.

Nocturnal Symphony

2009-12-03T10:53:00.000-08:00

There is a misty sort of
Something in the air tonight.
An eerie softness in the
Emptiness that fills the space.
There is a wicked glint
In the apple of my eye tonight.
The kind of glint like
A stringy hungry wolf's drool.

There is a lovely Moon weeping
Half behind the clouds tonight.
Increasing in the smoky brilliance
That blinds my eyes to those others.
Those others, the little ones
Look like they are laughing tonight.
Laughing the same crazy laughter
In answer to my own wicked mirth.

The wind howls not so unlike
A guilty sorrowing 'she' ghost tonight.
Ever rising and falling and rising
Again to some unearthly gloomy music.
The music plays on, misunderstood
While the lake shimmers to it's beat tonight.
The water dark, mysterious,
Inviting, forbidding, refreshing, bewitching.

Moon, stars, Wind, Water,
Are my co-conspirators tonight.
Whispering, swawying, quarrelling,
While the Conductor half-smiles
And cocks her head at us, satisfied.
She is in a funny crazy
Sadistic tripped out zone tonight.
Moon, stars, Wind, Water,
I, the witness, She the Night.

The Feast of the Free

2009-11-30T09:45:00.000-08:00

Freedom gives not of herself;
She calls you to the banquet
To feast at the table of the heroes,
To be one of her favourites.
She breathes not each breath,
Wishing for it's successor.
She insists upon your sacrifice-
To make you one among her sons

There be those ulterior witches
Who demand a sacrifice of you;
Only to make slaves of you before
And fools after you please them.
There be those ulterior witches
Who wear Freedom's glorious cloak,
And dance and entice you into
The very darkest deception of slavery.

Freedom brings no slavery!
She beckons you to your life.
She cannot call you to a duty
That brings you your Freedom and
Takes away her from your Brother.
For your sake she wrestles with
Her half sister Fate, and brings
You the glory that she has promised.

So learn, dear Son, to look for Her.
She alone can lead you to your glory.
Know that she will call you when
The Witches cast their spells of bondage.
For when she calls, not many will answer.
Answer, dear Son, and you will join
Me at the table of the heroes-
At the Feast of the favourites of Freedom.

----------------------------------------------------------
Let us declare that the state of war does exist and shall exist so long as the Indian toiling masses and the natural resources are being exploited by a handful of parasites. They may be purely British Capitalist or mixed British and Indian or even purely Indian. They may be carrying on their insidious exploitation through mixed or even on purely Indian bureaucratic apparatus. All these things make no difference. No matter, if your Government tries and succeeds in winning over the leaders of the upper strata of the Indian Society through petty concessions and compromises and thereby cause a temporary demoralization in the main body of the forces.
- Bhagat Singh's last petition

2009-11-22T10:40:00.000-08:00

Thanks, Shailendraji

2009-11-06T03:52:00.000-08:00

Agar dil ki zubaan hoti
Yeh ghum kuch kum tho ho jaata

Udhar woh chup
Idhar seene mein hum toofan chupaaye thhe.

Yeh accha thha na hum kehte
Kissi se dastaan apni

Samajh paaye na jab apne,
Paraaye tho paraaye thhe.

And the Clouds Clear

2009-10-29T22:58:00.001-07:00

Thank you, dear reader for visiting. There was a lot of drama on this blog the last few days. Forgive me for the unpleasantness. The evil forces which controlled my blog have now been neutralized.

Right now, I am considering the following options:
i) try to retrieve lost content and copy it in here
ii) maybe if I decide this place is desecrated, I might start another blog

Meanwhile, I urge my loyal readers (teeming millions of them) to have patience and suck a few gum drops. I love you all!

Furi

Not-so-simple Logic

2009-10-27T06:13:00.000-07:00

Is divine retribution a given? Do we all pay for our wrongs? Or does it only apply to them that believe in God? And how is the value measured? There are bound to be many factors:
i) the gravity of the crime
ii) the ability to withstand punishment

He got away. At least, I think he did. His did not meet his punishment before my eyes, so there is nothing to be gained by that. He got away. Why not me? I grin and bear it. I tense my body to the blows and try not to show emotion. Except in this semi-anonymous blog-world I have created (which I gladly neglect unless I need it).

Yes, he got away. No, I am paying for my crimes. In a way, maybe even for his crimes. I just hope my faith doesn't prove a dud. My faith that a day will come when there is no more darkness inside. No more crazy laughter. Just peace.

I have to learn to not look to people. Yes, I am aware of my previous 'Thanks' post. I have a lot of gratitude for these few people. But there is a point beyond which lies a vast continent that is inhabited only by me. I have to learn to not look to anyone to help me live there. No one can. Maybe I won't let anyone. Maybe not even me.

Being 26 - not nice. 27 is worse. So.

Thanks

2009-09-15T01:41:00.000-07:00

Things are moving, exciting things. Yes, I am excited. Am I happy? I don't know.

I am now that much closer to my intermediate goal. But I am sadder and angrier now in a way because I feel the unpleasantness will all soon go away anyway, so the defense mechanism has gone complacent.

I am human, I messed up terribly. But I have served my sentence several times over, and now I should accept good things. I will work on that.

As for the people who pray for bad things for me: It's done, don't waste your time anymore.

For those who pray for good things for me: Thanks, I am surrounded by good things right now. They are all happening to me, all together.

I am 26, and I already have a few of my dreams fulfilled. I know I am a good person, who does some bad things sometimes. I am surrounded by precious people who are crazy about me, and make sure I am comfortable at all times. I am supposed to be happy right now. I guess that counts, and that should suffice to fire me further.

Thanks, Ma, for being so patient with me. For not asking questions. For somehow finding the balance between letting me be and always being there in case I need you.

Thanks, Pa, for being proud of me. For not writing me off, and for being my friend even though I don't treat you as one sometimes. (PS: watching cricket with you last night was great. It's been about four years since we last did that).

Thanks, Sis, for your love. For looking up to me, though I know I don't cut a very impressive figure.

Thanks, Chi, for being a perfect nightmare and a wake up call!!

Thanks, Manj, for choosing me to be your best man! That meant so very much to me. Thanks also for letting me disappear and resurface at will.

Thanks, Mo, for your 24/7 support. The times we have together, I can't find anywhere else.

Thanks, Pinku, Chris, Black, Shetty, Cheta, Mickey for the great times. Thanks for calling me every Friday, though I usually make some excuse and escape. The times I have with you all are filled with so much fun!

Thanks, Anusha, Anu, Sita, Prasita, Pramodh, Kiran, Udayan, Mani, Santo, Harish for letting me be the drama queen. Thanks for making me feel like a superstar, in spite of my tantrums. You all ROCK!

