Apartment 2 : The journalist

He probably, remembered “it's Behrman's masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell” when he saw leaves falling during the autumn. I know I would if I would have been in his place, for his was a story much similar to what Henry wrote.  He sacrificed his love so that his love could be with the love of her own.  He is in pain, he never would admit it, but the pain is small compared to the happiness she has in her life now.

Back at the newspaper they used to say that you have arrived when the editor calls and hands you an assignment; that you are going to be the next big thing when he calls you and gives you his little grasshopper speech; that you are going to be the next Pulitzer winner. So there I was, standing awed and cowed in front of a large mahogany desk, cluttered with an “organized mess” , the little man scrutinizing me, peering at the me over his horn-rimmed glasses gave me an assignment. He told me in no uncertain terms that I had to interview random people from a random housing complex. This assignment was to check if I could find something interesting in seemingly mundane and boy! I did find something interesting

.

Hopped up on the never ending carousel of drugs, he spent his days cooped in his dark melancholy room, searching for meaning in life. Something that could interest him, something that would motivate him something that would tell him what all the brouhaha about life is. He had read about love, had gawked at the magical moments glorified on the big screen – something he used to do during the days that seemed ages ago, so the next logical step for him was to find meaning in love. He proposed, and realized that the acceptance or rejection of his proposal didn’t matter, his proposal didn’t arouse any feelings in him. So he went back to his sanctuary, cooped in the dark, trying to ascertain how the spots on the wall changed under the shifting shadows of candle light, all the while blowing smoke in the air.

Hence there I was talking to people, trying to pry into their lives; I had to sweat a lot in order to elicit an honest response from the seemingly honest people out there. Put anyone in front of a camera and everyone has something to hide. However, I got most honest response from the shunned, the pariahs, people who didn’t care about others’ opinions. In a way the society’s indifference had set them free.

He didn’t come off as scary, not even a bit. There was a peace around him; his house in its simple strict austerity seemed more welcoming than those of the ‘sane’ people in that building. He felt guilty, there was remorse in his eyes. If only he had been sober, if only he could have let go of that poison for one day, then he could have saved her. She was nobody to him. He had seen her only once, but he could still remember those eyes hers filled with hope and her mother’s with desperation when she had realized that she won’t see her daughter anymore, and his – first lustful, and then reflecting the jubilation that he got away with another.

He quit. He planned revenge and killed that bastard in a cold heinous manner that was befitting for him. And after spending 5 years in an asylum – a funny name for an equally funny place, he sits in his room asking for forgiveness, not from god for he knows there is no god, but from that girl,  for he knows that if he was sober he could have saved her.

I met them, and I was humbled by my experience, their life was flawed, and no person would consider that life to be a life. Hell! I wouldn’t have done that if I hadn’t come to understand their motivation. I learnt that a human being is a complex being something I always knew but never understood. I felt the joy felt by the “wife less guy, the guy whose wife left him, left him for another man.”  I bore the crushing weight of desperation felt by the “junkie- who destroyed his career”, I rooted for him, I willed him to find some meaning in his life. I shed tears with the “mad man” cried for the helpless girl, I shared the punishment meted out by him for himself.

And I realized that I was not the same person anymore, I realized that why that old sly dog is the editor and I am just a journalist. And here I am sitting in from of this old typewriter with a glass of scotch in my hand trying to drown the multitude of feelings that rise up when I remember those 4 days with the pungent “poison” – as that “mad man” would put it.

I also know that this article won’t ever see the light of the day, the editor would read it and he will say that it’s not complete, for this is the evidence of that journey, which I took for the discovery of my self

Adios...

PS:

1.  This is an account of what the journalist who visited the apartment has written, so for this to make any sense please give blogs of the apartment series a glance
2.  Also read this  . It will answer some of your questions. For others do comment. 

Friends or Enemies

I was recently watching Thor – released in 2011. Though I was aware of the fact that the principal villain in this series is Loki- the god of mischief and Thor’s brother, I never dwelled much on it. However when I was watching the movie I suddenly started looking for similar connections in other superhero series. Spiderman has one (Harry Osbourne dons the mantle of Green Goblin), Smallville- a prelude to superman, shows that Lex Luthor and Clarke Kent were best friends later turned mortal enemies, Erik Lehnsherr and Charles Xavier in X-men, Naruto and Sasuke in ‘Naruto’. In most of the superhero anthologies this thing is common.

