Life... first hand

Basic Tenets Of Writing

2011-12-06T23:33:00.004+05:30

1. First 10 words are harder than the next 100 words.
2. Writing session starts with pre-writing activities: ideation, planning, unconscious writing etc. Acknowledge them.
3. Writing session is a period of stillness, intense focus and awareness - threat to the normal mode of mind. It will get in your way.
4. Regularity gives strength, irregularity breeds guilt.
5. It is courageous even to keep sitting on a chair, not writing - making this choice over distracting oneself in the event of non-writing.
6. Protecting writing schedule ruthlessly gives big returns which can be acknowledged only by looking back.
7. Challenges of writing do not melt down because you have figured them out, met, conquered them previously. They come afresh every single day and you have to battle out all over again. There is no other way.
8. Solitude, silence -must.
9. Reading helps you get in the mood for writing. Music can help set the mood for reading/writing. Music can enthuse you, pacify you; reading helps you recall all that you know about writing. Use them wisely.
10. When you sit down to write - enter the battlefield that is, you feel unarmed. It is only when you fight it out that you find your weapons again: they come as you need them.
11. A good period of writing is too precious to terminate when satisfied. It is rare, be in it for as long as you can; utilize it.

(11, because the back side of the used paper was over. Will append, when and as they come)

Grave matters

2011-12-06T22:04:00.002+05:30

Two meters into two meters
What we gravely fight for.
Quarter to two I am,
And you are little too;
Land enough for two graves?

Hence, unedited

2011-11-12T00:27:00.000+05:30

This, this period,

This now,

This I forget

Wilfully.

What do you do

Before you do?

The Bride's Father

2011-11-01T23:37:00.005+05:30

And indeed, what could be done now?

The seven pheres have been taken, the vows of fidelity have been exchanged, and all the mantras have been unerringly chanted: for the next six lives and this one, the daughter of Lakirdas will serve as a wife to this impostor - an ugly, elder cousin of the man who was supposed to marry his daughter. Had the sehra, the customary veil of bridegroom: his flowery deception, been lifted before the rites were performed, Lakirdas would have beaten him to death in a single blow of stick. But now that this man is his daughter's keeper what could be done or undone?

Surrounded by only his closest relatives, Lakirdas cries cursing his fate at a corner of the party lawn. They chide him, console him, and then, they counsel. The TV, the fridge, the jewelry, the household items - all of them will be used by his daughter, but what use could an air conditioned car be for this man? He works on a farm, not in any computer company in city. Don't let him have the car, they say. These fraudsters played with your trust, they had the gaunt to cheat you on your land, in your village, you can't just let them have it all.

Lakirdas agrees.

Having cried all his tears already, he now hastily bids his daughter wishes and rushes towards a truck parked at a distance. The car needs to be smuggled out or rumors here will spread.

Whining is not acceptable

2011-09-30T01:20:00.031+05:30

Running breathlessly
- for that's how I run -

I may run out of breath,

or trip, tumble, topple,

- the trek a cinch isn't -

leagues before the top,

then fall flat on my face.

You can jeer.

Jeering is acceptable.

But, idling in your farms,
fenced and too familiar,
- as in the tired allegories of yore -
whine not about absence of adventure
while I still venture:

whimpering worries the winds,
the winds worry my heart.

Running breathlessly

- for the air there is thin -
I may run out of zest,

and weaken, wear out, wilt

- the trek a cinch isn't -

leagues before the top,

then tread back with a lost face.

You can jeer.
But, sitting sullenly,
in your farms,
fenced and too familiar,
whine not.
Whining is not acceptable.

Two minutes

2011-09-22T19:32:00.014+05:30

In the midst of this sport,
this mirthless sport of survival,
of striving for survival,
- the survival of the grittiest,
a gladiator puts his armour down
and appeals for a time-out

Two minutes, he says
Just two minutes
to quickly drop his pants somewhere;
and ejaculate in a jiffy

He may not survive the next blow

Two minutes, he says
Just two minutes.

He won't keep the audience waiting...

At my desk

2011-09-10T20:19:00.016+05:30

While a bunch of baboons,
quarter-consciously,
engage in homosexual buffoonery

Black gets greened
Beauty gets breathed in,
breathed out
Patterns of the mind of god
get pinned down and
put to use
And the power,
that captivates, inebriates
the quarter-conscious quasi-humans,
gets entrapped
(only a fraction of it,
but daily)

Each day,
at my desk,
I become stronger, wily,
contemptuous.

Drops of life

2011-09-02T01:59:00.003+05:30

Dirt, dust and dread - washed away

Dogged, defensive mold

dissolved

The self - rusty, faded, abrasive

- tired and weak,
- exposed, and

coated with reassurance and spirit

Drops of life, me,

fearlessness:

Bring-it-on!

To them,

I was sad and it made me happy

To them,

that is all to bathing in rain.

A meditation on my writing

2011-09-01T00:53:00.002+05:30

*Wrote a while back

I work like an architect. When I see an empty piece of land I start constructing a building, on paper. The construction goes systematically, brick by brick, floor by floor, each step following rules laid down by my styles and my limitations, knowledge and understanding, until the building stands firmly in it's entirety... on paper. Then (and only then) the first brick is put, and engineering starts. Building's integrity is questioned here by the actual laws of physics, its feasibility tested by the properties of construction material and its beauty judged by minds other than mine. This is the part I dread.

I love architecting stories inside my head. They start with an idea, or a vague notion, or sometimes an unidentified feeling. I let them grow and gradually, the stories start taking shape as I pace up and down frantically inside a room, or on terrace in nights - places where I can be my weird self. Explicitly delineated characters emerge who interact with one another and their environment, gradually imparting that world a reality more convincing than that of the world outside my head. I admit I am a tyrant; their freedom is tightly constrained for they must act in accordance with the very purposes that had led to their coming into existence... yet it is this purposefulness that makes their world more ordered, more comprehensible and more convincing. They do come up with their suggestions sometimes, yes. They improvise. That is why it is recited numerous times - the story plays itself like a motion picture or a drama in rehearsal, edited and revised until every word and action appears to spring out naturally, one followed by another meticulously.

At this point I become ready to write. Unfortunately, at this very point I question the very motive behind writing.

Stories inside a head have only as much utility as buildings drawn on a paper. Yet it is not utility but creativity that inspires me - the joy of creating something out of nothing... the marvel of the power and watching it work.
At this point, when the story already unfolds in my mind in one perfect linear flow, picking up a pen to transcribe it becomes mechanical, laborious. It is like recounting details of an incident to investigators or telling a stale joke to an audience. Writing down becomes a process of creating an imagery, vivid and detailed, of the story that is now part of my memory. All the questions are already asked, all the answer explored for. All the possibilities already
considered and the most suitable of them already chosen. Why should a story already scripted be written down then? Does a drama, practiced to perfection by crew, necessarily needs to be played in front of an audience? Would an architect enjoy constructing the building he designed?

Oh no, I am not suggesting otherwise. These questions, ridiculously naive or stubbornly revolting though they may sound, are only surfacial. Nevertheless I have started my meditation on writing with these questions, for they will lead me to other, more urgent questions: should a story be written down when it's not perfectly scripted in head? Can and how much can the process of writing and creating be integrated? Should writing be done for the sake of
writing, at the cost of quality of script? What does one learn by habitual writing anyway? What is it's utility?

You see, I struggle writing 500 words a day, every day. It's not because English is a second language to me, it's because language is a second medium for me. My thoughts are abstract, shapeless, chaotic. To learn them, I have to greet them, calm them down and unravel. They reveal themselves to me through feelings and images; finding correct words for them is an effort. If I imagine a large building, for example, I wouldn't know if it's
big or huge or colossal or gargantuan or gigantic or monumental or, well, large. I will have to pick each word, look for it's precise definition and see if the terms conveys what I want to. As words form a sentence I have to check if the tone of the sentence is in sync with the tone of my narrator and as sentences make a paragraph, I have to
check if the paragraph maintains the course of the narrative. Precision takes priority over expression, plot over prose, a sense of order over aesthetic sense.

So how do I go about Writing-500-Words-Daily project? How do I make the best use of it and is it really the best way to exercise for me? How will my daily struggle with it end?

I am sure with a better command over language, the tussles with writing prose will become enjoyable. There are scores of areas that I am yet to explore, nuances so obvious that I oversee them and rules so intuitive that I don't even know I follow them. I know the more often I write, the more secrets I learn - about language, about the art of
story-telling, and perhaps most importantly about how I work, about how I am.

Wandering

2011-08-20T17:04:00.004+05:30

Smell of flesh,
that touch of those eyes,
loneliness;
a ball, a pitch, a battlefield,
glory;
last night, guilt,
1995;
desire and death

- memories made up,
remembered, recalled.

A new paragraph,
five fresh lines,
then, Wandering.