Thanks, T, for forgiving me. For not kicking me when I was down. For teaching me the beauty of maintaining one's dignity and nobility. You are one of the most beautiful people on earth!

Thanks, Adu, Pitil, Pedda, John for your forgiveness. You are wonderful people, and I will always wish you all the best, and will always miss the wonderful times we had together.

Finally, thank you, dear reader, for being here this moment in time, and witnessing a little bit of my life.

By the way, I am not going anywhere. Just wanted to thank you all and tell you I love you.

Forbidden territory

2009-08-09T09:29:00.000-07:00

Your mind plays games. I employ the term 'your' here in a generic sense. No, I am NOT getting personal with you, dear reader. 'Your' could just as well mean 'my'.

So, your mind. Yes, it plays games. It defrauds you. Cheats you into building a whole different world for yourself. Not quite a fantastic one, usually, because that would be a dead give-away. It builds a mundane, not quite worth remembering world.

Then it completely blanks out bits of your memory. Memories that you do have a business knowing about. Memories that have contributed to the baffling paradox you are today. All locked up. This mind is kind enough to give you little gift-wrapped 'memory-ettes' from time to time. Just enough to keep you interested. These little gift packages somehow always arrive when you are at your weakest. You don't know what you don't need if you don't know what it is in the first place.

At other times, you puzzle over the forbidden territories in your memory. There is an electric barb wire fence surrounding these little pockets. Why? The 'why' will be answered once you find out the 'what'. No you are not allowed inside your own mind. Moron, this is because your mind is trying to 'protect' you from something terrible. From something that can completely devastate you. No wait. It is trying to protect you from something that has already devastated you.

Oh sure, your mind knows the facts. Maybe it was busy with other stuff at the time, so somehow it has botched up the processing of these facts. But the data is all there intact. It will come to you, bit by bit, in technicolor. Or in monochrome. Not necessarily all of it, though. Some of it, at least.

Your demons are your mind's business. If your mind thinks that you are not capable of fighting them (maybe you really are, but try convincing this rotten mind), then the demons are all safely locked away. Only time to time, out of malice, your mind unzips a bag or two to make sure you have to face a few of them. Just to keep you interested.

The past is not dead. In fact, it's not even past.
-William Faulkner

Instant gratification.

2009-07-31T03:02:00.001-07:00

He was nervous. He had never done this before. He had taken special care to shave, to wear decent clothes. You would usually see him in shorts and a tattered t-shirt. But that day, he was in a fine shirt, ironed, and a pair of freshly washed blue jeans. Complete with a belt and clean shoes.

He was driving alone. He did not really care for music right then, because there was enough noise inside his head. His consciousness was nudging him about the beads of sweat on his forehead, the whitening of knuckles on the steering wheel, the beating within his throat.

He was thinking. Trying to think of a way out of this. Then again, trying to think of justifications. He remembered talking about this to a dear old friend a long time ago, how she was horrified, how she adviced him against this mission.

But then... he was lonely. Mostly out of his own choice, really. He had gone quiet a while ago, shut out everything. Every once in a while, all the silence rankled. He longed sometimes for an easily forgettable encounter. Something that would cause him to think, to feel, and then to forget. Also, there were some old sensations that were just awakening, that needed to be watered.

He slowed down near a particularly shady area on C Road. There was the shady bunch of people there, as usual, on that Friday evening. It had started to drizzle, so he had to strain his eyes. There. He could distinguish individual people now, all garishly dressed. Some of them even of a dubious gender.

He was really crawling his car now. He was looking for that one particular woman. Maybe she was already busy, and hence, away. He sighed, and shifted down a gear in order to take off and head home. But wait, there under a tree. He could see another silhouette there which he hadn't seen before. He slowed down again, then finally stopped.

He still couldn't really make out anything about that silhouette. He had to get out of the car if he wanted to go ahead with this. He tried to tell himself, "Oh but it's raining!" Actually, he was scared to take that step now that he had come all the way. Because the act of getting out of the car would make him vulnerable. Then there was this fear of the police. Also, the friendly, kind neighbourhood auntie who might be passing by that stretch at that exact moment.

Before he could think further, he was out of the car and running towards the shadow. It was she. He had driven this way, three Fridays, and had picked her out from the rest. He had a few parameters in his head. These parameters were stupid and unfair, of course, but he had to have some system for 'selection'.

"Hello", he coughed softly. "Five hundred rupees. Two thousand rupees full night", she whispered. He could distinguish her face now. Bad makeup. Hard lines showing through the paint. He could guess that her age could be anywhere between 30 and 45. He was 26.

"Yes yes. Full night," he muttered, and walked back to his car. She followed him and got in. "Adavance payment please", she said, suddenly quite loud. "Oh sure, sure," he said, trying to sound confident and nonchalant. ("Yeah sure. Of course I know about these things. I do this all the time").

He gave her the money, and started the car. They drove around for a bit, then he turned in the general direction of J town. It took them a while getting there. No conversation. No ranting about traffic, the weather, nothing. They just drove in silence.

He pulled up in front of a theatre. They had a nice play on that night. They got out of the car, and he already had two tickets for the show. The play was nice, quite funny.

Play over. They still hadn't said a word to each other. "Nice play, don't you think?" he said. She muttered something that sounded like a half hearted agreement. OK. So no thanks. But he wasn't really expecting or even hoping for one.

They got into the car again, and now they were headed towards K-nagar. "When are we going to your place?" she asked. "Oh soon enough, soon enough," he said. They slowed down and parked outside a darkly lit little restaurant. Chinese.

They ordered the food and fruit juice. Both of them didn't seem very hungry.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, suddenly.
"Er, my name is ____, what's yours?" was his reply.
"No, really, ____, what are you doing?"
"Why, ordering dinner, and introducing myself."
"OK. So when do we go to your place?"
"Maybe not, er, you didn't tell me your name."
"You know, right, that the two thousand is not refundable."
"Why sure sure. I know that. Can't we just have dinner and talk?"

They spoke. For a long time. They sat there, and spoke until they had to leave because the restaurant was closing. They were already calling each other by their first names, though neither of them had used their real names.

They were driving again. Suddenly, she touched his face.
"Thanks, I wish I could say beta. But I am not allowed to."
"Please don't thank me. I hope you enjoyed your Friday. I did." He paused, and she could see the workings on his face seemed to suggest a sudden realization. "And may I tell you that you are beautiful? Well. It's rather late, and we should both be going home now. Where can I drop you off?"

"Please drop me back at C road. My ride comes there anyway, and maybe I can make some more money tonight", she said trying to sound distant again.

He dropped her off at C Road. She fished in her bag and produced the two thousand.
"Please take this back. I cannot accept this."
"I cannot take it back either. You are very kind, but thanks."