But the similarity doesn’t end there, in real world too there are many such examples.

There is a sense of hatred between the people of two neighboring nations. Take the case of Canada and the USA. The Canadians don’t like Americans and vice – versa.  A more familiar example can be India – China. If India and China join hands, they can easily revolutionize the whole world. Same is the case with  England-Ireland, Australia- New Zealand, they  all have a history of rivalry which is often reflected in sports.

Yet it does not happen. The irony is that they themselves know this. All these examples beget a simple question- Why is it that the person closest to you hates you? Why do friends turn into foes? Why ?

The answer in my view is simple too.

I think the reason for that lies in the fact that we try to or in fact we over analyze anyone and everyone and find fault in them. This fault finding is supplemented by constant nagging to change their personalities, mend their ways, get their shit together etc. etc. etc.

 Now this process is applied universally on everyone but the person closest to us is the most affected by it BECAUSE he is closest to us.

You are not satisfied even when the person you are trying to change, bring about changes that you wished. Then it’s the case of “you are no longer the person I was friends with, you have changed”.  I don’t mean to say that it’s the fault of an individual, in my view it’s the fault of human character itself. I believe that humans by nature are attracted towards people having characteristics opposite to them, not because they supplement each other. It happens because they believe that they can change them; and the most potential of change is in the person who is their antithesis.

Thus this constant nagging introduces friction between two persons and soon the “relationship” reaches its breaking point.

I didn’t mean to be preachy in the above post, but if I have been then I don’t care. I do care about your views though, so feel free to comment

Adios…

 PS: American dragon: Jake long \m/
PPS: this post was inspired by a note which my friend Pankaj Agarwal posted on his facbook profile.

Apartment 2 Room #206

So, you’ve finally come. I was wondering when you shall show your face here, of all the resident of this building I must be the most interesting one. Why shouldn’t I be? I am the only person who has spent a decade of his life in a mental hospital; ergo it must be interesting to know how I cope up with the mundane day to day life.

People are afraid of me. They think that they would drop dead if they made eye contact. And why shouldn’t they be? Not long ago I was a raving lunatic who was straight jacketed, and thrown in a rubber cell. When I was sane before I never knew that there could be so many stereotypes that exist in this world. Or you could say that I was mad before, because I couldn’t see this world for what it is-An inflexible rigid martinet. However this was a lesson learnt long before I was certified. 

Look around you, you won’t find a single thing in this apartment that doesn’t serve a purpose. Many people who welcomed me here, who imposed on me to see what stereotype I fit in, told me that I lead a “Spartan” existence. They told me to buy frilly looking things, advised me on interior decorators, some even proposed to find me a girl because my apartment needed a “woman’s touch”. However this was before they discovered that I was institutionalized.

 So everything that lacked a woman’s touch was now attributed to my madness.

I don’t blame them. I learned my lessons long ago, in my previous life. What previous life? The life that I had before, the life when I was a pathetic drunk, spending the obscene amount of the money I had on booze. Then also I was a stereotype- a rich drunk kid or rather a brat, who is used to wave his money around and had his way. My neighbor also was a stereotype, another rich philanthropist who earned only for donating it. And by God, people had it all wrong. I never broke a single law in my life. I just drank. And he, he was a monster.

I remember that day, when I was leaving my apartment badly drunk and I saw him with a girl of around 15.  I dismissed it, thought that she might be one of his charities; he was usually involved with waifs nurturing them and caring for them. However I didn’t realize that he didn’t just nurture them, he forced himself on them deriving a sadistic pleasure from their misery.

When that girl disappeared, was killed by him, I told police that I last saw her with him. However I was a drunk the joke of everyone, my testimony was summarily dismissed. That was the last day I touched alcohol, in an instant I went from a bottle a day to bone dry. If I was not addicted, I could have saved her, I could have realized him for the monster he was. But I couldn’t. For all my lavish life, I couldn’t save her. I should have seen that hungry look in his eyes. I should’ve…

However I couldn’t have left him to his own devices. I didn’t. I entered his apartment, to apologize for my accusations. And I killed him.