Growing Up - Snippets

2011-08-20T16:47:00.002+05:30

When Shruti and I would sleep on our mother's lap, she would cover our heads with her dupatta. They felt warm and safe, and smelt just like her. I would often open my mother's wardrobe and take those colorful, rectangular pieces of fabric out, just to smell and kiss them.
Now that my mother insists that Shruti put one on when there are guests in house or when she is going for tuition, I feel confused. (Shruti has suddenly grown tall and got breasts and I have to be really careful while punching her.) Now when I notice a dupatta hanging loose by a chair or a door knob, I try not to think about it.

*

Could it be, like my friends tell me, that couples make love even after having kids? My parents never kissed in our presence, or held hands, or talked like how those couples do in the movies. I had caught my father singing a romantic song to my mother once but he said he had heard that song on the radio that morning and asked me why I did not do too well in the maths test.
Could they be hiding something? After Shruti and I go to sleep in our room, could my parents be husband and wife at night?

*

I don’t pick up telephone unless I am alone at home. At the end of the other line, it’s either a salesman or my parent’s relatives or their friends, and they all confuse me for my mother. Rajat, Rahul, Tanmay, Naveen, Dheeraj - everyone sounds like a grown up now. Naveen drank thick shakes for five straight days once and his throat got infected and that’s when his Adam’s apple ‘swelled’, he confided to me. Protrusion of thyroid cartilage (Naveen thinks it's a swellling because he plays tic-tac-toe in biology class) does not have anything to do with throat infection, I know, but then why hasn’t my voice changed yet?
I will prefer chilled thick shakes over milk and cereals next week. What's the harm?

*

It is illegal for kids. Besides, there is a statutory warning printed on every pack and we were taught in biology class how it contaminates lungs but Dheeraj still smoked cigarettes - daily, at The Korner Cafe after school hours (he said so himself). I think he was just trying to show off because he was not good at studies or sports or debates or playing musical instruments, and that’s why he passed comments in class even though they were quite silly and teachers punished him.
On Niharika mam's insistence, I became friends with him and helped him with his homework for a while. If you were patient, you would not think of Dheeraj as a very stupid boy (after I explained basic principles and derivations in detail, he solved almost a whole exercise by himself) but one day he made a dirty remark about Shruti and I punched him twice on his face and broke friendship.
He did not hit me back.

Last Night

2011-07-31T00:27:00.001+05:30

An itch in the elbow
switched the attention.
Arrival of the verse
arrests.

The itch in the elbow,
a trick by the heavens?
A verse with the word
itched.

Nights

2011-07-23T23:00:00.000+05:30

A corpse on the floor
now breathing
now not.
Heart beats not
where attention
isn't.

A buzz of dying momentum.

This absence of thought,
found while searching a poem,
rhymes.

Change

2011-07-22T15:11:00.003+05:30

Wrote on July 17, 2005. One of my most favorite poems.

I learn. So I change.
I change to adjust.
But very often I do long
to be what I was first.

Feeble

2011-07-22T15:09:00.001+05:30

Wrote on April 20, 2005.

The tormented know-er kneeled
down on the dry sand.
Opening his pleading eyes
he stretched out his hand;
alone under the starless sky
he gave a dejected cry-
"O lord! empower me to deny,
the very existence thy."

In the general ward

2011-07-08T14:54:00.017+05:30

Men in the general ward
keep their ears to the bed,
for when the jaundiced infant
wakes up and cries,
a sweet, delicious boob
pops out from beneath the blouse,
to nurse into their anesthetic blood
vigor.

Defintion (version 02)

2011-06-28T23:12:00.020+05:30

'I love you':

a phrase formed from

a curious combination

of acceptance and
announcement,

of destiny and
decision,

of heart and
headache.

सजदा

2011-06-28T22:06:00.003+05:30

मेरा कर्मा

मेरी किस्मत

मैं

सर आँखों पे

Review: The Home and The World by Rabindranath Tagore

2011-06-22T18:03:00.001+05:30

The Home and the World is a literary masterpiece by Rabindranath Tagore. Set as a love triangle in the backdrop of Swadesi movement in the then Bengal, it is essentially an exploration of the noosphere surrounding the revolution, encapsulating Tagore's personal critique on the movement's ideology.

All the three central characters of the novel are distressed, while treading their paths for greatness. Bimala is a young wife who seeks greatness (which every "woman is entitled to") through utmost devotion and surrender, and she finds the cause in the passionate desires of her husband's friend and in the nationalist movement. Nikhil, a rich businessman and Bimala's husband, is a noble soul who seeks to be just by abiding to his spiritual principles while he is being denounced as a traitor by the countrymen. Sandip is Nikhil's childhood friend and local leader of the nationalist movement who falls in love with Bimala. He seeks glory through power and material success, and considers restraint as a sign of weakness.

Each of the three characters narrate their trials and tribulations in first person in long monologues ('tell, not show'). While this style takes some time getting used to, by the time one finishes the book it becomes clear that Tagore could not have invented a more suitable technique for narration. There is but only a minimal tangible action and the central drama of the story unfolds within the characters, slowly and turbulently... and giving three distinct perspectives for the readers to brood on.
With fluency and lyric Tagore turns the characters inside out... something inconceivable for me as a writer just yet.

The crux of the novel lies in the philosophical debates (illusion v/s truth, pragmatism/materialism v/s spiritual idealism, passion v/s virtues) it is rich with. They are relevant and enthralling, and raise important questions that are applicable for all such expeditions.

Having been raised to sing Bande Mataram with supreme pride (and seeing the recent political dramas in the country), I find the book unique and urgently important for this generation, and the ones coming.

Can't wait to watch Satyajit Ray's cinematic adaptation!

They kiss, briefly

2011-06-21T18:34:00.014+05:30

*Wrote it a while back. Too cheesy, too sweet. And of course, badly written.

The sun had just set, it was drizzling and they were about 30 meters far, but I could distinctly catch the outlines. The boy is scrawny and the girl obese. Twenty year olds I bet. A couple, like we once were. I turned left and looked at my wife... she was watching them too.

Lata and I drive to Barahkhumba metro station daily and park our Maruti 800 right by the Statesman building entrance to pick our granddaughter up from her evening classes. It is an exercise, a compulsion for both of us. With winters coming, it gets dark by the time our granddaughter's class and the long commute by the metro ends. I have to pick her up and since I can’t drive all that well in the dark, Lata has to come along. She usually pushes the seat back and waits silently with her eyes closed. Today, she was engrossed looking at the kids.

They moved desperately across the building premises, scanning for some private space in the public place I guess. Yes. A little nook behind a pillar that supports the stairs to the first floor. Good place, but too many people – a security guard of an ATM, a man who is in charge of parking, people coming from the book store on the floor above… I smiled. Their plight was enjoyable.

They kiss, briefly, and turn their heads hastily to check if someone was watching. First timers. I was wrong; they cannot be older than fifteen. The girl holds the boy’s hands and brings them closer to her chest. I cannot be sure if he felt her breasts but even if he did, the girl couldn't have felt anything. Wimp, he retracted quickly.

“You were as shy as him on our first night”, Lata suddenly said.

“Huh, I wasn’t”, I defended quickly but she wasn’t impressed. “Not as much as him at least… and only on the first night.”

She checked her watch and looked past me, in the direction of the kids. It didn’t matter anymore – how I was or how she was and how we once were. This wasn’t an occurrence – somewhere between becoming parents to grandparents things had changed and we became just that. Both of us silently acknowledged that we did not have any other roles to play.

I wiped the car window with my hands and searched for the kids. They weren't there. Perhaps a better place was found and they were enjoying each other’s company. Lata pushed her reclined seat further back and closer her eyes, like she does daily. I did the same.
“Was I that pathetic?” I put my right arm over my eyes and asked with utmost casualness.

She didn't reply for a few seconds, but then she whispered, "Come here". I noticed the familiar tension in her voice that had long been absent. I opened my eyes and looked at her: she was still beautiful.

“Come here”, she commanded. I hesitated, unsure of what’s going to happen. She took my hands in hers and brought her face a little closer. I quickly turned my head and checked. Night had crept in, it was still drizzling and no one was around who could be looking at us. We kissed, briefly.

Pen : Paper :: Cellphone : Her

2011-06-11T00:52:00.002+05:30

Both pen and cellphone
fear what they might say,
and how.

So, in ink and modems they
keep safe their selves.

Once in a while though a number is dialed
and a poem penned down.

Paper listens as She reads -
both not divulging anything.

They'll wait and watch
how soon again this happens,
and how often.

A curious Buddha and a naked lady

2011-04-22T14:19:00.009+05:30

"Okay, look towards that lamp on the wall... no, the one on the left... right. Umm... and put your right arm on your right breast like this, yes, casually. Spread your feet slightly, slightly more, a little less, that's it, that's perfect.", Rinzen said looking at Anna through the camera lens.

"What has happened to you, Lama?", Anna asked teasingly. She had no idea that Rinzen, a Tibetan monk whom she had met only a few hours ago on a train to New Delhi, would become so different in such a short time. Neither did Rinzen.