They said their hurried goodbyes, and he left. That was that. They didn't know each other's names, they hadn't exchanged phone numbers. This somehow felt like a date, but not quite. He felt warm inside. A nice evening, it was. And an interesting encounter with a beautiful, intelligent woman. A woman that he would never see again.

Another story.

2009-07-21T09:48:00.000-07:00

When he'd asked for his share, when he'd said he wants to go his own way, my heart broke. It has remained broken all these years.

How could I tell him that I dreamed of him many times even before he was born? How could I tell him that I was planning to build a great big beautiful house for him? How could I tell him that I am growing old now, and am no longer his superman Dad? That I need him around? Not for working in the field, I have servants for that. But just because watching him going about is the chief delight to my old eyes.

He took his share and left. And he changed his phone number, so I wouldn't know of his whereabouts. He was concerned of my knowing his whereabouts, but here, everyday, I have wondered whether the wolves have finally got my son. My son, my joy.

Yes. He was always my pride and joy. I remember, when he was four. His Mother and I dressed in our best clothes, and went to his school for the annual day. He was a star. No, really. He was dressed as a star, and he had to recite a poem. Something about goodnight, sleep tight. I remember how this was the last on the programme, and I remember gripping the chair tight, waiting for my little boy to come on stage. I remember him coming on stage and looking around. So small. So scared. Then he burst into tears, and had to be led away.

Heart-breaking. That was one quality my boy was blessed with. He was a heart-breaker. Always was. He didn't know it the first few years, but just watching him play, hearing his lispy questions, they just... well. Broke my heart.

My wife died many years ago. When my boy was sixteen. I remember seeing him broken, for the first time. He was always her little boy. They shared a bond which I never understood, and never tried to understand.

Then, only then my boy grew up. I tried to be there for him in every way. I found out all his heart's desires even before he told me of them. I tried to provide him with all of these things. I wanted more, I wanted to take him with me and show him the hills. Go camping, trekking. But I also saw that my boy was a big boy now. He wants to be with his friends.

My son grew up. He was strong like an ox. He was the star basketball player at college, then at the club. But he still used to giggle every time I ruffled his hair. His tightly curly hair.

Then, one day, he took me by surprise. I never even dreamed that my boy would want to leave. He said, "Dad, I want to go my own way. Please give me my share. I will start my own business." I tried asking him about it, but when I saw that he was getting uncomfortable, I just let him go.

I cried all through that night. After many years, I cried. I even rushed out of the house, mind made up that I will catch this boy, lock him up in his room and that should teach him. I looked everywhere that night. I called up all his friends. I went to all the bus stands, railway stations, even the airport. But all this takes time, and I was just hoping for a miracle anyway.

I was so sure he'd come back soon. Maybe next week. Maybe this month. A year passed. Then two. I just had faith enough to think that my boy was alive. Alive and well was asking for too much. I could only pray. The wolves. There are wolves everywhere, and my boy was always scared of the dark. I don't know how, but I know he is alive. At least till today. Then the fears come back to haunt me every night again.

Six years have passed. Maybe he has started his business already, and maybe he is doing really well. I still think of him everyday. I still miss him in the evenings. I just wish he would call or write to me sometime. Just once. I won't ask him to come back. I won't even try to find out where he is. Just call me sometime.

I keep scouring the news. I have newspapers couriered to me from ten different cities. This is because of that nameless fear for my son. I wonder if he ever thinks of me. I wonder if he remembers all the fun we had together. Oh we had lots of fun, the three of us. I hope he is having a good time now. If only he'd call.

I went for my walk this morning, as usual. And as usual, I was standing on the terrace and planning out my day. There was so much work to be done. By the way, I have already built that big, beautiful house that I wanted my son to have. It's been empty all these years. I need to go and see about the property tax filing today. Ah. These taxes. I've always been bewildered by them.

Is that a beggar? Crazy fellow, to be up and about at 7AM. Fine business he's going to do up so early. Well, poor fellow. Maybe he's hungry and just wants breakfast.

I went down the stairs, and saw this man standing at the gate. I opened the gate, and the poor fellow cringed and looked like he wanted to run away. "Hey! Wait, man. Wouldn't you like some breakfast?" He stopped and turned back. He looked very scared. Only then did I notice the tears.

My son came back today. He looks frail, but he seems ok. I will not ask him any questions. I am old enough now, he couldn't have come at a better time. Thank God, my son came back today. But I know, if he were ask me again, I'd let him go.

-----------------------------------------
For a similar, but much better story, check this out.

Wild Dogs, Kilimanjaro

2009-07-20T00:24:00.000-07:00

The wild dogs cry out in the night, as they grow restless longing for some solitary company. I know that I must do what’s right, sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti.
— Excerpt from Toto’s 'Africa', inexplicably voted the sixth worst lyric of all time in a BBC Radio 6Music poll

I don't agree.

2009-07-15T18:24:00.000-07:00

He was hoping so hard
She was just holding on
They were both ugly inside.

Unmistakable Signs

2009-07-02T20:32:00.000-07:00

God works. Sure, He has His own ways, but He always comes through. I was feeling quite dejected these last few days, but some beautiful things happened, meanwhile. Think I should let you know, dear reader, because no matter how low you feel, no matter how bad things are going for you, you just need to call out to Him.

- my parents are being extremely understanding. I don't know how difficult it is for them right now, but they are just letting me be.
- my sister is being a perfect angel. When I come back home from work late at night, only she is awake, and I cannot miss the nonsense sessions we have every night.
- The other day, I mailed an old friend, actually wrote out a mail, out of loneliness. Just to day hi, hope you are well. He called me and said that that mail saved his life that night (still don't know what that means).
- another old friend called me out of the blue and told me that I mean a lot to him
- I made peace with another old friend, whom I consider closer than a brother
- yesterday, I was waiting at a traffic signal, and was accosted by four eunuchs. They were asking for Rs.100, but I gave them only Rs.20. Three went away shouting and muttering. The fourth placed her hand on my forehead and said "Beta sab kuch theek ho jayega. Tu Fikr na kar."*

Now, everyday, I pray to God that He brings me at least one step closer to redemption. I know it is working, and I think I shall make it. In any case, I see that He cares a lot. Thank you, God.

So, dear reader, if you are one of those who have suffered pain because of me, please expect a call from me. I intend to come and fix things as much as possible.

-----------------------------------------------------
*verbatim: Son, everything will be alright. You don't worry.
Edit: This is my 50th post, and I am glad it was a nice one for me!!

Wanna give up

2009-06-25T07:32:00.001-07:00

There is a barrenness. I have brought it upon myself. I want to be done with repenting, so that I can get down to work fixing all this. Everyday I come a full circle. Nothing changes, really. There used to be an oppressive heaviness, but now even that has left me for the most part. There is only all-pervading nothingness. I have nowhere to turn to. I have no one to talk to. I have brought this upon myself, and I don't have any complaints. I just want a small break. Just a small bit of time when everyone pretends this was all a bad dream. For a little while. Guess this is not going to happen either.

