The Diary of a Hermit

A question of decency.

2012-01-20T13:49:00.000-08:00

It doesn’t look like it (it is always the same case every year) but the consensus is that the annual cultural festival of IIT KGP for the year of 2012 has started. Today was the first day. And like every earlier edition this year too they had a Hasya Kavi Sammelan (transliteration: humor poet convention) and like every year they invited some of the famous poets. This year too, there was overcrowding towards the back of the OAT, while front seats were kept reserved for the “faculty” who were conspicuously absent. This year too, the poets arrived late, all in all, the event was every bit mismanaged, just like the earlier years
.

However there was a change this year, a change which made me aware of the mob mentality of crowd, how they are like the pathetic sheep that need herding, and how they have such a low sense of self esteem that they feel proud of humiliating a person who is standing on the stage. Now before you start wondering what actually happened (here I am assuming that I am not the only person that reads my blog) I shall explain.

So there were 4 poets, who were invited this year. The first one to come on the stage had a knack of writing poems having intelligent humor. He was standing on the stage reading his poem, trying to mix it up with jokes, anecdotes just to make it interesting for the audience, and I think that he was doing a good job. Enter, a group of students (they were a motley bunch, of various colleges and states) and the drama begins.

Some of these people were sitting just behind me. These people starting mouthing off the poet, trying to add something vulgar, produced weird sounds when he was trying to say something and made obscene rude gestures. From their acts it looked as if they were never chastised by their parents or they never were taught the basic tenets of living in a civil society. Now that thing is also pardonable, there are some cases when even the best of parents can’t inculcate the desired quality in their offspring. What was not pardonable was the enjoyment, the satiation that I saw on their face, the smug look which conveyed how they pulled one over the person standing on the stage. What was unpardonable was how the most of the crowd took the leave of their senses and started a proud display of similar antics. What was unpardonable was their continuation of this when the seniormost of the poets- a septuagenarian tried to calm them. What was unpardonable was their blatant disregard of his age, his prowess, his mastery of sarcasm and even his requests to calm down.

There was a person in that earlier group of miscreants who I know; I wanted to ask him why he was doing what he was doing. But, I knew the answer that I would receive beforehand. I knew he would simply tell him that he didn’t like him. And I knew that he hasn’t even tried to listen to him, he just wants to have a centerstage among his group of friends, and that he wants to be able to boast about how he was better than the poet on the stage.

There was another person in the crowd who picked up the baton, who I know; I wanted to ask him why he was doing what he was doing. But, I knew the answer that I would receive beforehand. I knew he would simply tell him that he didn’t like him. And I knew that he liked the poet but the mob feeling, the crowd was telling him not to do so. And I knew that it was not in him to be individualistic, that he wanted to find conformity from the crowd.

And I knew that they both made me nauseous.

I don’t say that you don’t have the rights to boo someone when you don’t find him good enough, I don’t claim that you don’t have the right to criticize a performer (In fact I am a big criticizer of Twilight Series and Justin Bieber, and Uttran and Roadies and Big boss). But I say that unless and until you listen to him, you see him perform, you hear him sing, unless you see his feet moving on the floor, you don’t have the right to judge him. You can’t bloody claim that he is not melodious when you were sitting on your arse listening with ear plugs in your damn ears. You can’t claim that he has two left feet when instead of watching him perform you were looking at that pretty girl and were fantasizing about her. And even if you have listened and watched him you can’t shun your decency and shout at an old person who is requesting you to keep quite.

If you are reading this, remember no one held you in high esteem for your behavior. Nobody applauded your efforts. The words of praise that were showered on you were interspersed with “Jaahil” and “Ganwar”. So take a long, hard look in the mirror and I know that if you have even a bit of shame left inside you, you will realize how despicable you were in that moment.

Adios…

A Tepid Start to 2012

2012-01-18T20:54:00.000-08:00

The good

I am reading books. I loved reading books, back when I was a kid (I still am a kid, but others have started treating me like I some grown up adult ), I always had a book in my hand. It didn’t matter where I was or what I was doing, and even what I was reading. If it had a cover and printed page and I was nearby, I read it. However somehow down the line I lost that habit. I forgot the pain you felt when a beloved character died or the sense of loss when you finished a particularly good series of book or when you read the entire works of an author. So after a period of 6 years, in the winter of 2011, when I didn’t have any distractions I started reading books again. And by reading I don’t mean reading 100 pages, and then leaving the book for the other day, I mean picking up a book and reading it nonstop till your mother starts shouting at you and confiscates the book. Yeah those kinds of reading, when you read like a fiend without a care in the world. So, in these 15 days I have read 7 books, and the 8^th one is in progress, and boy I am loving it.

I am not watching any mindless TV series

I got 99.08 percentile in CAT without studying, without preparing. This was a much needed boost for me because the results came when I had started doubting my abilities. It was a bit of a restoration of my faith in myself.

The bad

I got 99.08 percentile in CAT without studying. It’s like running the marathon and then collapsing on the finish line just because you didn’t drink enough water so you dehydrated. There will be a small part that will always nag me, that small voice which will always claim if I only I had studied a bit more. If only I had remembered the formula for sum of a GP. If ONLY.

I broke my laptop, and had to pay a lot of money to get it repaired.

I messed up my application forms. I won’t give out details; however the gist is that I am a big moron, and it would hurt that even after getting a good score in GRE and TOEFL I would not get an offer from a graduate school just because of my idiocy

The Ugly

I realized that there are some people who will use you for nefarious purposes. Like for example there exists a certain someone let’s call him Mr. X who will bitch about someone else and should you say anything against that someone else, Mr. X will promptly go around and relate the things that you said to him with utmost relish. This was something which I always understood and tried to stay away from such persons. However there is something good that can be found in these kind of people too, they never kick you when you are vulnerable. Hence it was news for me when I found people of other kind, whose sole purpose is to derive everything from you, no matter how it may have harmed you. I can’t comprehend how a person to whom you presented your vulnerable side use you to make your best friend jealous by presenting as if something is going between you and her (she was his girlfriend long time ago, a relationship which she broke). I never thought that I shall be the dupe of such kind of people, and it is ugly because it will be very difficult for a misanthrope like me to be vulnerable again.