"I don't know", he shrugged his shoulder and said with a child like grin. In the 8 hours of conversation they had had on the train, not once did he say that. He had sounded very definitive of his opinions that were rooted mostly in the sacred Buddhist literature. Yet his surety was brittle, his arguments finishing with ellipses. He had explained his theories with rigor and gravity, but he would look into her eyes as if pleading to tell him that he was wrong. That’s what she loved about him instantly - he was a man who radiated conviction on the surface but was troubled with a desperate urge for change inside ... just like she was.

"This light is dim. Is there a bulb in this thing, what do you call...a flash? Does it have one of those? How do I start it?" He pressed some random buttons, flipped the camera up side down and then looked at Anna helplessly.

"Press that red button on the top... yes, that one", she said, laughing. "You know this Lama I met on a train; he gave me a sermon on meditation. I think he was a sham."

"Of course he was. Didn't he gave you a sermon on celibacy as well? I think he was... fucking with you", he said and started laughing at his own joke. This was probably the first time he had used that word. "Don't you distract me from my goal, woman! Let the Buddha click the naked lady", he said and started clicking pictures of her.

Anna changed her expressions spontaneously. She moaned for the first picture, looked towards the camera sensuously for the second, closed her eyes tightly and stuck out her tongue for the third. She had found the middle-aged intellectual lama attractive, but she was enjoying the company of this curious young man with a new found libido even more.

"Will you go back to Dharmshala, to your Monastery to live that life again?" she inquired, reminded suddenly of a basic Buddhist tenet that says nothing in this world is permanent.

"I don't know." he replied gleefully, still clicking her pictures from different angles. Then he put down the camera and looked at her, "I don't know what I will do. I don't know what I should do. I don't even know what I am doing right now. I only know that I feel like clicking your cute little ass staring at me"

Anna laughed with him and remembered another very basic Buddhist tenet – liberation is in the present moment.

A prayer?

2011-04-18T02:05:00.003+05:30

Desperate labeling of the observed

beneath a layer of

songs playing without any pause

beneath layers of

long threads of random memories

or/and narratives of many a fictitious events

that feed my me.

Frequency is low but the buzz

unceasing...

drained of zest for life.

Thanks.

Whatever you keep recreating

and sustaining,

at 3 inches to the right of my left ear

in the back of my head,

must get stilled.

The Now must pour out now

through the portals in my heart

and flow in all directions.

Let life act through me.

हल्का नीला बिंदु - कार्ल सगन (Hindi)

2011-02-07T04:18:00.000+05:30

The Korner ka Kulchchewala

2010-07-24T22:26:00.017+05:30

The Korner ka Kulchchcewala wondered how tomatoes would be liked,
should he chop them or dice them
or mince or grind or vandyke?

Tomatoes and carrots and asparagus
(onions are such a bore)
should go fancy with sesame pineapple dressing.
And myrrh, chive, coriander and mint
(with tamarind of course),
could make for a typical seasoning.

Herbs, he had just read,
‘stimulate the trigeminal nerve.’
And dressing is important;
eyes, don't they eat first?

But only so much, right now, for flavor
and sight!
There was a lot to figure out by
tonight-
the correct blend for maida,
the effects of unsaturated oils,
the sprouting time of various cholas
and utensils- phew! they are of hundred kinds.

there was arrangement of stools then
and colors for his stall,
suitable email IDs
(for party orders),
oh! and shouldn't he serve hot water bowls?

Overwhelmed with questions and
with possibilities the future seemed full of,
he mulled over a little
and quietly dozed off.
He's been oversleeping since he last went to work.
He's been oversleeping for a while now.

Will the Korner ka Kulchchewala,
now with some erudition and an awareness of his method,
ever be able to cook again
for his mind appears ever-jumbled with permutations and plays?

Will he regain his culinary proficiency:
the effortless, characteristic ways?
Or will indulgence in contemplation and imagination
mark his fall from grace?

Will he even get out of bed?

My pen gently pukes

2010-06-18T18:17:00.003+05:30

Don't own poems,
I am not a poet.
I don't try to rhyme
or beautify.
These things in my chest make me queasy sometimes.
So this what I do,
and this is how.

These phases-

2010-06-18T17:56:00.007+05:30

These phases-
when the storyteller takes a back seat.

Why
when you dive into
the depths of your heart,
voluntarily
but empty of purpose,
word by word
a poem emerges?

And why
when it provides no answers
it gives a state of clarity?

Boundless

2010-06-17T18:03:00.002+05:30

With the air, that I breathe
and that surrounds me,
With the floor on which
I lie surrendered,
I dissolve into Thee.

Oh, how liberating!

Avowal

2010-06-08T08:00:00.003+05:30

Don't want to look at the bright side
of what is.
I want to see what is
and be at peace with it.
Rationalizing is conjuring-
enough of it.
I will now live by
what I realize.

They don't belong

2010-05-26T10:54:00.004+05:30

Two guys were coming towards me, waving. They carried big, friendly smiles and seemed very happy to see me, so I looked away. It won't be easy to escape from them.
There are those of them who take to terraces and balconies of their houses & there are those who would go for half occupied park benches in evenings(and would carry a newspaper and a wristwatch). Those of them are innocuous.
These guys were amongst the bolder ones, the more open ones- they accost.
'Hi! How have you been?', they asked me very warmly. Thats how they start, they ask an easy to answer question.('Whats the time, Sir?', if they don't know you.)
'Good.', I replied tersely. I wasn't going to give in so easily.
'Thats great!', one of them exclaimed and then looked at the other one, 'In fact, he looks perfectly fit and happy, doesn't he?'
'Of course he does.', the other guy went on to explain how my great character, good habits, life principles and work ethics help me be perfectly fit and happy. When he stopped both of them looked at me with anticipating eyes.
They love talking about you and they can listen for hours if you want to talk about yourself too. I was quite tempted but it wasn't the time to make mistakes. I did not utter a word.
A small silence ensued and I thought I would have my chance soon but they weren't going to give in so easily either, 'Did you hear about...' They started telling me about a totally unimportant & irrelevant event that had happened a fortnight ago in our society. The matter was highly fascinating and they were narrating in a most masterly fashion. They are always great story-tellers, these people.(for how else will they get an audience?)
I stared down at the floor and started tapping my boots impatiently. It did not stop them from recounting the whole incident but it did make one of them say in the end what I had been waiting for, 'Hope you aren't in any hurry.'
Their soft voices clearly indicated that all they wanted was a few minutes of my genuine company. I lifted my head and looked at them. There were lines of sadness marked all over their faces and in their eyes there was a mix of misery and persuasion. The kind of mix you see in dogs.
'Yeah, some urgent work.', I said hurriedly and walked off.

All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
All the lonely people, don't they know they don't belong?

Am I smarter than a rickshaw driver

2010-04-10T12:19:00.006+05:30

The latest auto rickshaw ride confirmed what I already knew- no matter how smart you think you are, you will always be outsmarted in Delhi.
The frequent traffic jams and stop lights gave me ample of time to engage in a healthy conversation with my auto driver, who was quite amicable and inquisitive....and had strong deductive reasoning I might add.
He enquired about my age, family, job and salary. Then asked, "You earn so well, why don't you get married?"
I told him I don't plan to get married. I wondered if I could steer the conversation and find out his opinions on matters like live-in relationships and pre-marital sex.
But before I could say anything he asked, "Is there a malfunctioning?"
"What?!"
"Is there a Malfunctioning?"
"Oh! No, that is not the reason."
"I have a friend who used to run away from his wife at nights. Then we made him see a doctor and now he doesn't leave his wife even in daytime."
I assured him that everything was functioning quite well.
"I am just saying that some people don't tell because they feel shy about it." He checked me in his back view mirror and then raised his left fist. "If its like this....", he slowly erected his left hand index finger from a loose horizontal position to a tight vertical one, "...it will be like this."
I liked it that he was concerned and that he recommended doctor and not shilajeet. I explained him that there could be reasons besides malfunctioning for not getting married and asked him to consider Atal Bihari Vajpayee for example.
"Atal ji was in love with Indira. She married Feroz and that broke his heart." He went on about Atal ji and Indira's political and love life and then suddenly exclaimed,"Oh I see! Your mehbooba has also married someone else."
It didn't seem wise to confide to him that I have never had a mehbooba. I therefore simply told him that I value freedom highly and marriage seemed binding. I thought he would understand and shut up or more likely, he would not understand and shut up.
"Bhaiya ji, you have completed your education, you have such a good job, what do you want freedom for?"
I am proud of my spontaneity and sophistry. I easily outwit my parents when they say I am naive, or my friends when they say I am gay or my peers when they say I am running away from responsibility. But uptil then, I had never been sincerely asked what I wanted freedom for. I didn't know what to say to him, "...there are so many things to do in life...umm...you know, like seeing the world and...umm... doing adventurous stuff."
We were silent for some time. Perhaps we were both thinking about the point I just made. After a while though he shrugged his shoulders and said with a smile,"You have money and these girls of Delhi these days...they will give you everything without marriage, so I understand."
I was glad that he thought he did.
He stopped the auto right outside the railway station from where I was to catch my train and helped me unload my baggage. I liked the guy a lot and gave him more than the promised fare.
"It will be 200."
"200! We agreed about 120!"
"One of the flyovers was one-way, bhaiya ji. You did not notice as you were busy talking, we took a longer route."
I handed him the money without any arguments and walked slowly towards the station, staring at the floor below, feeling outsmarted.