I just realized today, that I have *nothing* that I can leave behind. No legacy. No trace. Sorry, correction. I have nothing *good* that I can leave behind. Heartbreak, misery: plenty!! To all those people I have wronged: I am sorry. I will disappear sooner or later, as soon as I have gathered some energy. Please have faith, you will be rid of me yet. Maybe I will choose another country, another bunch of people to oppress. Or maybe plan B.

Confession

2009-06-09T06:58:00.000-07:00

Forgive me, Lord, for going on about my sorrow when there is so much sadness around me.

Forgive me, Lord, for you have sent me to spread joy, but I only make people unhappy.

Forgive me, Lord, for I know where my redemption lies, and I just keep running away from it and from You.

Forgive me, Lord, for I have rendered myself unworthy of love, respect and kindness.

Forgive me, Lord, for I have abused all the blessings you gave me.

Forgive me, Lord, for I have lied to you and to myself.

Forgive me, Lord, for I know I will not come back even now, just because I am scared.

Children of Wisdom

2009-04-17T00:45:00.000-07:00

Here are a couple of easy tests.

Test 1:

How does one determine, to a reasonable extent, and with reasonable margin for error, the nature of another human being?

Look at the children. See how he/she behaves with the children. This is usually a good reflection of the person

Whosoever shall receive one of such children in my name, receiveth me.
Mark 9:37

Test 2:

How does one know how successful a country(or it's governance) is?

Again, look at the children. If the country allows children to go hungry, then it has a long, long way to go.

Let the children first be filled: for it is not meet to take the children's bread, and to cast it unto the dogs.
Mark 7:27

Oops! The Food Trail!

2009-04-06T03:22:00.000-07:00

July 2007. I had to go to Germany for a business trip. All I heard from colleagues before my departure was to try some Indian restaurant or the other. I don't get the logic: you go to a completely new location, why do you want to try something you're already familiar with? I just went to Germany and freaked out on all the food. I eat everything except seafood. I don't know the reason behind the exception, but I just *can't* take seafood! So I was eating left, right, center, even impressing my German colleagues. I also went for a weekend trip to Paris. What a beautiful city!

I had heard a lot about french cuisine, so I thought I'd try this out: nice fancy restaurant, serving a 3 course lunch for 10 euro. I could choose anything from the menu, one entree, one main course and one dessert. I could also choose my glass of wine. This was the fine life. I was still riding high on the praise i got from my German colleagues about being able to appreciate different cuisines. The waiter came to me with the menu, but I didn't really understand much from there. So, I explained to him in broken french to bring his favourite 3 course meal. The entree was heavenly. Slightly crisp balls of chicken in some mild sauce. With a big glass of white wine.

Then came the main course. FISH! The waiter looked so friendly, and was so pleasing that I did not have the heart to tell him that I don't eat fish. Wine to the rescue! The waiter was so pleased with my company that he sat at my table (the restaurant was nearly empty). He was quite interested in India, and the culture, etc. I tried talking to him in my terrible french, between fevered gulps of wine. I tried not to show my discomfort, but he finally saw it when i kinda retched. He looked quite offended. His tongue suddenly found English! "You no like cooking?"

Wow! This was worse than just letting him know that I just don't like seafood. I asked him to sit down and explained the situation to him. Poor fellow! He was quite sweet about my predicament, and promptly brought me some more of the chicken meat balls. Two helpings of delicious chicken starters, followed by an orange flavoured chocolate souffle.

I will never forget that experience, and more importantly, the lesson I learnt from it.

old recording stunts

2009-04-02T01:44:00.001-07:00

Rohan Arthur | Latest Music | Upload Music

If you want to sing out, sing out

2009-04-01T23:24:00.000-07:00

There's a million things I can be. But all I want to do is sing out! Thanks, Mr.Islam, for your advice.

¡Viva La Revolución!

2009-03-24T04:27:00.001-07:00

No voy a olvidar*
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*I am not going to forget

25 things

2009-03-19T03:32:00.000-07:00

These things are about me. As of now. Nobody asked me to write these, nor am I going to ask anybody else to write about themselves. I just felt like some introspection today. I am sure this list will look quite different even a month from now.

1) I am not as scary as I seem.
2) I could read almost anything. Even the ingredients on packaged food cartons.
3) I don't like taking photos, but I love seeing photos taken by my friends.
4) I hate going to movie theaters. It's a waste of time, money and freedom.
5) I am sure I am not cut out for my job. I don't know where else I'd fit in, but definitely not here. I hate putting "I am" and "software engineer" in the same sentence.
6) I have considered joining some rebel army.
7) I still fantasize about the Navy, and feel absolutely rotten that I never even tried.
8) I love dogs. So much more than people.
9) I have become very patient over the last year.
10) I have also become very short tempered over the last year.
11) I cannot choose which 'skill' to use when (9 or 10). Wish I could always choose 9.
12) I think I have grown too old for a few things
13) I still have it in me to rebel for someone else.
14) To rebel for myself: I think that part is long dead
15) I love spicy food.
16) I used to think I have the best(est) voice in the world. Still do, sometimes.
17) I don't believe in fashion trends.
18) I love my Jeep. For my birthday, I would like a new set of tires for the Jeep!
19) I want to play in a band again. Not specifically before people. Just wish to play some tight music with a bunch of friends.
20) If I were a girl, I would definitely have a huge crush on Austin Stevens.
21) I have a HUGE crush on nobody.
22) Black is my favourite colour. I used to think it was blue, but I realize I like black more.
23) I am sorry. Everyday, every minute.
24) I love butterflies. They make me feel like a little boy again.
25) I consider ending everything, almost everyday. I then remember a promise, and stop.

The little boy's folly

2009-03-05T19:40:00.000-08:00

A little boy went out to play. When he opened his door, he saw the world. As he passed through the doorway, he caused a reflection. Evil was born. Evil was born, and followed the boy.
- movie 'Inland Empire', 2006

This week

2009-03-02T05:10:00.000-08:00

This week, I am a tiger.

Photo-tagged!

2009-02-23T03:45:00.000-08:00

If you dont like Mallus, drink this.

Ok.. I was tagged by my old friend Stargazer. I have to find the sixth pic, in the sixth folder (!?). AND I have to tag 5 other friends. Sorry, cant think of 5 friends to tag!

2009-02-12T06:09:00.001-08:00

Gentleman Jim, I know you didn't write this song. But you sure taught me how to sing it. Thanks!

Guts

2009-01-20T05:52:00.000-08:00

What does a man have to do for someone to say he's got guts?
- rescue a little girl from a burning building
- grab a pram out of the way of a speeding truck
.
.
.