This start of 2012 had more lows than it had ups, and it kind of scares me because I rose very high in 2011 and it’s a long fall when I look down.

Adios…

A scary feeling called love

2012-01-07T12:49:00.000-08:00

It’s a disconcerting feeling when you start caring for someone beyond the circle formed by your close relatives. You don’t even think about it and at weird unexpected moments your thoughts turn towards something that someone did sometimes. You feel a slight euphoria, the same kind which you felt when you had your first drink a few years. The giddiness is more when that someone is of the opposite sex.

The feeling of being disoriented turns to that of scare when you realize that gradually over the time you have stopped caring and have fallen in love with her. A bit of despair starts hanging around you after this realization. As you sink deeper into this quagmire of one sided love the despair grows. You try thinking ways of talking to her a task which becomes more difficult because you don’t have any clue how to behave around her. So you take the refuge of the cupid of our times yeah you scurry to your facebook account and start visiting her profile 10 times an hour, and wait for her to come online. Unfortunately for you she is not slave of virtual world and has a life beyond it-which is utterly incomprehensible for you, so you have to wait a long time. Even though when she comes online you lose all the courage that you had built up during that vigil of yours, instead you update your status with innocuous remarks stupid comments about anything and everything under the sun. Then one day she pings up to ask for some casual detail, for you that’s like Christmas came early. That innocent chat has given you more excuses to have further conversation with her-online of course.

However the jubilation doesn’t last long. You wait painfully for her replies, misconstruing her silence for her indifference, you shun food, you become resentful and start hatching desperate plots. You consider sending her a mail, and then after sending that mail you consider calling her up. This goes on and on and for you that’s painful. But you soon develop some camaraderie and are chatting every day. Now your helplessness take another shape you lose any sense of purpose once you complete the daily chat quota, anything else in the day doesn't hold much of a promise.

You console yourself saying that this is not love, it will soon pass away and you try thinking about something else but your thoughts always return rabidly to her hair, her eyes or her smile. You have thought about other females in the past but those thoughts had lust written all over them, you try imagining her in such a scenario but try as you may that is not possible. You see her face, her smile and that kiss- a tender caress of lips, staring at her eyes never breaking the eye contact, all the while trying to convey the depth of your feelings from that simple but potent gesture. And that’s when you realize that you are firmly entrenched in a quicksand up to your neck, your only solace being her ignorance of your feelings. True she might be having an inclination about it but she can’t be sure unless you tell her.

One day you receive a call from her, you are in a train travelling to some place to be away from the sorry state that you are in. You excuse yourself from the conversation you are having, and attend the call. She confesses her love for you. You give a yelp of pleasure; however it takes all your self-restraint that you don’t start dancing around. You are beyond ecstatic.

But the euphoria soon passes away, and so does your despair and you start assessing your situation. You think back to those moments when you doubted yourself, the see through plots you cooked just so you can have a conversation with her. And that’s when the nightmare strikes you, the despair that was lurking in some back corner of your mind descends upon you.

You feel like a marathon runner forced to crawl even when he knows that there is nothing wrong with his legs. The feeling is utterly debilitating, because you know that your love is not unrequited, however you have seen your descent to such despondence that you know that is not in you to love someone. And how could that be because you always had a logical mind, but you find this logical mind betraying you.

You don’t find in yourself to trust the other person, every fiber of your being already cursing you for becoming dependent on someone else for your happiness, of taking that proverbial crutch, the knowledge that you can’t ever go back to “playing” that carefree happy person you earlier were. This helplessness forces you to think of her and the despair at that sorry state of yours doesn’t let you accept her.

It’s now, when you realize that you are deeply madly and irrevocably in love and that this feeling sickens you to your core
Adios…

Apartment 2 : The journalist

2011-12-11T13:46:00.000-08:00

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:

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
Also read this . It will answer some of your questions. For others do comment.

Friends or Enemies

2011-10-20T11:50:00.000-07:00

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

2011-09-27T07:57:00.000-07:00

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

2011-09-04T12:09:00.000-07:00

I shall always remember that kiss. Oh! What a moment thatwas. It was raining and there was sweet fragrance all around and someone wasplaying a violin as if to serenade us. As IF. It was in a theatre, old andramshackle. 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 andthe last girl I shall ever give this kind of kiss. And she is.

So I know that you have been running around taking a measureof the residents of this building. Well good for you! But I don’t understandwhat you are looking for, what you hope to find? I mean you don’t seejournalist-You are a journalist aren’t you? So I was saying that you don’t seejournalists running around talking to senile old men, even if they have somejuicy tidbits to share. You know I don’tthink that anyone in this building knows my name. They know me by moniker – thewifeless 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 sorryfor myself, If you ask me that thing was a reprieve. You can’t keep on looking at the face ofperson you love and see that she is unhappy with you. No you better let her go. And let her go, Idid.

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

I decided that I won’t be weak. I won’t let that indecisionbe 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? Theonly 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 havefriends, I travel a lot, I earn, and I spend. I do crave for companionship, butthen 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.

Apartment 2 Room #310

2011-08-17T08:57:00.000-07:00

I love you!

Yes I do!!!

No, I really like you!!!

These and similar sentences run through my mind as I sit in this dark room cursing myself. In a moment, I know, in a moment I shall have crushed this lump of grass and then I shall leave this world for a moment in heaven, an expensive heaven. But then again, heaven is supposed to be costly isn’t it?

I shan’t bore you with more rhetoric, I know you are here to listen to my story and I don’t want to confuse you. But then again, what else do you expect from a junkie?
See, I did that again, I never had control over myself even when I was always in my senses, now at least my habit gives me an excuse to lose my control.

So, I am here sitting in this dark room, watching myself, an art that I had honed to perfection. I will sometime stare at that wall, trying to discern between the patches that have the paint on and the other which are bare-a task that is absurd in the flickering candle light. I will then direct my attention to the mechanized motion of my hands to check, and happy at clockwork efficiency of crushing, separating and rolling the grass, I will look away. My hands, once sinewy and strong, are now just a thin layer of skin stretched over equally thin bones- but who cares as long as they serve their purpose. As long as I have strength enough to roll another.