(On why he is not writing)

2010-02-05T05:53:00.012+05:30

A mould,

with its latency,

and all its potential to become,

is but a mould.

---------x---

The old is dead

and a new has just kicked off

-an exciting phase of anticipation.

---------x---

The core,

inside the viscous fluid,

despite its ability to shape it

chooses silent onlooking.

It knows,

the will be had been choosen.

Dear fellow Earthians

2009-12-04T01:07:00.011+05:30

Dear fellow Earthians

I have grown sick and tired of you. I will be leaving this planet soon for a one far off. Please do not mourn my demise. The body is but an illusion and death a journey through the interstellar space, the fastest means to do so.

Obviously you are going to miss me. Without my able guidance and love you are going to feel orphaned, and you have every right to feel so, but you leave me with little choice.

I came here and stooped down to your level so that we may rise together and reach new heights but you showed little progress in all this time.

I had asked you to observe and wonder but you were too busy with nit picking those days. Then I tried to evolve you by making you believers but you turned into religious fanatic always on the look for females from other faiths. I asked you to start thinking for yourselves, and you started to think only about yourselves. When I helped you realise your creative potential, you endlessly created the two things that now are root of all of your concerns- bombs and babies. And now that I ask you to watch your thoughts and quieten your mind, you show me the finger. I mean, seriously, fuck you guys.

Despite your poor response I know it’s not right to leave you folks in the middle, after all I am breaching the contract I signed with the Universe but then I have just been granted the tourist permit and it’s every saint’s dream to spend a few life times in Utopo.

Utopo, the fourth planet of an unnamed double star, is resided by the most evolved sentient beings in all of the blue-planets so far discovered.

The Utopons never fight or complain, even the babies don’t whine, not even for breast milk. They have no governments, armies or religions, and have very few laws as most beings are conscious enough to oversee themselves. They are fond of sports and sex, but they do it only for fun. They are creative beings too, and they create with a foresight; they created birth control pills much before they invented wooden wheels.

But the best thing about Utopo is that it is a special zone; it does not really come under the jurisdiction of the Universe or the God. The rules and conditions are minimum and you are not assigned any purpose when you are born there nor are you supposed to create one for yourself.

I yearn for some freedom now after the tireless thankless job I did on you for ages. But I am not leaving you on the mercy of Fate; he is coming with me to Utopo. I am leaving you guys at your own mercy.

You have the power and the responsibility to choose your destiny from here. You have been guided enough and goaded enough, and now if you find yourself incapable of facing the challenges, and knowing you closely I am sure you will, pray to God. May be, some one will come soon to fill in for me.

Your Guardian Angel

A nerd's confession

2009-10-30T12:15:00.013+05:30

(A mini-short love story)

I talked about coffee and Global Warmng and contribution of coffee to Global warming.
She talked about life and people, and I wondered if I should recite my poems.

They don't exaggerate in movies; confessing is difficult, even when
lines are memorized.

"I know what you want to say, lover boy."
I looked at her and felt naked.

She smiled. Though no champion in non-verbal communication, I felt
play, and, love, and discernment in her smile. Saying anything seemed needless.

It was perfect.

So I ruined it, "Listen, my social and emotional quotients aren’t that
high...and…you are too good for me, you know."

She took my hand in hers and kissed it adoringly. "You are too good to me, you know."

I wondered if I should recite my poems.

The Secret

2009-10-14T14:01:00.010+05:30

Bathing Is Magical.
When I would be on my deathbed, drawing my last breaths...these would be final words for posterity, for men reveal the most obscured secrets when the curtains of their lives are falling. And I, a man of knowledge and wisdom, will sure have a lot to reval but nothing would be as significant and as mysterious as this- Bathing Is Magical.
This secret, like all secrets of nature, becomes obvious once man opens the eyes of his mind to it. Until then, he remains blinded; he looks but doesn't see it. Hundreds of millions of men- rich and poor, young and old, religiously bathe daily, some more than once yet they fail to see the magic- so obscured it is.
Why, even I, a seeker of truths who has seen twenty three summers in his life and (it won't be preposterous to say that)has had quite a few baths in this time, was mysteriously unaware of this fact until recently.
This one morning, a few mornings ago, while lying on bed I felt a sudden inspiration to go to the bathroom. It may be mentioned here that I had been supine for three whole days and radical notions like those of motion do not arise in me easily.
Curiosity got hold of me and I got up and entered the place.
Memories came to me. The towel was hanging on the door knob just as I had left it a fortnight ago, the soap bathing in the overflooded soapbox, the bucket and the mug- the lovely pair was woven together by gossamer but strong threads of spider web...and there was the shower. With no forethought, I turned it on.
Water came.
Hymns and paeans have been written on Adam's ale by men in all ages. Common knowledge it is that it quenches thirst not of body alone but of mind and of soul too. Yet, let this be known today that elixir it is called not because it sustains life but because life sprouts and rejoices in it. The first helical forms came together and danced not because their thirsts were satiated(how ridiculous!) but because they were rejoicing in the magic of bathing.
Water came, pouring down from the pores of shower like a rain from heavens. It touched that which is immortal in me. All I could do(and all there is to do) was observe and experience the magic happening. I saw my mouth opening wide and gulping down air as the first drops of cold water fell on my body. I saw my heart beat again in delight and I saw my head turn up towards the sky, that lay hidden behind the roof of the floor above. I even saw the dead cells washing away and taking away with them the dirt and the stink and the sensations of itching.
I felt feather-weighted. The skin was soft, smooth and almost fair. I was glowing, and it occured to me that I might be made of light.
I felt fresh, light, decontaminated and...energetic. Life was suddenly worth living. There were things to do- mountains to climb and oceans to sail across and women to make love to.
I stepped out of my room and climbed stairs three at a time to reach the terrace. From there I was able to see man clearly in the morning sun- a filthy, ignorant, lowly creature with no purpose in life. I abused him and sermonized, "Listen you O scums of the earth, shed your torpor. Go take a bath and discover that life is meant to do great things and discover that all that you need to accomplish, life provides. Go and shut youself in bathroom and pour buckets of water over yourself until the truth be known to you."
I shouted at the top of my voice, for what is required to wake up man from his deepest slumber, but a good bath and a pep-talk.
It had no effect, however. They carried on like they always had been(such is man), but why would I care?
I had many mountains to climb, and the five oceans to sail across and women to make passionate love to.

Oh! Its about to come.

2009-09-22T22:15:00.018+05:30

Last night, I stripped myself naked and lied on bed.

Its funny time, september- too early to be comfortable with your A.C.s off and yet too soon to do without them, that is when you have your clothes on.

I had my fan on at the lowest speed; the soft brush of wind against my body was balming my mind which was desperate in its hunt for ideas. I lied on the bed for about two hours, sometimes scribbling a few notes on a pad, sometimes combing my hair and quite often scratching my groin area(all with the same pen) but the ever elusive ideas...they never came.

And I am wondering why? Why didn't anything come?

When do ideas come? How do they come? Where do they come from?

And (perhaps)most importantly- what is that one has to do so that they could come?

I don't know. May be there are no definite answers. May be there are no answers. Or may be experience will help me find some patterns in their apparent randomness. Can't say much right now.

All I can say is that there is this feeling sometimes and I go with it- take a wrong turn while going home, for instance, and sit in a strange place or spend entire evening watching kids play in a local garden or skip my dinner and lie on terrace floor gazing stars,... and ideas come.

Without an ounce of effort.

Doing it

2009-07-25T02:10:00.005+05:30

Doing it!

Going from Manali to Leh, cycling through the highest motorable road in India!

The beauty and the beast. And me.