Fine, these are fine examples for candidates for a bravery award. What if the guy who rescued the girl from a burning building is actually a wimp at other times? I'd say he had guts on the day he pulled that brave stunt. I think the bravery awards have traditionally been reserved for those who showed exceptional bravery in calamitous situations. Shouldn't there also be 'Courage Awards'? Awards for people who fight lone battles for others, against deep rooted evils?

True courage cannot be proven in a single day. It takes years. I know very few truly courageous people. Like Uncle John.

He must be in his mid-seventies now. He lives in a caravan in an obscure corner of a busy locality in Bangalore. He takes in little homeless boys and takes care of them, gets them jobs and sends them on their way. He takes care of stray dogs, cats, birds...

He fights personal battles.

I first saw Uncle John around 1AM on Christmas Day, 2002. I had read about him in the newspaper a couple of days ago, so I knew where to look for him. I was returning from Church with my folks, and I was keeping an eye out for him. He was sitting on a barrel, apparently alone under a streetlight, outside a yellow contraption that turned out to be his caravan. Quite a nice place, actually. On the edge of Koramangala, where I am sure his friends would pass by, wave to him, say hello...
When we got closer, I saw he's an old man, smiling, wishing season's compliments, and not really alone. There were two puppies at his feet. We stopped the car, wished him Merry Christmas, gave him some money and went our way.

This was the first of our several 'Hellos' with Uncle John. Mom loves him, because she says he reminds her of her father. Then, suddenly, one day in 2007, we didn't find him at his usual place. No caravan even. I got out of the car and asked a man that was standing there. He said he doesn't know where Uncle John is.

That was it. We went on with our lives. I moved out of home, and am living by myself now. Now is Jan 2009. Life is mostly work. Work pressures, economic horror stories, terrorist scares, personal uncertainties have made me older. Not wiser, just older. January is a particularly difficult month. My bank account has hit rock bottom even before half the month was done, and not a rupee was wasted on unnecessary things. I had come to Madivala on Monday to drop my friend off to a bus stop. Time was about 9:30PM. I was just standing there, thinking, how am I going to live out this month? Where will I get the money for petrol? OK.. breakfast, I can skip. Lunch and dinner, I get for free at work. But where on earth will I get petrol from? I have a few hundred rupees left. Lord, please send a miracle. Please send some money.

Just then, an old, lumbering form shuffles past me. UNCLE JOHN! Before I could realize it, he had already crossed the road. I started telling my friend about him, his work, etc. and I also said I wish I had some money to give him. Then we both realized how stupid this whole thing is, and I rushed across the busy road, and jogged to catch up with him.

I called out, and he stopped and turned around. He looks much older now. He is panting because he is carrying two bags and a little carton. he wouldn't let me carry the bags for him. I told him that we tried to look for him (I was squirming inside, I am sorry Uncle John, we didn't try harder), but couldn't find him. He said he was made to move from his place because the land belonged to someone else. He has now moved to an obscure dead-end at the end of a small adjoining lane.

I asked about the animals and the boys, and was informed that they were all doing fine. I asked about his health, and it turns out that he's just been through a heart attack and a nasty lung infection. He smiles and says "But God is there :)"
The two bags he was carrying: food for the dogs and cats. The carton: "I just bought two love-birds :)"
I felt very small when he said that.

I know now where he lives. I can stop by to say hello and to feel humbled before this courageous man. I cant wait till I can meet you again, Uncle John! Oh, and thank you, God. Thank you for the miracle.

PS: This man wears a blue-and-red bandanna, sports a full beard and would look just right on a Harley Davidson.

A New Monster

2008-12-19T01:23:00.000-08:00

"The politicians are not doing their job."

The politicians?
*Everybody* knows what they are here for, so forget about them.

The police?
Ha! This is good news for them! More midnight random checks (read harassment).

The citizen?
Are you doing your duty to fight terror? I leave that to you. Do you feel threatened? Yes. Do you feel accountable for what happened in Mumbai? Probably not.

Here are some popular opinions about how to fight this new-age monster:
"Tougher anti-terror laws"
"An anti-terror agency on a national scale"
"War"

My response to these ideas is a little cooler than luke-warm. These are all reactionary measures. Isn't there something bigger, something surer? Something that wont give the politicians and the police another lathi to harass me with?

The world war was a new-age monster at one time. forming the UN solved it.

The nuclear arms race was once a new-age monster. We are still grappling with it, but yes, we are well on the way to sanity with nuclear non-proliferation, etc.

Global terrorism is now the new monster. We need to find a new way to beat it. Until somebody comes up with one, people will die. But *then* a day will dawn. We will be safe, at last.

2008-12-01T02:02:00.000-08:00

*Nobody* can make me smile when I have decided to be down. I am beginning to realize its my fault. But there is nothing I can do.

Ander Baaher

2008-10-15T06:36:00.000-07:00

One voice in my head says look not too much into yourself. Look around you and take in the beauty, the ugliness, the love, the need...

Another voice says stop looking around for things. Look within yourself. All you need is there.

Yet another voice says.. dude! You have voices in your head. Definite Schizo! :D

Whale Song

2008-09-17T07:48:00.000-07:00

I wonder... is he as alone as I sometimes feel?

Evolution?

2008-08-01T07:39:00.000-07:00

Just a thought:
Have you seen any obese wild animals?
Or wild animals with acne?
Or any wild animal species that deliberately do things that endanger their survival?

I wonder: Am I most evolved among species or most degenerate?

To Feel

2008-07-28T09:00:00.000-07:00

I feel like everything I do is wasteful But some things make me feel like my life has meaning Wish I could control how I feel about what.

Honouring my Tag

2008-07-07T06:35:00.001-07:00

Finally, finally. My apologies to all my Friends, Subjects and Slaves. Gypsy tagged me, but due to unforeseen circumstances, I wasn't able to honour it until today.

So here goes. I have to grab the nearest book,
Go to page 123,
skip the first 5 sentences,
post the next 3 sentences.

I do this, mention the person who tagged me (which I did already), and tag 5 other people.

"And pray, Mr.Pratt," enquired another gentleman, "who is Teigue?"
"That," he replied, "is more than I can tell. No one has ever been able to cats\ch even a glimpse of him...."

This is from a short story, 'Teigue of the Lee' by T. Crofton Crocker. This is one of a compilation of 'Classic Tales of the Supernatural', compiled by Robin Brockman.

Now, over to Stargazer,The Great One,Rize,'Smee and Sketcher. Break a leg, folks!