Bored again, I will start searching for something to focus my attention upon, but I know I will soon lose interest in that too.

I sometime laugh at the state that my once “acute” and “…”- oh what the heck that word is-mind has been reduced to. However I have realized that these things don’t matter.

People call me names behind my back. I often hear whispering of how I have destroyed myself, how I am a pathetic loser, a vermin who wallows in a sorry world of drugs. Ha! If only they knew the truth.

That fucking window- a gust of wind and it springs open. I shall remember to buy a new latch for it tomorrow-no wait, I don’t have to go out till Wednesday I still have food left with me. You know, I am afraid of sunlight. In fact I am afraid of light of any kind( I use candle). It reminds me of the world outside.

I don’t like people. I don’t like them now and I certainly didn’t like them before. That’s why I got into fights. Fights are a thing of past, now people have the knowledge that I have screwed my life, they are no longer jealous of me. I know they are fools, always knew that, but now since I don’t have the obligation to be in their company I don’t feel the need to correct them. I no longer try to make them see the point. That’s why the tags don’t bother me.

I once had a bet with my “friend” that I cannot go 4 weeks without a single hit. I spent a year without even thinking about it. Earned 50,000. I still can. But now I don’t have to prove anything to anyone. My friend stopped talking to me; he thought that I cheated somehow. It was impossible for him to believe that an addict like me could stay away from drugs, or a person who is a habitual user can’t be an addict. Told you, people are fools. They don’t want to tax their mental faculties. For them everything should be either black or white. There is no such thing as grey. Otherwise why would they even worship god. I find that laughable.

You know I returned that 50,000 back, and that bloody bastard wanted 50,000 more. Said, the fact that you are returning my money proves that you cheated. So you owe me. I paid him. Money doesn’t matter. I have plenty of it- at least for me. Money was never important.

The only thing that I held faith in was love, but that too was superficial. I realized that when after going through jitters I finally proposed her. She said yes. But then I felt that my proposing lifted a deadweight off my shoulder. I didn’t want her assent; I just wanted to feel something. Nothing she could have said that would have made any difference. I didn’t feel anything. I was indifferent to her yes or her no. I told her that I was joking; it was a bet with my friend. She was royally pissed, asked me to go to hell, called me choicest of names.

The only thing I regret about this incidence is that I have provided people with a reason by which they can rationalize my action. They think that my descent into drugs was the result of this. They think that I was spurned by her.

I have given them a chance to bring me down to their level and defeat me. They don’t realize that this nature of mine is not the outcome of chemicals that I lace my blood with every day. The very act of finding solace in the embrace provided by drugs is outcome of my nature.

Okay, now you can take a leave. My joint is ready. See I didn’t even look at my hands once during this whole talk. I hope you have enough material for your article.

Adios.

PS:
Some explanations:
I thought of trying something new with this post. Hence Apartment 2. Imagine a journalist talking to the residents of that building, and recording their responses. So this is a monologue by resident of Flat #310. As of now I have ideas about 3 or 4 such fictional monologues and shall be posting them if and when I find time.

Hello World

2011-08-06T14:53:00.000-07:00

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.

2011-08-05T16:03:00.000-07:00

(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 any other 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 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. (I use 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

2011-07-31T05:40:00.000-07:00

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

2011-07-13T11:27:00.000-07:00

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 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 not 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, as 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 out 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 that 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 black 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- like me 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.

www.Whatiswrongwith.Me ?

2011-04-29T15:18:00.000-07:00

Don’t hold back! You have your chance now! Keep the feedbacks coming! These and some other messages followed by the link: www.whatiswrongwith.me/xyz were popping up on everyone’s Facebook feed and on the whole array of social media that they subscribe to.

Now you may ask what so special about these family of links? And some may even go on to say that its facebook man, anything out of ordinary spreads like wildfire. However in this case it was not only the “out of ordinariness” of the link that led to its widespread use. This link offered something to people that nothing had offered them till now. It offered them the ability to know what “others” thought about them. It allowed them to seek approval of “others”. It offered “others” to give them anonymous feedback.

Now when I first saw this link I was pretty puzzled, I mean what low confidence a person might have if he wants suggestion from someone else, and that too anonymous ,basically leaving yourself to the random musings and comments of some arbitrary person. Subsequently I was shocked when one of the most confident and self assured person made a profile on the site and “invited brickbats”.

What I did next was to ping him on Google Talk and I told him in no uncertain terms that the only thing that was wrong with him was that He was asking suggestions from “others” (as I keep mentioning in quotes the others don’t have any identity)and that too anonymous ones. However the reply I received was even more astonishing. He told me that it was I who was an idiot. The joke was on the commenting people-the “others” because they had so much of time that they bothered to comment on someone else’s status -not the status message of facebook, mind you(this is what status has come to mean today) but the old definition of status i.e. the current state etc.

This thing caught my attention. Adding to his instant message (do we ever talk face to face nowadays?) he said that sometimes people while giving anonymous feedbacks (in which they are abusing you) allude to something from which you can easily figure out their identities. And even if you do not, you can easily be entertained by their half-assed attempt to cure you (hurt you, dismember you) from your ‘quirks’. Hence it is a win-win for you-the key being you to be impervious to any insult thrown your way.

I too thought that there was merit in what he said and hence I too made a profile and put it up, asking people to hurl abuses at me.

Now what will follow are some of the choicest responses I received. Some of them are creative, some humorous, others plainly vindictive. My reactions to them! Well they can best be summed by one of the quotes of Spider Jerusalem –Journalist extraordinaire –
"I don't give two tugs of a dead dog's cock.”

So here goes nothing

What's wrong with you?Only one thing: You are not a lesbian. You should have been.