You want to know how I did that? I tied him down, made an incision on his stomach, took two rats, pushed them inside and then sutured it. And then I watched. I sat there for all the time it took the rats to burrow their way out, and it was not long. And then I watched him bleed. And I sat there listening to his screams. And I sat there for a very long time even after he was dead. I was ready to face the consequences of my act. The killing of that bastard was reward enough for me. However I was again stereotyped.

The policeman who first apprehended me was a sudden hero for the media. He told them, that in his career he hasn’t seen such a scene. He said,”the criminal (that’s me), was unapologetic. He was calm, such calmness that only comes from madness. He was unremorseful, delirious, and his eyes. I can never forget his eyes. It was as if his stare could kill me.”

Adios…

PS: one more to come.

Apartment 2 Room #105

I shall always remember that kiss. Oh! What a moment that was. It was raining and there was sweet fragrance all around and someone was playing a violin as if to serenade us. As IF. It was in a theatre, old and ramshackle. But the ambience didn’t make it less magical for us. We were young, and we were spellbound. Me, more so. I realized that she will be the first and the last girl I shall ever give this kind of kiss. And she is.

So I know that you have been running around taking a measure of the residents of this building. Well good for you! But I don’t understand what you are looking for, what you hope to find? I mean you don’t see journalist-You are a journalist aren’t you? So I was saying that you don’t see journalists running around talking to senile old men, even if they have some juicy tidbits to share.  You know I don’t think that anyone in this building knows my name. They know me by moniker – the wifeless guy. The guy whose wife left him, left him for another man.

If you ask me they have a gist of that sorry affair.  These are not my words. I never felt sorry for myself, If you ask me that thing was a reprieve.  You can’t keep on looking at the face of person you love and see that she is unhappy with you.  No you better let her go. And let her go, I did. 

You know our eye see about three hundred frames per second. Of this the brain is capable of drawing information from only two hundred. The rest of its ability goes in supervising our movements. This is the reason you stop, like a deer  caught in headlights, when there is a sudden movement somewhere near you. Because then the body thinks that it’s necessary to analyze every bit of information relayed by your eyes.  And this indecision is often the end of you.  A predator won’t give you the time to stop and look around for a threat. He will pounce upon you during the moment of your weakness.

I decided that I won’t be weak. I won’t let that indecision be the end of me. So, I decided to leave her.  Yes! I left her.I moved out. Surprised? Why won’t you be? People don’t call her husband less, do they? The only thing that earned me that moniker was my decision to never marry again. How could I? I am still in love with her. I was in love with her and always will be. Leaving her was the most difficult thing that I did but I am happy now that she is happy. I became a villain, a monster so that she could live her life.

I have lived 55 summers and shall live many more.  I run, I work, I eat and I sleep, I have friends, I travel a lot, I earn, and I spend. I do crave for companionship, but then I always remember that kiss. In that old and ramshackle theatre.

Adios.

PS:this is the second in the apartment 2 series. Now you can be sure that the first one was not an autobiographical account. 

Hello World

For the uninitiated “hello world” was the first program that any respectable programming language book taught the user. Consequently this phrase has been incorporated in the everyday lexicon as the first step at anything you do. Got a twitter account, the first tweet is hello world, Have a FB? Say hello to the world.  Thinking about blogging the first blog should be hello world.

Now why do I care about it? I mean I already have a blog and I have been posting seemingly arbitrary and random stuff on that for the past- let’s see 3 years. Why Hello world? It’s easy I already explained it above. Why now?

Well now would be a good time as any to write this. Isn’t it?

On a serious note I have been pestering my friends(?) to read this blog by posting the link on their wall, putting it up as my status message, even sending them an IM about the recent updates. So for their convenience and for mine, I am writing this because I don’t want to explain certain things again and again. 

• Please don’t read too much in the title, or for that matter in the address. When I registered this blog page,  I was reading Naruto, which has three legendary Sennins , or was it inspired from the hermit crab or from some similar kind of stuff. The gist is that people thought that the title suited me and my personality and that was it.