Epiphany

2008-06-20T06:00:00.000-07:00

He lay dying. This time, he was sure he was. There were other times in the past when he thought his number had come, but this time it was different. He could hear his brain barking orders. "More oxygen to the liver, please. Mr.Left Leg, you may die now. Your work is done." This had to be it. There were many times that he had seen the look of death on another man's face. It was always different. Some looked terrified, some were sobbing. Some of them looked relieved. He wondered how he looked now. Maybe confused. Yes, it had to be confused.
He hadn't seen this coming. But then again, who does? He didn't want to think. He had read about dying people in books, and it always seemed so... dramatic. He didn't hear any singing. He didn't go back to the days of his childhood. He just felt cold loneliness. More alone than he had ever felt before. He knew he was already on the way out. There was heavy shelling all around him. But that didn't matter now. Nothing mattered. The will to survive had fizzled out long before survival had become questionable.
"Ah.. to hell with it. I'm going. I'll just convince myself that I've had enough anyway." Anyway. Anyway, he didn't feel the pain. He could see his left arm was only a stump now, but it did not cause him any pain. Physical pain has a way of eluding you when you feel a deep sorrow.
Then he heard a rustling. Then a whimper. Strange, he didn't hear any of the shelling, but yes, he was sure he heard that whimper. He tried to turn his head, but found that he couldn't. He spoke to the whimper. "Are you on your way out, too, my friend? I'm a-goin'. I hope they have whiskey there." He sounded strangely calm, even bored. Then, something warm on his face! And again! Warm, yes. And wet! He opened his bruised right eye, and saw that it was a little mongrel pup. He looked strangely happy in this crazy place. Wasn't he scared of all the noise? Then he heard all that shelling back again. His ears were open now. So was something else inside him. He wasn't alone anymore. He decided he would get that puppy something to eat.

Quest

2008-06-12T02:42:00.000-07:00

Now that I have embarked on this quest to 'find' myself, should I just find a whole new person or seek to just filter out the stuff that I don't like?

Men are back!?

2008-06-02T18:49:00.001-07:00

Men are back!?

All you need is love

2008-05-29T00:50:00.001-07:00

Is there a unified theory of love? Is is possible that the love I feel for one other human being springs from the love that I ought feel for all other living creatures?
Love for your parents, siblings, your partner. These are people that you ought to love anyway, right? What about love for the beings that do not ask you for it? Isn't love more difficult to give than a rupee? Why not spare a rupee then? Or if your guilt-machine isn't quite so rusted yet, why not spare a hundred? And your old blanket that you wont use anyway? If, somehow, I can 'condescend' to give them my love, then they wont really need anything else.
When I see a beggar on the streets, I catch myself muttering "He's gonna just drink it all away". Well, maybe, maybe not. His food, drink and 'lodging' will cost him much lesser than my one meal. I hate myself sometimes.

In John Lennon's eternal words:
All you need is love.

On the turning away

2008-05-29T00:31:00.000-07:00

On the turning away
From the pale and downtrodden
And the words they say
Which we wont understand
Dont accept that whats happening
Is just a case of others suffering
Or youll find that you're joining in
The turning away

Its a sin that somehow
Light is changing to shadow
And casting its shroud
Over all we have known
Unaware how the ranks have grown
Driven on by a heart of stone
We could find that we're all alone
In the dream of the proud

On the wings of the night
As the daytime is stirring
Where the speechless unite
In a silent accord
Using words you will find are strange
And mesmerized as they light the flame
Feel the new wind of change
On the wings of the night

No more turning away
From the weak and the weary
No more turning away
From the coldness inside
Just a world that we all must share
Its not enough just to stand and stare
Is it only a dream that therell be
No more turning away

"On the Turning Away" by Pink Floyd, in the album 'A Momentary Lapse of Reason'

Cry, the beloved country

2008-05-16T05:03:00.000-07:00

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply. Let him not laugh too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, nor stand too silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fire. Let him not be too moved when the birds of his land are singing, nor give too much of his heart to a mountain or a valley. For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.
- Alan Paton, in Cry, the Beloved Country

Also cry, the beloved country
For the child unfathered
For the mother unchilded
For the child violated
For the man destroyed
For the woman desecrated

To Whomsoever it May Concern...

2008-05-13T04:05:00.001-07:00

...now I am happy. :)

Pursuit?

2008-05-04T22:58:00.001-07:00

If you're sad, you can only change to being happy if you take your mind off it. If you try to find happiness, you wont, and you'll only get sadder. But how do you take your mind off it?
And how do you figure out your sadness if you don't know what you are feeling sad about?

Ugly Circus Dance

2008-05-04T22:01:00.001-07:00

I will not vote. Whom should I vote for? Why is this system in place where you vote for a distant set of disparate ideologies? Can't we just vote for a person and have done with it? You may call me disillusioned, but I am not. I am quite clear about this. The system reeks. It is weak, and was made without foresight. I shall not vote.

There are those who wish to mock and ask me, "What have I done about it?"
I haven't done anything about it because I do not feel any burden to do so. What, again, are we all trying or pretending to be trying to achieve? I do not know, and I am not looking for answers. If things stand as they do, then tell me, is it fair that I vote?

In her immortal masterpece, 'To Kill a Mockingbird', Harper Lee said:
"The only thing that does not work by a majority rule is a man's conscience."

A Stone's Throw

2008-05-02T02:29:00.000-07:00

It is funny how they first stone you, for everything you do. For 45 years.
Then they go and give you the Pulitzer. Maybe that was another stone. Keep going, grim trooper. There are too many of us who wish for a change, but have not the courage to bring it.

Bob. Prophet, Poet, Friend: I don’t have to wait for you to die to say this, You will live forever.

Well, they'll stone you when you walk all alone.
They'll stone you when you are walking home.
They'll stone you and then say you are brave.
They'll stone you when you are set down in your grave.
But I would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
- Bob Dylan, in Rainy Day Women #12 & 35

End

2008-04-06T12:31:00.000-07:00

I have nothing to rebel against anymore.
And anyway no one would understand my songs.

I think i should retire, but the thought breaks my heart. Because I know there are tank-loads of fight left in me, but the will is asleep.

It's Been a While...

2008-01-21T02:53:00.000-08:00

Then take me disappearin' through the smoke rings of my mind,
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves,
The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach,
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.
- Bob Dylan, in Mr.Tambourine Man

It's been a while.. but I am beginning to feel this way again.

Guilt

2008-01-20T07:14:00.000-08:00

The torture of a bad conscience is the hell of a living soul.
- John Calvin

Do you feel more guilty for your grown-up follies or for your childhood ones?
My conscience is tortured by things that I did when I was a kid. The crimes I commit now, they are more within my reach, so I can try to set them right. But the friends of my childhood are all gone. I have to keep reminding myself myself that I am not the victim.

Ah.. to hell with it.

If I were born a thousand years ago....