WTF(a pleasant one). The only thing this could possibly mean is that somewhere out there is a lesbian (and I have a fairly good idea who she is) so besotted with me that she wants me to be a lesbian too. Though I believe that me not being a follower of Sappho, is a not big deal, there can be many other ways by which we can make do with the tools we have(pun fully intended) without it being a discomfort to both of us

Anonymous says: BEEP....... tujhse BEEP.BEEP kitne dost hain tere ... (count bhi nahi kar payega) is sliye doosron ko thodi si izzat de akela hi reh jayega saari zindagi and you'll regret ur behaviour later.frustt rehna aur karna band kar aur thoda enjoy kar life .U need a change ... in attitude, behaviour. hopefully it helped

To the above great personality I would mention a few thing.

Dude you should be a little creative in your expletives. (diplomacy here too)
If you said the same thing to my face I might have considered your views. Now they fall in the same category of me not giving a flying fuck (or two tugs of a dead dogs cock, whatever you prefer)
Finally, thanks for entertaining me.

DearVarun aggarwal, I think it is high time you stop resorting to this page to interpret the "between those lines" of everyone's statements because everyone has something wrong with them and well you just have to live with that! Personal quirks rock. Face it you can't correct everyone's misconceptions. humans remember

Now this was one of the sincere posts/ comments that I received. But the sincerity was misplaced (and its even more dangerous than other misplaced senses –of righteousness, of morality, of justice – I think you get the drift). If you are who I think you are then understand that my comments were a direct outcome of your message. You were very inquisitive whether my gtalk was open on my comp, or I was accessing the mail from some senior’s computer(mysterious to those who are unaware of the background? Please check the disclaimer).So please read your message again, and then my IM and then read this, you would realize that what a/an _____(fill any word that means A person who lacks good judgment) you were. And as far as anonymous feedbacks ("in between whose lines, I read") go, I already said I don’t give a flying fuck.
I would call it #sincerity_fail.

Now there have been a lot of comments most of them fall in the three categories mentioned above. If you have sent me response, please be grateful that I have classified them in some category (assuming the garbage could be recycled). There were some constructively critical ones too, the author’s of which pinged me as soon as they commented, though I don’t agree to most of their views I appreciate them taking time out for this endeavour.
.
.
.
Just Kidding

Adios

DISCLAIMER: Many of the situations mentioned above can be imaginary or there can be some truth in them so use your own discretion while reading this (in other words believe what you want to believe).

Is Love Absurd (counter view )

2011-01-16T07:42:00.000-08:00

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

Yes, sir! You are right.

2010-11-08T13:25:00.000-08:00

One man meets his friend after a long time. The friend conforming to the directives of a polite society asked the man how he was. The man replied that he was alive. Hearing this deviation from the usual hi, how are you routine the friend was surprised and thus asked what the man meant by that. What the man said next is the reason why I am writing this post.

The man said that murder is illegal otherwise someone would have definitely killed him.

Read the letters in bold a second time. Pause. Think. Read the line again. Pause again. Think again.

Now this exchange is fictitious, I read it a long time ago in all those obscure comics and books that I frequently refer to. Then, why this trivial and fictitious thing is so important, that it warrants a thought?

The reason is that circumstances that brought this to back to the front of my mind are not fictitious. What actually happened was that I was with one of my friends. He has this annoying technique of reading newspapers. He removes each page individually, reads it and then bunches all the pages together screwing up the order and the newspaper. So he and I both went to meet a senior.

Now somehow during our discussions we digressed to the subject of newspapers, from there to that habit. So the senior says that he doesn’t like people who read newspaper in such manner. My friend also joined in and starting criticising the guys. He said that it was childish to do so, the newspaper was not a collection of parts it was more than that yada yada yada. Naturally I was surprised, at that stand but since we were in the senior’s room I left the topic. When I asked why he lied, he replied that he lied because he didn’t want to contradict the senior. So I asked why say anything at all? To this he replied that in a group you have to change your opinions, this is called diplomacy.

Do you know what this guy would do if another senior says that he likes to read newspaper by taking out individual pages? He will probably say that reading newspaper like this provides comfort; you can concentrate on one article individually etc. etc. etc. He will do this because in a group you have to change your opinions as this is called diplomacy.

This set me thinking, and I remembered one of Satyajit ray’s story that I read a long time back. That story was about one person who was fed up with the world because no one understood him. Now this person meets someone who looked like him. So naturally they start hanging together. Gradually he discovers that not only they look same but they have same interests, opinions, aspirations and desire. Basically they were same person but in different bodies. Naturally he should have been happy, and to tell you the truth he was. But suddenly he started feeling smothered by his duplicate. As he was not able to have a debate with him, he was not able to talk with him as he instinctively knew what that person was going to say. He was so pissed off that he threw him off a bridge on to the railway tracks. The story doesn’t end there, but the part that is relevant to our discussion does.

This brings us back to the fake exchange in the beginning of this post. I meant to say that stop saying yes to any and every one; So stop being diplomatic; Take a stand as whatever you do you will still be pissing people off.

Adios

परिणीता

2010-10-20T13:34:00.000-07:00

मधुर मिलन के दिव्य स्वपन से जलाई थी जो तूने ज्वाला।
बुझ गयी वो जब देखी पर मनुज हेतु उसके हाथों में वरमाला।
है निष्ठुर प्रेम, त्याग इसे , उठा ले मदिरा।
देख परिणीता तेरी आज बनी है मधुशाला।

leniency- do we deserve it?

2010-09-16T15:13:00.000-07:00

It’s one of those morning classes, yup the same morning, the night before of which you were lying drunk in a pool of your own vomit, and you still after a fight with your head and many a failed attempt to screw the top of toothpaste back, manage to turn up for the class at 7:35. But you are thrown out with many an expletives thrown your way, what do you do? Even when you were fuming that you even bothered to take such pains, You mutter an apology, turn back, and go home.
It’s one of those morning classes, yup the same morning, the night before of which you slept in late woke up late had a breakfast, deliberated about going to the class and after a few minutes strolled in the classroom at 8:00. One full hour late! You are allowed in. What do you do? You go in, find a seat in the back, and clap at the every mispronounced word uttered by the hapless professor.
Welcome, sir to IIT.