• The caption “I am just a puppet who can see the string” is not of my own creation. They are plagiarized from what Dr. Manhattan says to Silk Specter in one of his melancholy moods. The lines kinda fit the whole hermit thing I had going on. 

• All the posts that have some mention of any girl, love affair, marriage proposal, divorce, kiss, hug, etc have no connection to the reality. At any instance of time I am influenced by a multitude of things that I am reading, watching, listening, observing( when I am not being my usual narcissistic self) and the posts are “inspired” (just like Opal Mehta was inspired) from them. So if you find a post about someone killing someone else just for getting off, you should not conclude that I am a psychopath( but then again no psychopath just comes out and claims that he is one, so you are free to draw conclusions of your own. )

• The posts that have narcissistic tones are all me.

• I don’t have any particular thing that I blog about. No Niche, no expertise on offer I just blog about what I see. So there can be a post that is seemingly considerate, and there can be other which portrays me as an obnoxious, irascible, condescending and selfish idiot. 

• I was able to put a name to the face I saw when I looked at the  mask in Venice, I won’t tell you who she is another thing altogether.

• Since I have already explained that the posts are not of personal nature, you are free to comment on them. However I am also free to make fun of them if I find them too critical.(on a serious not please leave comment even if anonymous ones, because it adds to my narcissism)  

That probably sums it all. If you want to know anything else then please don’t ask because in all probability I won’t want to tell that to you. But still you can try, because nobody knows that it might be your lucky day. 

Adios

 

Modeling and Simulation, Or how I lost sleep for a night and missed classes in the morning.

 
(The following is a recipe of destroying your life in the final year of your study. Those who want to try this out please beware that you have been forewarned of the consequences and the author won’t be held liable for any losses of sleep, mental faculty or life as you know it. )

• Start towards the end of third year by getting an ambitious project as a Btech. final year project .
• Choose project guides who are enthusiastic, intelligent and hardworking, who in turn expect you to share their enthusiasm, intelligence and most important of all - the capacity to work hard.
• In the summer after the third year of your studies go on an intern to a European country- so that you won’t like the life, food or the humid and hot weather when you get back here.
• Resolve to get a good job or a PHD in some foreign university.
• Screw your CGPA over the three years of your studies so that you don’t have an alternative other than to work on the BTP if you want to get what you resolved for.
• Clear your courses and enter the ‘final year’ (otherwise everything on this list is redundant).
• Take up an additional to cover for the scratched course even after acing it, due to some obscure rule that says you cheated “academically” by taking the said course in your second year.
• Meet your BTP guide and promise him that you will share his enthusiasm and the capacity to work hard.( You can’t share the intelligence because frankly speaking it’s not in your control)
• End up getting a task too onerous for the limited mental faculty you possess. Promise him that you will complete the task in one week. 

Sometime during this register yourself for a GRE and start taking coaching classes for CAT

• Start preparing for GRE. Procrastinate. Start preparing for CAT. Procrastinate. Leave preparation for both. Start the background study of the Project assigned to you.
• Get bored.
• Download a new TV series. Promise yourself that you will watch only one episode per day.
• Finish 3 seasons in 4 days.
• One day before the meeting.
• Panic.
• Enter crash mode. Decide to skip meals, sleep, whatever it takes to complete the task given to you.
• Pull an all nighter to complete the background study. 
• Rejoice at completing the background study, before 7:00 am in the morning.
• Decide to treat yourself for an hour of sleep after breakfast. Class starts at 8:30.
• Sleep.
• Wake at 12:30. Panic. Jump up and down. Shout.
• Realize that you have only 2 and a half hours left to come up with a good and solid model. (Remember you chose intelligent guides, you can’t pull wool over their ears.)
• Calm down. Start working. Realize that model was actually easy. The concepts fit in once you understood the background, the sleep actually helped you consolidate the concepts you studied over the night.
• Get stumped again. Start jumping again. Panic again. Again calm down.
• Pull out the mass transfer book, get ideas from it.  
• Sometime during this ordeal make a promise to yourself that you will complete the assignments on that very day on which they are assigned to you. Update on facebook about this resolution of yours.
• Get an epiphany. 

(Ok, this goes here, this goes there, and Einstein says this, Newton this and voila your model is complete.)