2008-01-08T23:13:00.000-08:00

...
1. I'd be dead today
2. I think I'd have been a traveling troubadour

Old Faithful

2008-01-03T05:22:00.000-08:00

Another dark night. It sounded almost ridiculous that one would call a night dark, but he had grown to know the meaning of Darkness. The nights were beautiful around here. Usually. Not tonight, though. No moon. No stars. That didn’t matter now. Tonight was a night for contented reflections. The boys were all asleep. This was the toughest watch, and, being their leader, Ramón took it upon himself. He knew the tricks. He had to keep changing position. To get a better perspective, and to protect himself.

His brother was with him now, sleeping in the camp. After long wanderings in the jungles, finally, they were together again. Nothing could stop them now. Nobody knew they were in the country, and nobody knew they were now together. They had moved like ghosts through the forests for two years, making the Wild their homes; grieving for each other: he could have sworn until a week ago that he had seen his brother’s lifeless form being carried away. By them. They took his Chejo* away from him.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Two years had passed, but he could remember it all, because he had gone over that story a thousand times. They were lost. All the boys were either dead or had run away. They were out there. Out here, only him and Chejo. It was cold. Too cold to be out in the bush, on a wicked winter night. Too cold to be out hungry in the bush. It was a certain death warrant to be out in the bush, hungry, on a wicked winter night, without their mantas*. Certain death. They were old friends now with Miss Certain Death. She was a good friend, visiting once every few months, taking their boys away one by one. Or two. Then she came one night and also took Nina. But he felt confident that night. Because he could feel the hunger. Like the stringy fanged curs in his dreams, the ones that he could never defeat. He knew they’d make it through the night. Because Chejo was with him.

He was desperate for a smoke. Chejo had them in his pocket, but he knew there was no use asking him. Chejo had always been the careful one. Without asking him, he knew what his brother would say. “You can wait till the morning comes, or we will both be smoking in hell!” Dear old Chejo. Almost cold, almost unaffectionate, and always looking out for him. Wait! But he did have a cigarette with him! He must have forgotten all this while, but he had put it away for after his lunch. That was two days ago. Now if he could just find a match…

They had rushed them. They didn’t give them a chance. There was just enough time to leave the bags and the guns, and slip into the shrubs. Deliberately, he had chosen a route 45 degrees east to the way Chejo was headed. Their years of training had taught them that. He was glad for all the training, because he looked then, surprised, at the Kalashnikov in his hands. El Viejo Leal. Old Faithful.

He waited. He was far enough now. A rifle barked, only to be greeted by a spattering of gunfire. He joined in. Wild shots, like in those stupid Hollywood movies. He hoped he could somehow fool them into thinking there were more people shooting, and scare them away. It seemed to be working. The shooting stopped. Suddenly. Deathly silence. He waited an hour, and then he started slithering back to camp. Dawn was still a couple of hours away, but he could see a dark form, walking around in a sort of frenzy. Chejo!!

In moments of extreme emotion, his Mother would revert to his full name.
“Juan-Ramón Del Toro, come here this minute, or I’ll have to come there and break your legs!” She’d holler. Extreme emotion gripped him now. Extreme emotion that choked sense out of him. “Sergio” he called out. It probably wasn’t loud enough, for Chejo kept walking around in a daze. He waited. He counted a slow two minutes. He was about to call out again, but by then they were upon his brother. All of them jumped on him at once. He couldn’t risk a shot for fear of hitting Chejo instead. Dear old Chejo. He thought. He did not yell. He did not fight back. He just took the blows with the rifle butts. Ramón heard a sickening Crack, and he knew, now, that Chejo was gone. He could see his brother’s lifeless form sprawled in the dust. Ramón went back to Stupid Hollywood-movie shooting again. But this time, he didn’t want to scare them. He didn’t want anything.

They picked up Chejo and made away. Ramón saw them take Chejo away. No chance for Chejo now.
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That was two years ago. Ramón had always wanted to be like his brother, who was always sure of himself. Who always knew what to do in any tight spot. Ramón also knew that try as he may, he just couldn’t be like Sergio. Ramón was like his Mother, and Sergio was like his Father. Now Ramón had betrayed his brother. Just like their Mother had betrayed their Father, long ago.

The cicadas were making quite a lot of noise for a dark night, Ramón thought. He was relieved to avert his thoughts. He was sitting on a mossy rock, in the middle of beautiful Bolivian jungle. He wondered whether Che Guevara had sat on the same rock. Nah... this was a huge country with vast, deep jungles. Then he heard a Noise. And then an absence of all other noises. Suddenly, the cicadas were quiet. The natural jungle noises were all somehow suddenly smothered by something. Someone!

He slid down from the rock and lay flat on the mushy dry leaves. And waited. He counted a slow two minutes. Then, he moved swiftly to the cover of a tree. Was that a footfall he heard? Yes. Now he was sure there was somebody out there. Sweat trickled down his back and his temple. His arms were aching from the strain of clutching the Kalashnikov. El Viejo Leal.

Why was he sure that there was only one other out there? Was he being watched? He moved again, slowly this time, and cat-like. He wanted to be careful to not make even the slightest noise. He knew the noises were coming from the clearing and going slowly towards the rock where he was sitting only minutes ago. Ramón circled and was now behind a tree, staring straight at the rock. He could still not see his quarry, but he definitely could hear him.

Patience. He told himself. That guy out there is surely not out for a walk. He is looking… for something. Then he thought, suddenly, of the camp. Maybe this man was spying on them. Splish! Another noise, and now from directly behind him! Ramón ducked and slid down to the very edge of the stream. He could see two of them now. One of them offered a stiff salute and the other just waved a half-wave. Chejo!!

They were talking now. He edged closer to them to catch the words. “Yes, Capitan. They are all here. Eight in all. Even Ramón Del Toro. They are running a little short of ammunition, but they expect reinforcements in two days, where the stream meets the Santa Rosa. I suggest we attack by daybreak.” Then the Capitan hissed back, “Good work, man. I will get back to camp and make ready for daybreak. Remember: we have to get Ramón Del Toro alive.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, mi Capitan,” said Chejo. Ramón could hardly see now. There were tears in his eyes. He had known that his brother had changed. But not like this. He wiped away the tears. Then he thought of his Father. And smiled. He would not be captured alive. No. Not by his own brother and certainly not by those dogs.

Rat-a-tat said the Kalashnikov. And the night exploded with noise and slowly swallowed itself back into quiet.