In the last semester when we were filling the choices for IT breadth I came across the name of a professor (who taught computer software) and numerous anecdotes associated with him. Someone said that he was an AIR 2 of his times; someone told that he is very simple, others claimed that he donates all that he earns to orphanages but whatever the said the consensus was that he is a very good teacher and a great human being. So naturally I was excited to learn from him, and thought people would also have the same attitude. But what I saw in the class was not interest. Student came and went as they wished; they clapped, booed and whistled. Okay this might be condoned but what happened next breached the limits.
Someone started to show his origami prowess by making airplanes from paper and throwing them in the class. It soon turned into a kind of competition. Tear. Fold. Fly. Now one of the planes (I don’t know if it was thrown there or the plane decided to change its trajectory) flew on to the black board and the timing was such that it fell in front of professor as soon as he turned his face towards us. Needless to say he was startled and stepped back. This triggered a peal of laughter amongst the students (with the plane makers laughing raucously). The professor though humiliated didn’t say anything and continued with his teaching. This encouraged them and they started calling him names. Fakir, sentry and some other chosen names. Some even commented on his simplicity.
It shook me. And I remembered word of some philosopher that humans don’t deserve civilization, they are by nature barbaric and hence need to be ruled by force. What could be a better example than what was in front of me? You create chaos in the class because you have a lenient professor who forgives each of your transgressions. But all your guts evaporate once you face someone who doesn’t permit even slightest of jokes.Try flying planes in his class.If you behaved alike in front of both the professor then it would have been commendable. But what you do indicate what idiots you are. And if you are reading it keep in mind that you don’t matter to the professor, that’s why he doesn’t give a shit to your activities in the class. You are not hurting him, you are hurting yourselves. What you are doing is not brave at all. Its the highest form of cowardice.
Adios.

power corrupts.

2010-08-28T12:45:00.000-07:00

All persons,events and places in this article are purely fictitious, and any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental
“Arey woh tha na ek , jo fruit shop se juice lekar aata tha or common room me, jhapar maar ke chala jaata tha”(Hey do you remember that guy who used to buy juice from the fruit shop, then enter the common room, slap some guys around and leave). “Yeah I remember, what about him?” “Nothing it was just that these kinds of seniors are a bastard”. “I agree, by hitting someone they just want to assert their power.”
I heard these sentences at the beginning of this year when we were recounting our experiences in the orientation programme. And, it was really a painful subject for me because yours truly was one of the guys at the receiving end of the ‘juice’ guy’s wrath. The incident was still etched on my mind. The anguish was still new, the pain was still fresh. And I still cursed my fear, which forced me not to complain about his overtures. I rued the fact that I was a coward. And I rued the fact that I tried to hide my anguish behind my generosity. “arey yaar main isliye complain nahi kar raha hoon kyunki woh fifth year hai, pass out hone wala hai, saale ka year back lag jaayega.(I am not complaining cause he is a fifth year on the verge of passing out, the bastard will get a year back). I don’t want to ruin his future.”
Time heals most wounds they say, but it was still fresh when our turn to be the organisers of orientation programme arrived. Why the hell don’t you go to watch the events? CG doesn’t matter much, work for your CV, if you just have CG the company will think ki bahut bada maggu hai ( that you are only a swot). You can’t remember such small things and you call yourselves IITians . Did you shave today? Are we fools to tell you to shave every day? These were the oft repeated sentences. And the most ironic was “we say all this because it’s to improve your personality. You don’t know how much we put ourselves to risk just for your improvement.”
Me? I was fully enjoying myself, was setting different gags on the second years, was abrasive even abusive at times. How dare he get my year wrong? How dare he call me juice? How dare someone mix up one of my hundred batch mate’s hometown with another?
Then one day when the proceedings were in full flow, I witnessed something. I saw someone manhandling a junior. While slapping the senior was shouting “Abe teri galti hai(hey it’s your fault). Koi kuch bhi kahega toh karega( you will do anything anyone says). Don’t you have a mind of yours.” And then I saw something else. I saw a look of pure revulsion on the face of the junior. He was utterly disgusted with his tormentor. He was angry, not at his seniors but at himself. His face said many things. It cried with the feeling of being helpless, of being afraid. I saw all this and I saw myself reflected in his face.
I remembered my humiliation. I remembered my pain. I remembered the silent abuses I hurled at the sight of the bastard. I remembered my friend saying “do you know they conducted an experiment. They gave money to a group of people and made some of them prisoners and other wardens. The wardens had to do nothing; they just had to sit around. The prisoners could leave any time but they would have to forego the money. Do you know what happened? The wardens established rule of stick. They were mercilessly beating the ‘prisoners’ just because they were give power over them? So power corrupts”. I remembered me saying “all this is bull shit. Nobody is this sadistic”. And then I remembered all those abuses, all those transgressions made by me on someone’s dignity. I myself became the same thing which I hated for the last year.
Power corrupts. Your slapping me wasn’t your fault. I forgive you mister Sharma. I don’t curse you anymore.
Adios….

Friday the thirteenth

2010-08-17T04:18:00.000-07:00

this is the story i submitted to some arbit competition.

“Rapids and gales

Storms and hails

You will have a rotten luck

If you leave your hammock

Cause sailing is nay’

If its thirteenth on a Friday.”

“I don’t know why the hell I cannot forget this stupid rhyme” cursed Jack, going about his morning
routine. “Okay today is Friday the thirteenth but what’s so special about it? Come on it’s just
another day”, were his thoughts on this particular day that plagued him at least once every year.
And it wasn’t as if he didn’t try to let go all his superstitions about this particular day, but they were
so deeply instilled in him by his grandfather – a grey bearded loon of a sailor who lost both his crew
and his ship in some bizarre storm on this day.

The fact that he had an interview (an opportunity of a life time) which had been rescheduled to
this day irked him more. So it was either to go and join a banquet of twelve and die (as the Norse
people would have it, another one of his grandfather’s absurd stories) or sit at home and watch the
nonsensical pop cultural references about the day on the idiot box.

He remembered losing the red bike to rick when he gave away his ticket (the lucky one) to the local
fair. The baseball match, the Indiana Jones visit- all lost to ‘the day’. And how could he forget Natalia
–sweet Natalia whom he asked out for prom and couldn’t attend, all because his gee gee wouldn’t
allow him to venture out. “Jacky boy! You too will lose your ship as I did” was his gramps answer
every time.