2009-06-11T14:41:00.006+05:30

I am not so much nervous around women, specially not when I lack intentions.
But after a year long stay at a place where you don't get to see any woman between 14 to 40, even the prospects of talking to a girl were shaking me like a leaf.
There was this meeting with a girl regarding some project we were going to work on. So I bathed twice that day. Dressed neatly. Rehearsed my selected impromptu jokes. And combed untill I felt good to go.
She was waiting for me. We exchanged a few smiles and pleasantries, and selected a comfortable looking sofa to sit on. My nerves were just begining to settle when a voice was heard.
A man was asking her, "Ye aapke chote bhai hai kya?".
F***er! Where the hell did you drop from!
"No", she replied tersely and ignored him.
Now he turns to me and says with a bit of surprise on his face, "Aap inke chote bhai nahi hai!"
I might have felt like punching him right on his nose but there were these subconcious alerts buzzing loudly inside my skull- She is watching you. Judging you. First impression...last impression.
"No. I work here.", I said very, very respectfully.
Ab chup rehna bhai, whoever you are. Don't ruin this anymore.
"Yahan! Is company mein! Aap Executive hain!"
"Yeah, I know...chehre se lagta nahi hai." I said with a smile and quickly involved her into a conversation so that he may not trouble us again. And he didn't...for the next few minutes.
It is okay. I can handle this from here. So what if my childish appearance has been highlighted, I still have my impromptu jokes with me.
"Aapki Age kitni hogi?" Devils had sent him.
"Taiees. Twenty Three.", I said curtly and stared long and hard at the black of his eyes, making sure that the message was sent clear- One more word dude and I am going to eat you up. Raw.
Thankfully he left the room and allowed us to talk peacefully thereafter.
I returned to my room after about a half an hour and decided to wipe off the man from my mental tapes a.s.a.p. You might have ruined it in actuality but you can not spoil it in my memory. I tried hard to remove his parts but couldn't. In fact, I discovered to my horror that all I could remember of the evening was Him! Such was the impact.

It wasn't all that important...the meeting, the impression and all; I wasn't trying to woo that girl afterall.
Still, it mattered.

And that is why I ask her, through this post, Was it really as bad as I think it was???

Knowing a lot about

2009-06-09T23:36:00.007+05:30

Browsing through my uncle's library I got hold of a book which startled me.
"Wisdom of crowds? wtf! Crowds are stupid.", I exclaimed to myself.
Obviously, crowds Are stupid. History is replete with examples. There are explainations for it- scientific, psychological, philosphical. I knew them. I agreed with them. This was one of those things I couldn't be more sure of.
Pointing at the book with a half-suspicious-half-curious look I said to him, "I thought crowds were stupid" Why would he buy something like this!
"Right, Right", he said widening his eyes and nodding his head in excitement,"that is why we should read him, he is saying something contrary to our opinion."
His answer made me still for a moment. My instincts were to argue, refute and ridicule the concept, where as he was actually trying to listen.
It was a small incident but a significant one. It reminds me to be open minded, to be curious and inquisitive...more so on matters that I think I already know a lot about.

P.S. Turns out I confused "Groups" with "Crowds"...still who thinks Crowds can be wise.

Pride and Prejudice

2009-05-26T21:46:00.004+05:30

I was swallowing the mess food while watching retelecasts of IPL one afternoon when I got poked.
"Did You see that?" It was the guy sitting next to me.
"Huh?"
"Did You see that?", he said pointing to the hot HR couple who had just finished their lunch and were leaving.
"What?", I was expecting some comment on the girl as that is what I generally hear from him. And so turned my attention to the television.
"That! The guy picked up the girl's plate!", he literally exclaimed. I saw his face. It carried an expression which said that something disgusting and very silly had happened at the same time. The guy has had all his schooling in some village in Bihar and being acquainted with him I well knew what he meant, still I put on a garb of innocence and tried to enquire.
"So?"
"What do you mean so? Will you pick your wife's plate!", he said thinking this would make me understand.
"I might."
"Then you will wash her clothes as well."
"May be."
"And you will press her legs when she is tired.", he said laughing at my foolishness.
"Whats wrong with that?", I asked unperturbed and with childish keenness.
He started banging the table.
"Hey Pradsad, hey devi, come here and listen what Parikh is saying." He called his mates and briefed them about our little conversation. They started laughing at and mocking me.
When you are surrendered by guys who would ridicule your every word spoken, you should keep your notions to yourself. That is the best defence. But oversmartness got me then and I thought I should try to reason with them.
"Bhai logo, both of them work at the same position, earn the same...whats wrong with the guy picking the girl's plate once."
And there was more laughter, more jokes on me.

I have played this conversation many times in my mind and it has always brought a smile on my face. Partly because of the musical and rustic Bihari tone of his, but mostly becuase all the time when they were laughing at me, I was laughing proudly at their prejudice.

The hundred rupee game.

2009-05-08T12:55:00.015+05:30

What do you do when you reach Rishikesh early in the evening, luggaged and lunchless?

Check in to a hotel?

Attack a restaurant?

Go GangaKinare?

We played cricket..with slum kids, thanks to Apoorva's whims.

While asking for directions to Laxman Jhoola, we discovered kids playing cricket on something like a playground and so approached the tallest and (apparently) the eldest of them to ask for our inclusion.

I now well understand what 'Street Smart' means, for we ended up challenging the guy a Rs 100 match on his home turf with all the pros in his team and the bacchaparty in ours.
The result was predictable. We fought well but were no match for the crossbatted see and hit batters and round armed bending-back bowlers. Baring me, no one was able to create any sort of impression( this is MY BLOG!).

By the time the promised sum was paid(from apoorva's pocket :) ) and a little photosession with them had ended, the sun was already sinking. I figured we were still somewhere far from Laxman Jhoola, still without a hotel, drained, but with luggage and valuables...and with a day less for for sight seeing.

Just then Apoorva asked, "What do you think? How was the whole experience?"

I did not have to think. Not for a moment. "Its the best 100 rupees you have ever spent."

P.S. I am writing this post only for I told Apoorva I would. Given my severe limitations as a writer and the liveliness of the photographs captured, I think the pics would tell the story better first hand.
Click here to see a few of them, beautifully captured by Ritesh. The rest will be uploaded soon.

can you Think the answer?

2009-05-05T22:42:00.011+05:30

Shit Happened?
What did it sound like?

P.S. This is a spoof of zen teaching...ironically it turns out to be very insightful.

"Live alone to evolve"---Quoted

2009-05-03T16:27:00.022+05:30

Check out The Bet by Anton Chikov. The Bet is a brilliantly written short story about a banker and a young man who make a bet with each other based on capital punishment and whether the death penalty is better or worse than life in prison.

***

One must be compltely alone in one's investigation. Aloneness does not mean isolation, it doesnot mean one is withdrawn and has built a wall around oneself. Aloneness means that one is all one. -J Krishnamurthi

Solitude is the furnace of transformation. Without solitude we remain victims of our society and continue to be entangled in the illusions of the false self. —Henri J. M. Nouwen

It seemed to be a necessary ritual that he should prepare himself for sleep by meditating under the solemnity of the night sky... a mysterious transaction between the infinity of the soul and the infinity of the universe. -Victor Hugo

I live in that solitude which is painful in youth, but delicious in the years of maturity. -Albert Einstein

Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is the richness of self. -May Sarton

The self-confidence of the warrior is not the self-confidence of the average man. The average man seeks certainty in the eyes of the onlooker and calls that self-confidence. The warrior seeks impeccability in his own eyes and calls that humbleness. The average man is hooked to his fellow men, while the warrior is hooked only to infinity. -Carlos Castaneda

Spiritual joys come only from solitude,
So the wise choose the bottom of the well,
For the darkness down there beats
The darkness up here.
He who follows at the heels of the world
Never saves his head.
- Rumi, Solitude

I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude. We are for the most part more lonely when we go abroad among men than when we stay in our chambers. -Henry David Thoreau

***
w.r.t. the post Live alone to evolve. Further clarification on meaning of aloneness and its role in personal growth.

Eyeball

2009-04-24T18:41:00.005+05:30

Our eyes met. They had to; she was sitting directly opposite to me, facing me. And thus began the game.

Stadium: Four Seasons, Jaipur

Conditions: Extremely tough. She was with her family and I was with mine.

Team Morale: Low. No prior experience of eyeballing.

Opposition: Pretty but looked bored.

First Half:
I looked at her, gently and appreciatively. She looked back, blank.
I looked at her. She looked back.
I smiled faintly. She scanned me.
A glance. A glimpse.
Ping. Pong.
A long rally built morsel by morsel.

Second Half:
Complete change of play.
Tantrums and display.
I looked. She ignored.
I looked. She was laughing gracefully at some joke.
I looked. She was adjusting her hair that fell on her face.
I looked. She was looking everywhere but at me.
Then, a furtive glance. The game was pretty much on.

Injury Time:
No shots on target. When the food is over and the bill is awaited people at your table tend to talk to you. Whistle was about to be blown and I was yet to score. I just went to the washroom.

Corner:
There she was on my way back...looking at me. She was in good mood.
I smiled and looked at her as I first did, gently and appreciatively.
She saw. Did not react. She logged it.
Strike!

Almost a dream debut. Lot to take along with.