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*Chejo: pronounced as ‘Chay-ho’. This is a common nickname for Sergio
*Manta: blanket

Forget Not

2007-07-03T07:07:00.000-07:00

Forget not to observe, child
The beauty of the things around you
Forget not to look deep, child
At your reflection in my eyes

Forget not the pain, child
That may come your way
Forget not to laugh, child
As well and as often as you please

Forget not your friends, child
Bind them close to your arm
Forget not your enemies, child
Thank God, for they keep you going

Forget not your troubles, child
For these will prove you to the world
Forget not your joys, child
For times when they’ll just be memories

Forget not the gifts, child
For all gifts are from above
Forget not to pray, child
For He gets kinda lonely without you

Forget not my admonitions, child
For they arise from the lessons I learnt
Forget not my love, child
For love is what your innocence taught me

[stuck]

I Don't Care

2007-03-27T22:45:00.000-07:00

Did they put a man on the moon? Or was it a hoax? I Don't Care.
What I care about is that there are still children being violated.
Maybe in the very lane I stay in. Humans suck.

Nonsense Theory

2007-03-23T04:39:00.000-07:00

Do you remember Sharmila Gatore in the old Hindi movies? She had a super-tapering head. Well this is where my conversation with Lol started off. Here’s our theory:

Firstly, is Sharmila’s head a naturally tapering head? I don’t think so. It is a normal head like yours and mine. OK, slightly tapering, maybe. Somehow, it appears to be tapering in the old movies. The Indian men of yesteryears probably had a fetish for tapering heads. (That is not really hard to believe, considering the Chinese men had a fetish for feet anything less than 3 inches in length).

So, how did they cause it to taper? Sharmila’s make-up man ran up to the local bakery before every shoot and bought a ‘special’ bun. For those uninitiated in the local bakery lingo, a special bun is the same as a ‘plain’ bun, with a few plums or raisins thrown in. This special bun was then mounted atop Sharmila’s beautiful scalp and concealed with her beautiful mane to give the much desirable tapering look.

Why special buns, you ask? Saif, Sharmila’s son, was a real pesky kid. To keep him quiet, mom Sharmila had to keep him on a regular supply of special raisins and special plums. When he was being extra pesky, there’d even be tutty fruity!

Saif, brat that he was, didn’t allow a paltry raisin/plum to contain him for too long. This he accomplished by gulping it down. This usually worked. Usually. Except that one plum and one raisin got stuck in two difficult places. That is the reason behind Saif’s funny voice and troubled, constipated expression.

There it is. Malcolm Gladwell couldn’t have deduced better. Tell me what you think.
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Sharmilaji, Saif: I am very sorry for this. This is a theory based on correlations observed by two none-too-bright of the otherwise brilliant human species.
Oh… and we are HUGE fans of both of you. Really. (chuckle)

Psychosis

2007-03-10T22:03:00.000-08:00

I suffer from Psychosis.
I have a sis. She is Psycho.
Hence Proved.

I hope this hurts

2007-01-14T12:51:00.000-08:00

Your mind. A deep, dark jungle. The mind-rainforest. Do you ever stop for long enough to look into the jungle, inspect the land, smell the air, look at the sky? You never know… you might be heading straight for a tumultuous tomorrow.

Man [man] – a member of the species Homo sapiens or all the members of this species collectively, without regard to sex.

Hour [ouuh r, ou-er] - a period of time equal to one twenty-fourth of a mean solar or civil day and equivalent to 60 minutes.

5 Men work for 5 days a week, eight hours a day.
5*5*8 = 200 man hours in a man week.

Does it ever occur to you how many man hours you’ll be wasting if you call your Mom, twice a week during lunch, and take that extra 5 minutes?

8 Man-hours a year.

Murky, stagnant waters. The back-head-mind-eye. This enables you to see things in retrospect. (If you take the time.) Does it ever hurt – deep inside – that you are now a ‘Resource’. The same as her. Or him. Does it hurt? I hope it does.

Do you remember the time when you were in junior school? ‘Good Afternoon’ became ‘Good Evening’ at 5pm. Do you have evenings in your life now? Does your evening have any colours? Fading warmth, fading light? Or is it a tailor-made-platter-served ‘evening’ where all the colours are in neon?

Tell me... honestly. Did you struggle when you first called an elder person by his or her first name? I hope you did. That would mean your parents still have some sort of a hold on you.

Since when did coffee replace the evening tot as the daily constitutional? Black coffee.. Latte… Cappuchino. All you can have. No charge. No one watching. As long as you rush back to your seat.

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My intent behind this is not to scorn work. Work can take it’s full meaning if the work is done with a direction, a human end. Not fiendish greed or rodent-like scurrying. Sure, it’ll get you places, but you’re bound to have rodents for neighbours. I want to stay in touch with the man… the child in me. AND still perform my tasks as a ‘Resource’. Live up to the ‘Effort Estimates’.
If you are my Manager, and you have read so far, I completely deny writing this! This is not even my handwriting!!

Thump Thump

2006-12-04T08:16:00.000-08:00

Keep dancing. "You're makin me crazy..." Keep dancing. Don't quit. Thump thump thump thump. There's a fever rising within me. Heck, there'a fever all over the dance floor. Keep dancing. Relax, smartass, no one's looking at you. It's just the music, and you. The rest is all frenzy. Outside. And inside. The big 6'4" bear comes down with a crash and stays that way. The svelte little flower is snuffed and she plops into her armchair and doesn't rise. Am I in hell? I can't breathe. Thump thump.

Is that a candle there? Why a candle is what it is. Are there candles in hell, then? Little candles with little flames, trying to remain sane, to gather in the little sanity that is left about them? Giving away bits of themselves, to give me light. But we don't need light here in hell. This little candle is giving of herself in vain. In vain? I don't know. She whispers, and somehow, I know she's calling me. But then again, thump thump!. I think she's calling me to her side. Maybe she's trying to tell me I don't need to be there. I keep dancing. I smile at her, and she just continues her melancholy dance, totally out of rhythm with the Thump.

Are those my legs? Ay is that girl looking at me? Whoops! I think it's a guy! I'm going mad. Where are my friends? I see them. I am alone. A-L-O-N-E. I want to call my Dad and ask him to come and take me away. But I remember I'm not seven anymore. Not even nine. I am 23. I can vote. I can drink. They can put me in jail. Hey the svelte-flower is up again. Nice skirt, lady. I should remember to buy one like that for my Angel.

Death. Hope lost. This is Hell. I see the candle-swan-song. Loop swoop swoon whiffff. I can't do shi*t now. I can't. I had a chance, and I didn't. Now all I can do is space out. I wans't really alone then. NOW I am. Now I am. There is no time, no space. Just me. I don't know how many minutes drag their feet past me, keeping me totally in the dark about their passing. The candle is no more. she had so much more to give, but decided she couldn't keep giving if nobody's even looking. Black shakes me. 'Dude, you OK? Why are you spacing out?' Then i see them. All four of them. They're all smiling. thump thump. For the life of me, this is where I want to be. This isn't hell for me. Maybe it is, for the 6'4" bear, but I am here with them. My friends. All alive. Like me. Smile. Keep dancing.