“Oh! Screw it I am done with that old geezer, with him and his ship and his bull crap of superstitions.
For all that matter he might have been drunk when he drove his ship into that rock. I am going out to
settle it once and for all” Jack decided, and began dressing up.

“Free breakfast in the cafe (apparently he was the 13th customer entering the cafe), no traffic jams
on the way, a good parking spot. I wish the interview goes this good”.

“Oh! How I breezed through the interview. I aced all the questions and even my guesses hit the
bull’s eye. If I don’t get the job now then I never would”

“Mr. Jack I would be honest with you, we were going to give the job to the guy who came before
you, but somehow my guts say that you will be the best guy for this job. So here is your advance...”

“That old geezer was certainly a fool. I had a wonderful day, the job would have gone to someone
else.” While standing at the cash withdrawal counter Jack didn’t notice the gunman enter the bank,
neither did he see him slip the carbine into position, nor did he hear the staccato burst.

He just felt the bullet that entered his body tearing away the flesh. He remembered the red bike

and the boy crushed under the bus, the accident of that beautiful girl and

“Rapids and gales

Storms and hails....

Cause sailing is nay’

If its thirteenth on a Friday.

”

stone

2010-07-11T00:28:00.000-07:00

Perched atop a hill
With all my unmovable will
I stood
Surveying all

I saw them
Lovers
Engulfed in throes of passion
Defined their love
Declared it on my bosom
For all the world to see
I didn’t rejoice
‘Cause I am stone...

I saw them
Lovers
Parting ways
Scratched
Leaving all but the impression of love they engraved
I wasn’t sad
As I am stone...

I saw them
Priests
Passionate priests
Mining
Cutting
Shaping
Sculpting
Inducting me in their revered halls
I wasn’t proud
As I am still a stone...

I saw him
The scourge
Cruel one
Killing
Plundering
Raping
Removed from my majestic pedestal
I wasn’t angry
I still am a stone...

I saw them
People
Frenzied mob
Shouting
Angry over the loss of their deity
Used me to inflict pain on that infant
I didn’t pity over him
It won’t befit me
Cause I am a stone...

Now lying on the ground
I see you
Man
Unaware
Unassuming
Unmoved
By the atrocities around him
Unfeeling
In his cocoon of materialistic comfort
Just like insects
I think
And I am suddenly feeling a multitude of emotions
Anger ,fear ,sadness
It’s not as if I am no longer a stone
But because You are slowly turning into one

The Monster and the Bully

2010-06-26T06:58:00.000-07:00

In the age when the witch was the doctor and the inn was the pub and bar and the muddy creek was the swank swimming pool and the prostitutes well were the prostitutes- it’s the oldest profession you see-our story is set in.
In one of the many villages –villages were abound then- was a hill(of course what’s a village without a hill- remember “jack and Jill went up the hill”) and on the hill there was a cottage( and what’s a hill without a cottage) and around that cottage was a garden( there are gardens around ever cottage on a hill- didn’t you read any story or for that matter harry potter, remember his friend the weasel lives in a cottage and boy they have a large garden). In that house or should I say the cottage lived a monster (no monsters don’t usually live in cottages).

So that monster that wasn’t a monster per se but since he was a child he had an unusual countenance and so was called monster by everyone. And since he lived alone he started to think that he really was a monster and started behaving like that. See this is how we ruin our children; they have an impressionable mind you see. But I digress.
That monster did what all the monsters usually do. He scared the shit out of anyone who ventured in the woods around his garden which was around his house or for that matter the cottage. And hence he lived on plying his monstrous trade.
And as with villages go there was a bully there in that village too. And as with bullies go he used to bully. And again as with bullies go he met his match. This match wasn’t a bimbo nymphet but one other bully who bullied the other bully into venturing into the monster lair.
The monster was sleeping when our brave, heroic, gallant and spunky (well euphemism for big scaredy cats ready to shit in their pants- we use euphemisms a lot you see) bullies entered the cottage with a garden around it lying on the top of the small hill. And while they were jumping the boundary wall a fly sat on the nose of the monster, and as it goes with monsters he swatted it, missed, hit his own face and woke up with an ouch that was mighty roar for the ears of the bully.
One of the bullies wet his pants and fainted- at this juncture I don’t think that we care which bully that was, the one who met his match or the one that was supposed to be the match- and the other started to cry. The monster that wasn’t a monster per se saw him and since he wasn’t a monster per se went out to console him.
Bully: don’t eat me please.
Monster: why’d I eat you, I only eat vegetables and fruit and sometimes dirt too. I don’t eat ‘humans’. I am a vegetarian, a ‘v-e-g-e-t-a-r-i-a-n’. Now come to me and let me console you.
The bully caring not to make any sound with his feet, caring not to breathe loudly, cursing the vile wind that was spreading his vile bodily smell, albeit silently, approached the monster( who was welcoming with his arms spread),closing on the bully opened his mouth, picked up the monster, chewed him to pieces and swallowed him whole and merrily went back to his home.
Adios...

The window

2010-06-21T02:52:00.000-07:00

Through the pitch dark
a silver beam beckons me
Erasing despair from my heart
Will it set me free?

The belief that I am right
I am on the correct way
The goal is in my sight
Will this light guide me?
It may.

These nagging doubts hold me back
I find it hard to fight
Will I find a talisman?
Or the fate will crush me with all its might?
Yeah I am doubtful
I strive, I strike , I pray and I shout
Then I realise Though the light may come in
But the window is still too small to let me out....

2010-06-15T02:24:00.000-07:00

The Girl Next Door Experience
( you are in a for disappointment, if you are here for the risqué title)
Many a moons ago, when yours’ truly was still new in his education and the time of the myths when few guys had a laptop and when every such room was common room and when the only source of ‘worship’ were the American pie series which were seen and dissected and fantasised about many a times, somebody heard of ‘the girl next door’.
The movie was bound to generate some interest for it had impeccable credentials- a ‘porn star’ a sex video and Elisha Cuthbert. So the brother in arms decided that it will be a welcome break from the pie series and decided to spend two hours of our time and eons of fantasy on the movie. So promptly and discreetly laptop was asked for promptly because...well you know it and discreetly ...so as to keep the affair amongst the residents of a single wing. Both considerations were not met.