The tale of the first ride

2009-04-12T02:04:00.008+05:30

I stood nervous, not sure if I was ready for it. Had I done the recommended?
The cash was put in three different places. Cellphone was switched off and hided. Books were in the lappy bag, lappy in the ruscksack, rucksack locked, key in the wallet. Wallet in the front pocket. Packaged water and food purchased. Intestine and bladder emptied. What else? yeah, shirt outed, hair ruffled. A compartment with relatively better dressed people selected after a full scan of the train.
That meant I was well prepared and the apprehension was only because it was the first time. I pulled the waist strap of my rucksack- buckled up to say, and finally put first steps in what was going to be my first ride in a passenger train.
I work in a power plant company and so we are fated to live in a remote place, which, if you are lucky, might be directly connected to a city by rickety buses or passenger trains .
But I didn't feel lucky. Instead I felt like a kid having to go through a garden in the night, the spooky stories of which he has heard from his many friends who survived because of their bravery and wisdom. And so I did what the survivors told me to. I used the rucksack as my pillow and slept on the empty uncomfortable wooden berth, even though it was just 9 in the morning.
I didn't know how much time had passed when I got woke up by some guy's shove. "Aapka batuwa neeche gir gaya tha." Your wallet had fallen down. He handed me the wallet smiling gently.
I thanked him and looked away. There were people sitting by my feet. They hadn't woken me up(I was the only one sleeping). Was it their low self esteem? I sat and gazed at the guy who had just woken me up. He was still looking at me, smiling and perhaps wanting to initiate a conversation. And so I looked out of the window. Its always the same on a window seat- farms, meadows and rivers, and a strong breeze rubbing against your face.
"Kaha jaa raheae?" The guy just couldn't hold anymore.
"Huh?"
"Aap kaha jaa raheae?" where are you going? He asked in a poetic bihari tone typical to that region where you stretch the last syllable.
"Umm...Shaktinagar."
"Padhte ho wahaaan?" You study there?
"Nahi kaam karta hu. NTPC mein." No. I work in NTPC.
"Accha! Hamar sala bhi wahi haiai. Sicoreety gaadwa haiai." My brother-in-law also works there. He is a security guard.
"Badhiya."
The guy still kept on looking and smiling, and so I continued the talk. "Aap kaha jaa rahe ho?" Where are you going?
"Chopan. Aur chopan se Bilaspur."
"Hmm."
"Waha ichchadhari naagwa aya haiai. Usi ke darshanwa ke liye jaa rahe. Uske paani se lakwa, andhapan sab gayab ho jaye. Bahut chamatkaari naagwa hai. Mandirwa bhi bana rahe hai wahaaan. " I am going to visit a miraculous snake who has the power to heal people. They are building a temple for him. He said that with an enthusiasm and pride that you have when you are sure you news is going to surprise the other person.
"Hmm." Though he did amuse me and ease me, I showed no interest and thus cut the conversation.
The train was dirty and dingy but wasn't that bad. There was a child eating guawa hungrily and still sharing it with his younger brother. There were crippled kids singing First time dekha tujhe love hogaya in corrupted lyrics and people were giving money to them. And though there was the fruitwala and I was hungry, and the song was good and they were begging, I couldn't participate.
I simply planned to observe more and so didn't sleep again. Also the seats had been immideately taken when I had sat.
It was quite pleasant when the train was moving. But it spent more time stationary than traversing as it had the least priority. As such if you are in no hurry to reach the destination you don't get frustrated much. In fact, with time I was liking the journey. Women in their colored sarees- a one or two breast feeding, men peeing openly on tracks in groups while chit-chatting, kids with blowing noses playing and fighting- it was a mundane, uncomplicated scene and still wondrous.
After 9 hrs for a 200 km track, my station came. Things had changed drastically in that time, though only inside me. Insecurity was replaced by peace, what had been dull was interesting, filthy was beautiful.
I would also exaggerate, dramatise and tell the tale, I decided. But not as that of survival and bravery, but as that of acceptance and love.

Live alone to evolve

2009-04-03T11:18:00.008+05:30

BEWARE. You may find this post Preachy!

Whether I was evening jogging or taking a 3am walk to the maggi stall, snacking in college canteen or in a nearby McD, walking to a class or returning from one, they were always there- the long, ciphered stares at me. And they were accompanied by highly raised eyebrows and slightly open mouths and sometimes by low whispered gossips too. I used to check if my pants were unzipped or my shoes were unmatched or if food was sticking on my face, but that wasn't the case, not all the time. I concluded soon that either I was self-talking in public places or people find me hot. That conclusion might have been partially right but I should have known the main reasons. Atleast when friends started opening up with questions like akele? instead of pleasntries I should have known. But back then, I was too preoccupied with philosophy and physics of particle to ponder over people in genereal and personal peculiarities in particular.

Two weeks before, a waiter did something that brought all those events together and made them related. I went to a local resataurant for a noon meal and selected a nice corner window table. I was alone, as usual, but the waiter served me two glasses of water and two menu cards, and kept on each side of the table. This had been done to me before as well, this time though it struck me.

I observed, questioned and thought about this and more for next few days. What I find is...well, horrifying revealaton for me.

This is how we perceive someone who is alone: sad, ill, depressed, disturbed, frustrated, perverted, idiosyncratic, looser or (sth positive to add) a hermit.

Man is a social animal, I understand. Social life helps fill most of his sexual, emotional and esteem needs, I understand. Besides, man learns moral norms, attitudes, values, motives, social roles, language and symbols...I understand. What we do not understand is these are the exact reasons why one should learn to live alone- to unlearn, to be unfulfilled...to get empty. To realise all the roles, functions and identities not conciously chosen by him and, thus, to unchoose it. To create space for new learning. To evolve.

It is alone when true self is known. When existence is enjoyed, peace is found and wisdom is gained. It is alone when ideas spring, solutions transpire, thoughts rhyme, truths obviate. And I guess, it is through living alone that an appreciaition(and not need) for relationship comes.

Aloneness is not boring or uncomfortable...and it is far from scary. It is joyous. But it demands courage and honest intentions atleast in the start because the very first step is to face and accept your own 'self', which I bet would be restless, cunning, demented and dark, for not much light has been shed on it.

I know I am going too far down the line but if you know you need to break free from your social ties but cannot, if you find it difficult to be at peace when alone and so switch to old patterns, if you sense an immideate need for a big change in yourself, I am going to suggest what Don Juan suggested to Castaneda during his apprenticeship- (paraphrased)go lock youself in a small dingy room for a month from where you can not even see or hear people. Donot come out before time, even when you find youself scratching the walls!
Do you have the balls???

When you will have kids.

2009-03-24T09:02:00.007+05:30

Train travels fascinate me as much as time travels, even after discounting the possibility of girls in my compartment. Last time, however, I had a beautiful girl for company.
It was a sweet, little 5 year old chatterbox from Manchester coming with her parents to spend the Easter holidays here in India. And though it was well past midnight and everyone was soundly sleeping, the girl was wide awake and talking nonstop for it was still only evening in U.K.
I observed from my berth how her father attended her. He listened and listened and, God, listened for hours to all the stories and questions and comments she was making. The guy had landed in New Delhi only that morning after changing 3 flights, hadn't slept all day and now he was torchered to this. I had to comment, "I was watching you... you know, keenly listening to her for so long. It must be tough being a father."
He said understanding what I was referring to, "Yes but it is exciting as well. I can easily scold her and make her sleep but listening to her is such a joy."
I nodded as if I got it but it was a little hard to follow. The guy was hardly 30. Why then was he seeing this differenly than me? I would have scared the baby to sleep...if not woken her mother up. How did he find so much patience and energy? What was so motivating? Kids are good, they are lovely and seriously, hearing that girl's gibbberish in British accent was pleasurable....but for how long!
I decided to listen attentively to all that she was saying; it might be fun. And if he could do that so could I. Of course, I have always been bad at listening and good at day dreaming and so after every minute or so I would drift off to some distant thought then catch myself and try again. But there was him, still talking to her, teaching her, playing with her, answering her- all this with an occasional smile on his face.
I guess being a father is more than being just a guy with a kid to raise. A child transforms you. I remembered how I always laugh when my parents use the most cliched comment as a resort to my arguments- You will understand when you will have kids. Well, may be they are right. There are things that can be understood only through experience. Next time I won't laugh when they say it. Next time I'll nod...as if I got it.

Shit helped.

2009-03-08T19:01:00.008+05:30

I stepped on shit. And that brought me back to where I was.
The track around the stadium that I usually take for jogging was spoiled that day. I had decided to try a new one that diverts from the old comfortable one after a few hundred metres but I guess I got so consumed with all the pointless stories in my head, that I completely forgot to take the turn.
As I searched for a big rock with a big edge to rub my shoe sole against, I looked back at the road I just traversed. There was more than a half-a-kilometer track that I don't remember jogging on! It feels strange- not remembering how you came to where you are. I din't choose the same old track again and yet it is not choosing precisely that got me here. I din't turn alright but I should have avoided the shit...atleast I should have seen myself stepping on it! Where was I then!
Not tomorrow, I promised. Not Tomorrow.

Who's the man!