• Check once. Find some mistake. Check again, find some more.  Finally have a sigh of relief.
• Check the time. Shit!! Its 2:50. Get dressed up in a hurry.
• Realize that you have had an acid build-up in your stomach due to not eating which has developed a stink in your mouth.
• Brush quickly.
• Find your cycle. Paddle more than one kilometer to get to the department.
• Reach the department. Good news, you are only five minutes late. Move your watch back five minutes. Now you can walk in and claim nonchalantly that your watch was running late.
• Park your cycle. Lock and bolt it. (this is not a figure of speech, I really use a bolt but then again you have to use what not to secure your cycle otherwise it’s very easy to steal it.)
• Receive a phone call from your guide informing you that due to some reasons the meeting won’t take place. It has been postponed to the next week.
• Curse Murphy and cycle back home. Sleep. Forget your resolutions. Watch another 3 seasons in another 4 days. Repeat from top.

Adios

Excerpts from Italy #2: The Florencian Guitarist

Florence is a city that assaults your senses with a barrage of stimuli as soon as you get down at the railway station of Firenze SMN. You encounter the vestiges of past interspersed with modern glamour. Churches stand together with modern shops selling everything ranging from suits, sunglasses, jewelry to designer lingerie.

Visit Duomo and you see the magnificent cathedral of Saint Marie of flower with its ancient dome designed by Brunelleschi- the evocative fresco of last judgment painted inside it, the campanile which offers a panoramic view of whole Florence once you climb it- all a beautiful relic of the past. However the outside is as modern as it can be. To give an example you have an outlet of Ben and Jerry’s icecream, where you can have a large cup of ‘gelato’ just for 4 euroes. This was just an example. The cohabitation of the ancient and modern world is visible all over Florence.    

However the ‘peaceful cohabitation’ is a cohabitation limited to the material things only- a fact that I realized when I visited Ponte Vecchio-  Florence’s  only medieval bridge that survived world war.

Its free to visit the bridge, no fee of any kind is required; you only need to exert your feet. That’s why there is a crowd of tourist taking pictures, looking at the scenic view of the undulation of the river flowing underneath or just lounging around.  This large number attracts a group of performers who showcase their skills looking to earn appreciation and some coins.

So there I was after the harrowing climb of the Giotto’s campanile and a spirited walk that lead us through the corridors of Uffizi to ponte vecchio where among other things I saw a guitarist. The guy was dressed in simple jeans and shirt with a waistcoat and a simple hat (kinda like jack sparrow but in a more sober and sensible manner). His arms were slightly tattooed which reminded me of the rockstars of the yore. The guitarist and his bass guitar both were, to say at the least old, if not ancient. However when it came to playing, he had a surgeon’s finger- decisive, unhesitant and unwavering with the guitar responding with a maturity that can only come after year of practice. It was a sight to see him- deeply immersed in the music giving no damn to people congregating around. It was as if he knew that people needed his music more than he needed their coins. 

At that time I was in a hurry for the Baboli gardens were about to close, so much so that I almost didn’t notice a group of young musicians setting up the stage for their performance. They had high power speakers, a portable generator and what not.

When I came back the already cacophonous bridge had one more sound added to it-a sound that overpowered everything else.  This was the group of young musicians belting out their tunes from the top of makeshift platform. The songs were melodious; however they didn’t possess the old man’s calming effect. Unlike him their music was the music for the sake of crowd. They didn’t care for their songs as much as they cared about the coins. And for that they were ready to do anything.

Their loud speakers drowned the weak sound produced by the old man’s guitar. The strumming of the guitar produce no discernable sound, it was as if the strings were mute. With no other alternative in sight the old man packed his guitar and left the stage with a sad smile on his face.

This raised some questions in my mind. We look at the buildings and appreciate the master of ancient craftsman but when we come across someone or something old, be it tradition religion or even a person, we dismiss them. Their point of view, their knowledge, their wisdom, is given no attention by us. And soon they fade away in the background. In my view they at least deserve some respect.

What do you think?

Adios.