Finally after two hours and twenty guys in my room later we had on the front table a laptop and some borrowed speakers we started the soiree. Ten minutes in the movie our efforts were duly rewarded. Elisha Cuthbert stripping ...drool...and that red lingerie...drool...were enough to sate the voyeuristic pleasures of us all. Needless to say we all were delighted.
But this was only the beginning, the midnight dip in a pool and hot kiss soon followed. Needless to say all the assembled were waiting for the big one. Then the loser protagonist’s friend drops the bombshell. Miss Cuthbert was a pornstar- Hence will give it to even the loser quite easily.....
This was the part for which all had assembled there, a hot girl, hotter profession and even hotter situation. The scene started with promise, there she was, and on all fours prowling around but something was wrong the vibes were not right. And soon came the words –“I liked the way you looked at me” and everything changed both on the screen and in the room.
There was -however clichéd it may sound- pin-drop silence in the room. For many of us assembled there, it was a revelation. For the first time we appreciated other aspects of a women other than the visible ones. And the ‘love’ which was supposed to be only of the physical kind, took new meanings. And from then on till the entire movie we cheered for the love and even clapped when the guy refuses to ‘do’ some other porn star at the end of the movie.
For me it is the best of all the romantic movies. Do tell what you think. Adios!!!

A serious thought

2009-10-30T08:46:00.001-07:00

Yesterday again I saw ‘Swadesh’- the eponymous movies starring the charismatic Sharukh Khan. The concept of the movie is that much brilliant that it manages to enthral me every time I give it a deco. But the most beautiful are some of the lines from the song ‘Pal Pal Hai Bhari’ reproduced below.
Ram hi to karuna mein hai,
Shanti mein ram hain
Ram hi hai ekta mein,
Pragati mein ram hain
Ram bas bhakton nahin, shatru ke bhi chintan mein hain
Dekh taj ke paap raavan, ram tere man mein hain ....
For those ignorant with the national language, the above lines translated means that the god exists in compassion, in peace, in unity in progress .Not only in the hearts of the devotees but in the thoughts of enemies’ god resides. Most important of these is the last set of words which say that the god exists in the heart of devil too; only thing that is needed is for the devil to peek into his heart.
The reason for highlighting these particular lines is not that the clever play of the word by the lyricist, but the essence of the human philosophy inherent in them. The particular philosophy is known by everyone subconsciously, but what is regrettable is the fact that the aforementioned fact is ignored by us all.
Think on these lines and please convey your messages to me.....
Adios.....

le changement de paradigme

2009-04-05T13:43:00.000-07:00

There is a red shift, a blue shift, a night shift, a day shift, a shift in address, a shift in les plaques tectoniques (most dangerous of all) and then there is a Paradigm shift. What is more interesting in this particular kind of shift is not the way it is defined (when in doubt summon the nifty browser and type in W I K I) in wikipedia as

An epistemological paradigm shift was called a scientific revolution by epistemologist and historian of science Thomas Kuhn. He believes that revolutions occur when anomalies can’t be explained by paradigms of science. Once a paradigm shift is complete, a scientist cannot, for example, posit the possibility that miasma causes disease or that ether carries light. In contrast, a critic in Humanities can choose to adopt a 19th century theory of poetics, for instance, or interpret economic behavior from a Marxist perspective

That sure is an unpalatable crap (sure there is some palatable crap too, just try eating mess food once in a while).

The million dollar question now is, scatology is not my forte so why the hell is so much interest in this crap? WELL the answer is just simple; some one reminded me-one of the lesser residents of illustrious RK Hall of Residence that there is a need of change in my persona, a paradigm shift in my behavioral tendencies. Naturally I was shocked. This was coming from one of my friends (he is a literature god, a quiz god, an acads god, so everything he spits out from the holy space – that is referred to as mouth by us- is godly.)
But for every godly utterance there is bewilderment in the general masses and it takes other of some exalted status to simplify the utterance and utter the utterance in their own simplified versions. Hence the task for me was to find one such exalted being.

That was not much difficult once I came to terms with those foreboding words and in one of the rooms I found not one, but three small version of gods. They told me that paradigm shift pertained to the changes ( ticking of finger on their hands) that I need. In there simplified discourse they told me (reproduced in their exact words)

A: You take a bath once every two days. That’s not normal.

B: You grace the unholy precincts of precincts of mess twice a day. (To the demigods)He even attends breakfast. How can you waste your night in sleeping? That sure is well…….not normal

C: (referring to his status mates) He prepares his assignment reading from books and that too a day before the actual deadline .A: What the hell is google for and why is so much hurry in doing those assignments.

B: You attend all the classes even the 7:30 one. Then how can anyone call u normal? That’s beyond normal even beyond extraterritorial.

A: You don’t even know the actual taste of booze. You consider beer as elixir, than answer what the ambrosia that gin, vodka, rum should be termed as.
By this time they have run out of fingers and having seen my face that was slowly turning white (at my fallacies of course) one of the demigods took mercy on me and prophesied

A: change this and you may come close to the boundary of what normals are.

Well this is the reason I am writing this for not everyone has such godly friends and no one is within the reach of such great beings.

PS. I made few mistakes
a) No god is friend of any lesser being such as me they only keep u in illusion for your betterment
b) And you can’t find anyone having a fragment of godlyness in them in kgp. People
Who are destined to be gods find you. (Chuck please forgive me as I stole one of your facts).

So I end this with a thanks to everyone that made me able to write this .
And with the mantra
Follow the utterance and u will find a place in the kingdom of god and the salvation will be yours
Adios.

Brisinger

2009-03-17T13:08:00.000-07:00

That's the spirit - one part brave, three parts fool.

Today i started reading Brisinger -the third book in Eragon -the inheritance trilogy. The earlier two books were build upon the simple to cast yet intriguing world of magic, dragons, fairies, which have instilled a sense of curiosity in men of all ages( that certainly includes all ye women out there).