2009-02-16T20:43:00.011+05:30

I just completed 23 years of my life. And I don't shave yet. Or drink beer.
Infact, no booze, no weeds, no fags, no shags for me. No affairs. No eve-teasing.
And believe me if you will, never went to some busy mall with friends and ogled girls.
Never ever had long hair!
No brawls or fist fights.
Had a few minor screw-ups but nothing I can boast about.
I don't use foul words(?)...atleast not in hindi.
Have absolutely no interest in bikes.
And I don't like porn much.
I guess I could blame it on my frustratingly passive hormones or on my highly oppresive superego...but it din't feel like 'man' on the night i completed 23. I tried to hypnotize myself all night in front of mirror by repeating, "24th running. U r the man now!" But it failed everytime i noticed my slim, feather-weight body or my pubic moustache or clean chest.
I woke up early the next day with a call from home. It was my mom with all her love and pride, "Happy twenty third Birth Day baby. Oouuui..my baby is a man now!"
Yeah! Now it felt like a man.

Divine Revealations! -3

2009-02-05T19:24:00.008+05:30

You are not beautiful. I might look rude but I don' say it just like that. I know what beautiful is.
Vast blue ocean
or mountain lakes;
morning dew
or snow flakes;
architecture of bugs;
the glides of birds;
all the life under sea
(though seen only on TV);
whispers and screams
of adolescent streams;
symetries in flowers;
cascadian showers;
sun in winter noons;
unobscured night moons;
...
boobs- small or big
of topless chicks;
...
the tiny fists of tiny infants
(and their peculiar scents);
...
...
some songs; some lyrics;
some equations of physics;
some paradoxes; some quotes;
some math-proofs some wizards wrote;
...
of course, Dada's drives and Dada's slogs;
my perfect defences on swinging balls;
...
...
You see why you are not beautiful. Beautiful is commonplace.
And you are unique, most wonderful, and beyond comparision.
You can not be beautiful. You are an idea...of ideal. Idol. I got the word.
You are 'God'.

Divine Revealations! -2

2009-01-29T02:06:00.007+05:30

After watching you first couple of times, I became sure that there was a creator...a God. Such perfections, such purity, such beauty, and all for me to witness and enjoy- there had to be a god.
I believed i was blessed. I was a kid then.
With time one grows up and matures. I know now there is no god that created you. I know You are God itself. You are the definition.

Divine Revealations!

2009-01-21T13:10:00.006+05:30

I have seen God. Many, many times. And sometimes, we have chatted too.
Its true. I am not asking you to believe for I am a sceptic myself..and as such an atheist too.
If only i had not tried to understand and rationalise the experience I would have been much closer to God by now. All i have learned from my enquiry is that doubts or explainations cannot belie the experience.
And the experience is pure awesomeness! Time slows down. Things go in the background and fade away. Thoughts don't pop-up. There is nothing more you wish for. Its like being almost dead and most alive at the same moment.
The converstaions, ofcourse, haven't been that rich. You are so dumbstruck and stupified with joy that the few words and acts that occur are only non-volitional reactions. And mostly unintelligent. My impressions are bad, I know. God doesn't think i am smart or matured or worth it but what do i do? I am capable of only witnessing and revering the height of quality, ...the Godness of her existance.
My friends say I have been very stupid and sissy. But you tell me, How could have I dared to ask her out?

i

2008-12-14T15:11:00.008+05:30

I seeked it
to efface all 'WHY?';
it found it
there wasn't any I.

***
Many things remain same but they look different at different times. I don't really know what I meant when I wrote this poem but it has always meant something(sometimes i have rather forced it to mean something) and has always been close to me, for it came from somewhere inside.
And these days i feel i really understand it.

Physics Poetry, Arts etc.

2008-12-10T15:18:00.004+05:30

Check out Poetry by Physics Professors and geeks here:
http://www.ap.smu.ca/~smuaps/quotes.shtml
For one reason or other, it wld make u smile. :)

My fav. is "Active Galactic Nuclei" by G. Gamow and N. Calder

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
We know exactly what you are:
Nuclear furnace in the sky,
You'll burn to ashes, by and by.
But twinkle, twinkle, quasi-star,
Biggest puzzle from afar;
How unlike the other ones,
Brighter than a trillion suns.
Twinkle, twinkle, quasi-star,
How we wonder what you are ...

:)

Heaven

2008-12-06T19:02:00.005+05:30

Nothing to do,
a warm Winter Sun
...what more?

Mad Mad World

2008-12-04T20:25:00.006+05:30

I am not a music person. But this song from Donnie Darko instantly touched me. I am not a cynic either, I never was...but the reality of it, or the perception i shld say, felt depressingly good.
Herez a part of the song:

"All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, Worn out faces
Bright and early for the daily races
Going nowhere, Going nowhere
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, No expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, No tomorrow

And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad
These dreams in which i'm dying, Are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take
When people run in circles 's a very very¦Mad World, Mad World"

***
For all those who have a taste in bizarre, watch the muvee.
One of my favourites.

(to be edited a lot)

2008-12-04T01:43:00.002+05:30

I catch my thoughts
...then the sensations
& the feelings
then heartbeats
reeling
through different parts
...and then the silence buzzes.
I feel proud
...and it stops.

Last Poem???

2008-12-03T19:44:00.002+05:30

My doggerels are naive
but they fill me with dread;
they keep Mohit alive
while I so want him dead.

End of questions

2008-11-29T20:47:00.004+05:30

Here is the secret:
Never let your gaurd down and the rest will happen by itself.

Shit, did i just type 'a' before 'u' !

Why Again?

Inside

2008-11-09T15:55:00.005+05:30

Sometimes...
when its all chaotic
or fuzzy
or even lucid but too much,
I jerk off
and flush all off;
How Wow being Zero!

I Suck!

2008-10-23T02:10:00.006+05:30

Attached, obsessed with ephemerals

I weave dreamy dreams;

and as indulgence eventually ends

I cry laughing at my antics.

P.S. How do i label a musing on my own insanity? My awareness of madness should hence mean my freedom from it, but I enjoy...and repeat. Thus, I suck.

Misadventures score way over missed adventures

2008-09-29T17:41:00.019+05:30

Two months ago, in a rest house surrounded by nothing but woods alone, Vivek and me were arguing whether to continue on our journey or give up.
We had planned an 86 km- in 7 days- uphill-and-downhill-treking-tour from Bageshwar(Basecamp, 950m a.s.l.) to Pindari Glacier(Zero Point, 3353m a.s.l.). We had always known that our rucksacks must contain only, or atleast, 'essentials', that our group should be fairly large, that we should go with some training and lots of information...but we didn't. We had grossly underestimated the conditions. Add to that the fright induced by the locals for we were in the wrong season(it was monsoon and the next week the rest houses were closing), without any guide(we thought that would ruin the sense of adventure), and a bridge had fallen(just pure bad timing). So only two days into it, we were too scared and enervated to continue.
It was around sunset that a man came there with his son to board a room, so we decided to engage in some conversation.
After a formal introduction(the man was a Major, Gorkha Rifles and was addicted to smoking and trekking), I asked "Sir, how is the bridge up there?"
"The regular one has flown with the river and the other is broken. People have put some planks so we used that."
"So its dangerous???" I said raising my eyebrows and anticipating an affirmation.
"A little. Actually a team of researchers studying the glacier is trapped so the planks are for them. They'll close the bridge for repair day after tomorrow i think."
I looked at Vivek with a gaze which said 'we were going right, pal...the trip is off'. Thanks to the Major, it wasn't.
"Are you two going to Pindari?" He inquired for there is one more glacier(Kafni) the path of which separates after that camp.
"No actually, we had planned to but now, we'll return I think. What can we do? I mean its raining heavily and the bridge..." I tried to show that the conditions handicap-ed us but he interrupted as if he knew the content of my arguments were insignificant.
"No, No , No...you must go. Its not that dangerous. I did it with my 12 year old son." That was a point. Though we had learned never to compare ourselves with pahari log, it was a 12 year old kid goddamit! "Even if the bridge is dismantled", he continued, "its worth going till there. See, trekking is about measuring yourself and overcoming your limitations." We told him that we came for trekking just-like-that and had no idea what it was. He probably knew how to bait such first-timers and thus he showed us photographs in his digi. We were simply awed. "When will you get to see the rhodonderons, the oakforests, coniferous trees with ferns allover there trunks...."
"Yeah but sir, we are also a bit ill-equipped." We were in dire needs of assurance so i planned to list out all why-we-shldn't-carry-on-pretexts to him.
"You got your rucksack and trekking shoes and first aid kit?" Vivek nodded in affirmation. "Its a bit windy near the glacier. You have windsheeter?"
We nodded, but this time, in disagreement.
"And rain coats and wollens?"
"Actually he doesn't have a raincoat," I pointed to vivek, smiling for i was supposed to bring one for him and i forgot. We barely had woolens as well but I did not report that. There was already too much a display of foolhardiness for a first meeting.
"Ok. Here, take this windsheeter, i am sorry i have only one, and this umbrella."
We resisted but he convinced us take them and return them after the journey. (The wretched beings we are, we gave the belongings to the rest house keeper in our return journey for safekeeping- there is a story to that.)
The Major gave us a few tips on trekking- the walking styles, rucksack-ing, the usual dos and don'ts. We enquired about resting for we had taken frequent and long breaks which apparently did not help, and so he said, "Never take long breaks, you will find difficult to walk again. Just keep walking slowly, one step at a time. And do not look at the peaks, they can be discouraging. If you feel tired just look back how far and high you have traversed, take a few breaths, drink some water and walk again." Then looking nowhere he added something that i guess his father had told him ," ...and remember always to be humble to the mountains."