Excerpts from Italy #1: the Venetian Mask

Lost in the crooked and narrow streets of Venice, armed only with an A4 sheet-an excuse for a map, I had no better option than to take in the sights offered by the city of canals. Forsaking the picturesque view of the web of canals (shortage of money so no Gondola ride) crisscrossing the city, appearing just like the gossamer strands of a spider’s web, we decided to visit the shops instead.

It was during this mindless wandering I came across a shop. Set in a narrow alley behind St. Mark’s cathedral this shop was not unique. It sold the same fare- the same run of the mill Original (actually made in China) Murano Glass, the same handcrafted Venetian artifacts as numerous shops around it did.  I was so saturated that I was in no mood of paying the shop a second glance. However, something caught my attention- something that stopped me in my track, garnering the attention of my friends, for I was never the one to stop and stare at the “souvenirs”.

The shop had a large collection of masquerade ball masks. These masks were of the same ilk of those sold in the nearby shops- hand made by professionals adhering to the strict standards. The uniqueness was with the mask put up as the centre piece - the Pièce de résistance. (To remove any doubts before they even surface, the mask was pretty cheap).

So there I was, stopping here and there looking in the windows with a saturated mind not noticing anything when that black mask suddenly drew my attention. There was no jousting, no clamoring; the control was as complete and precise as that exerted by a magnet on helpless iron fillings around it. Almost in a hypnotic trance I stared at the mask without giving any heed to the world around me. The time slowed, external interferences lost any meaning, and my mind went blank except for one thought- one that surfaced, pulled from the dark shadowy depths of brain by the mere sight of that exquisite object.  

I was devoid of any feelings but for the longing kindled by a solitary thought, an intense longing to have someone- a girl in my life, a girl who I love madly, and then to see her wearing that mask. The radiance of her fair skin: a direct contrast to the black of the mask, her long dark hair cascading down to the middle of her back in all their natural glory free of any adornments or style, with a few of her unruly tresses kissing her face. I imagined myself staring at the angelic apparition for all eternity occasionally reaching out to tuck those few strands of hair behind her ears-where they won’t stay. In my stupor it was easy to feel envious of them because they didn’t need any excuse to touch her face. I was overpowered by the emotions. It was as if thunder without sound jolted the air- exquisite, violent though for that instance sovereign.

I tried to capture the image of that mask in my camera. Though I was not able to do justice to the exotic piece of art, I somehow am able to create the same feelings- though toned down in intensity whenever I look at it. 

I am putting up that image here. If possible, imagine yourself in a narrow street, standing outside a shop, staring at the actual object. Imagine losing sight of anything but that mask, and then think the same thought that I had when I looked at the mask. Allow the feeling to burst through. Imagine a face wearing that mask. Imagine yourself basking in the glory of that face. Savour it. If you are able to recognize that face and if you are able to put a name to it, then I believe that she is the one for you. 

 

Adios. 

 PS: I was able to put a name to that face

 

Is Love Absurd (counter view )

The question that Is love absurd poses is an elementary one. Can you love anyone who is there to love you unconditionally? it doesn't matter if that thing is machine or not.
i read about something similar in a comic book series-preacher created by writer Garth Ennis and artist Steve Dillon, published by the American comic book label Vertigo. this brilliant and thought provoking comic questions the creation and the will and idea of god behind creating man. the protagonist Jessi Custer questions a number of angels that meet him and even the god himself when he appears before him.why did he create man(though he knew that there will be a war between him and the angels due to this). What was that which led him to create someone that is free to love him, hate him and even question his existence. why did he chose man over the angels that followed him unconditionally? yes this word is the key. Unconditional. The god was fed up with all the unconditional love. he rejected it and instead wanted a free entity to love him. Receiving the love of someone free to hate him
appealed to his sensibilities more. he created miseries, deaths accidents so that he can test the love which mortals held for him. He soon grew bored when that love also become unwavering.
Then he created someone that was as powerful as him and wanted that thing to love him...
and you know what this ended into? it ended into the downfall of god. his death!

the point of writing this summary here is just to emphasize that lucky are those who are loved. And if that love is unconditional then that's good too, the least you can do is to appreciate that. what is forbidden is to question it to test it, or it would be the end of you. the end of that relationship.


PS: this was written by me in reaction to is love absurd on Theatre of absurd

Adios