So as a child of seventeen years paolini writes a book publishes it when 19 and the book turns out to be a bestseller converted to movies …yeah I know that run of the mill story.

But what is unique here is the manner of his presentation of that fantasy world. He tries to express or understand the intricacies human thought processes, intricacies of behavior and the traits that form the very crux of our race.

He explores the insecurity, the introspection, the speculations and the baser instincts of man with an élan. And uniquely this is done through the protagonist. Voila we have Eragon the son of a farmer elated to the status of one of the dragon riders of yore, up in arms against the evil king Galbatorix- whose powers know no bound. So Eragon is introspecting, latching upon his past, reconnoitering his future, and fighting through his present constantly learning who he is or what he has become. The transition is pain full sad at times but altogether a refreshing (if you know what I mean).

In the book which intrigued me the most was the concept of “name”. It has been asserted if you know the name – the true name of someone (the individual in question doesn’t know it himself….obviously) you can wield a lot of power on him. Eragon do this. What actually happens that he gains a powerful insight in the Sloan’s nature understanding him better than the butcher himself .Consequently forcing him to do the things he never wanted to do. It can be considered as manipulating a person and mind you , you can be dead effective if you know him in and out. Naturally the person if knows himself, his true name he attains powers-powers to an extent he never had. Now can I do that? Can you do that? (Don’t answer dumbo that was rhetoric)

By the way the book is an interesting read. Tends to slow down in some parts but the finale is awesome. And brisingir(in case you were wondering is the name of rider’s sword and that too a true one).

So if u read it please interpret the meaning of this phrase and let me know “Adrift upon the sea of time a lonely god walks shore to distant shore upholding the laws of stars above”. Adios ……………………………………….

like the flowing river

2009-01-08T22:13:00.001-08:00

It was me that went bouncing through the terrain

I went every place :the rocky precipice of mountains or the fertile soil of plain

nothing changed my speed

nothing changed my flow

I treated every thing with same respect

But why is this stagnation in me ?

Why is this motion sickness?

Has the erosion subsided ?

Is this the time to deposit the vast array of things i accumulated ?

Will i be reduced to a mud puddle?

Or will i be ever the flowing river again

COHERENCE

2009-01-08T03:16:00.000-08:00

The setting evening sun marked his silhouette as he was sitting in his little den. Well little would certainly a reproach to a place thousand square feet, on the top floor of a financial giant, providing the bird’s eye view of the city, surveying the lesser mortals of the concrete jungle. Usually he took pride in such a spectacle but today the world seemed centered around the piece of paper, which would have been treated as a piece of junk if it was not adorned with district attorneys stamp.

“You are hereby summoned to the court of law to appear as a witness in the murder case of………….”

His body obscured the rest of the summon .While rereading the piece he could easily see his life running before his eyes, as if some somebody had cramped thirty years in a disk and had played it on a broken player, pausing some, playing others and forwarding the rest.

The first scene flashed before his eyes…………………..

“The earliest memories of my dad I had were his sitting on the couch, reading the newspaper commenting on everything, grumbling his observations to himself while I went milling about myself sitting near him disturbing him with trivialities. He was quick to temper at that time and was usually brisk with me but I always chose that time to prick him.

It was never premeditated, but I must admit it was a childish amusement to see him lifting his face over the newspaper surveying me with his deep eyes and then quenching my curiosity at the same time admonishing me for disturbing him at that time. But I was always back.

So it was on day I picked up a word -“coherence” and bracing me for his retorts went to him. To my surprise he took me into his lap and talked to me at length, told me things like conscience and all those religious and sentimental things. The thing left to me was to interpret the word my self.”

The fast forward mode started acting and he saw people fooling his dad, duping him of his money, the days of being indebted, finally two decades went by………..

“I was sitting in the auditorium with scores of other freshmen waiting for the orientation lecture to begin. A stooping gray haired man came rambling and took the centre and started addressing us. What ever he was he couldn’t have been the czar of the professional world of which we were a part. So he started his discourse on the college at large and about students in general. Soon his rambling converted into a clear oratory, one hand flattened his trusses, and the other drew out a pair of glasses from his inside pocket, the stoop was gone and suddenly he adopted a predator’s gait. Instantly he was the professional we were looking for. Watching the astonishment he commented with amusement that this was the change he wanted to see in all of us after we graduated from the college.

This was my faculty advisor at the biz. School I attended. He mentored me and taught how the business world worked, its ruthless principles and finally the adage profit always ranks supremely.”

The record picked up speed again and he saw himself adopting those philosophies to the core and rising from an employee to an investor to an entrepreneur to owner of a string of companies, going multinational. The record slowed………………….

“I didn’t know what was happening in those months I lost all my profits lost the faith of my investors. I was on the brink of financial collapse. The only thing which could save us was the investment that was forth coming from him.”

Record trudged again. He cruised through deliberations and discussions and finally the wait was over. One last meeting, a last bunch of signatures and he will be in control of things again.

“I couldn’t believe he didn’t turn up. He sent his custom made car which was duly accompanied in the inner premises away from the prying eyes of the media waiting outside. But he was not present in the car.”

A slow movement in the player ensued and he saw the reason of his investor’s absence.

“That bloody bastard had killed his secretary and her husband, mutilating their bodies in front of their children. The testimony of the children was skillfully turned around by his attorneys and now the case hung on his providing an alibi. So he has given my name. All I have to do is to testify in his favor and the documents will be signed. And true to his words. I was summoned by the DA for cross questioning”

Sun was now waiting to dip into the horizon as the record player gave a violent jerk; the oscillations began- coherence…..profit, coherence…..profit, coherence…..profit, coherence…..profit. It paused………………………….

He stood up, scribbled something and gave the piece of paper to his secretary to be mailed to the DA.

The next day DA opened his mail and found his note.

“Dear DA

The accused was not present with me or in the premises of my companies. So rest assured I will not be testifying in his favor. You can go ahead with your case”.

At the same time he was sitting in a plane bound to his dad’s place. He was going to meet him after ten years so as to know if his interpretation of the word was correct.