Well, we did go ahead. The officials at the bridge wanted us to sign a note saying 'we are responsible for whatever happens to us' if we decided to go further up, which was too much for our taking. But we had some 'treasurable' sights: weird trapezoidal cobwebs, the largest hawk we had ever seen, first ever confrontation with a designer-green mountain snake, huge-huge landslides which were even difficult to picture occurring, and the beautiful, and still, more white than black, night skies.

The reason though why we remember the trip most(yeah vivek, i am speaking on your behalf too) is that the words of Major remain with us deeply entrenched in our memories: Just keep walking slowly, one step at a time. And do not look at the peaks, they can be discouraging...

***
Our photographs are not in digital form, but you may check out trek-pics here: http://indoexpedition.com/pindaripic.html

Odd One Out: A misfit's plight

2008-06-04T19:50:00.005+05:30

I am paying 1200 a month to be derided 6 days a week every week. I am being taught & tested, preached and scolded, tortured, intimidated and even harassed.
I have joined a gym.
And i am being reminded, over and over again, that not only i am grossly unfit, i am also a misfit.
I did not have to wait long for the first of the many miserable days. I was doing something with the lightest available dumbles, all twisting and jerking and panting and perspiring when one of the many haughty, muscular 'tashan-man' came to me, straightened my body, and clenched my shoulders tightly.
"Kya khake aaya tha subah?" He said with such an authority that I felt like a school kid treated by his PT taskmaster.
"kuch nahin." I said sheepishly
"tabhi yeh haal hain." Right then the trainer arrived and a few others circled around me. "Sir ye kya hai...bachche bhi aate hai aajkal."
"Arey ye engineer saab hai." But that din't seem to make any difference to that man. He was enjoying the contrasts in our physique and wanted to explore all the ways to humiliate me. He continued, "Kitne saal ka hai?"
"23." i thought this would earn me some respect.
"16-17 bolta to bhi maan leta. Bahut boori halat hai yaar teri. Gym aane se kuch nahin hona...yeh t-shirt sahi pehni hai tune UNICEF ki." Three or four of them laughed quitely. I wanted to say that I was wearing a Barca T shirt and UNICEF was their 'Proud Sponsor'. But it was too dangerous a time to say anything.
Now, may be it was the absence of muscles on my chicks and the way my skin glued was to the bones that prompted The guy to ask, "Sutta pita hai kya?"
"Nahin"
"Beer pita hain."
"Nahin."
"tabhi yeh halat hain." Now someone from the 'spectators' asked, "girlfriend hai?"
"Nahin" I said smiling at my own misery.
"fir zinda kyon hai yaar." I knew that was coming but what was i to say! I had no answers. They probably were not right but i din't know why they were wrong.
The silence of a few seconds gave the trainer an opportunity to impart me some gyan. "Apko ek baat boloon, charm lao zindagi mein. Beer weer peyo, ladki wadki patao, warna hai naa Narak mein jaoge."
"Wahi to hoon, sir." I said laughing at myself. So did they and dispersed. At last. That was the end of my plight for that day.
Later when i was recollecting the events, suddenly i got enlightened. No one can injure your ego if u r willing to laugh at ur own self. Lets see if it works.

Its offcial now!

2008-05-05T16:33:00.007+05:30

Mohit Parikh awared with the Prabhuji Award for the 'Sabse Bada Farzzi'.

G.B. Shaw once said, "It's good to be sincere if you are stupid as well." Well, the four years of my college life have been an attempt to avoid stupidity and hence, in effect, sincerity.
Insincerity alone, of course, does not make one farzzi, let alone 'Sabse Bada Farzzi'. A Farzzi is someone who is unaware of the unimportants(which includes everything when deadline is far), fully aware of the importants(everything when the deadline is just so much near), uninvolved in banal routines and pro-active in emergencies. A farzzi is bold but not audacious, an energy conservist but not dormant, an excellent problem avoider but also an effecient crisis-manager, and basically a performer who prefers cameos only. Farzzi knows the significance(insignificance) of the task-at-hand and thus gives the adequate(minimum) time, brains and efforts to complete it. Farzzi is a wise one and 'Sabse Bada Farzzi', thus, is The Wisest One.

I would like to thank all those who nominated and subsequently voted me as the 'Sabse Bada Farzzi'. It is one of the biggest acknowledements I have got for the four years I have put in mastering this art. I would like to thank my lecturers for their monotonous and goofy babblings which gave the impetus, the system for giving loads of time to think, think and think, the books I read for taking me away from the mediocrity, my hostel rooms where I realised how Big a quality is Farzziwada and mastered it, and of cousre my friends on whom I lived like parasites: they provided me with all the informations, resouces and timely advices. But most of all, I would like to thank myself for showing enormous courage and wisdom and effeciency. There were times when it was all hard and dark...and it did not scare me but only evolved me. Bravo Mohit! Bravo!

Tete-a-tete

2008-04-19T20:59:00.006+05:30

EXCERPTS from my interview.

As I enetered the room, I saw three IIMA profs on their chairs eagerly waiting for me and two other on a couch. I wished all of them good morning instinctively, then realized the two on the couch were sleeping.
"Mohit, ur college is MALAVIYA what?"
"National Institute of Technology, Sir"
"Who was this Malaviya?"
"He fouded the collge, sir" He did not. "He also founded IIT delhi I think" He did not.
"You know he founded an INTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY in UTTAR PRADESH. You should be able to give the name. I repeat it was an INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY."
"Sorry, sir" It is IT-BHU.
"Is Malaviya still alive?"
"He must be dead, sir. But i can not be sure." He died way back in 1963.
"Another such person u can not be sure of?"
"Netaji Subash Bose, Sir"
"When was he last sighted?"
"some 50 yrs back" It is 63 years.
"Ok, tell us the adjoining states of karnataka"
"Tamil Nadu, A.P., Orissa..." Orissa, ofcourse, isn't.
"Orissa, very good. Can u tell where Karanataka is here?" He gave me a selfdrawn map. I drew it. "Also tell us a city of karnataka which touches the sea shore"
"Sorry sir, I don't know."
"What is the current water dispute between TN and Karnataka?"
"I don't know"
"Ok tell us a river of bangladesh other than Brhamaputra"
"I don't know"
"Hmm. what is ur final year project?"
"Shape Recognition using Fourier Descriptors"
"what do you tranform in the image?"
"One minute sir." I pretended to think. " I don't know Sir"
"Just tell me how u use fourier transform?"
"Matlab does it for us, sir"
"Haha. So u r just using the software. Explain me what actually u do. Start from the begining."
I tried. I stammered. I really had no idea "I have got confused sir"
They looked at each other. "Hahaha. so he has got confused. You don't know ur FYP!"
"Sir I have three other partners. They are doing much of the work actually"
"Thats good management. But the guy before u said a good manager must have the exact ideas of whats going around in his team. You don't seem to believe in that."
I searched for sth to say, couldn't find anything.
"Which book did u recently read?"
"Lila by Robert Pirsig, Sir."
"The author makes some notes in the start of his journey. What is it metaphor of?"
It was a metaphor???"I don't really know what it was a metaphor of, sir."
"U seem to be very active in school what did u do in ur college?" One of them was browsing through my certis.
"I was head of electronica society."
"Here it says u were only a part of organizing Committee"
CAUGHT! "Ofcourse I wasn't the biggest Head; i was only in second year. but i held some important post. I have forgotten the name of the post."
They looked at each other. "Hahaha, he has forgotten the post." They looked at me now, "OK thank you Mohit"
"thank you, sir" I said to them and then looked at the couch. There was only one prof now...snoring loudly. The mysterious absence of the other prof made me so confused that I also thanked the one who was sleeping.

A Platypus

2008-04-19T18:07:00.006+05:30

It was a crisis situation for us, my father and me, yet again. It was 10 pm and I needed a waist belt as I had an interview the next morning. Luckily, we were in Gurgaon and 2200hrs is not all that late here.

We entered a newly opened three floored imposing Mall(or Ma-al as my father prounces in Desi Style). Three escalators up the lane, we reached the Belt Counter. While I checked the lengths, my father checked the price tags.
"Kitne ka hain?", my father asked for the one I selected.
"695/- Sir", the salesboy with a dude style replied.
"Woh to Print Rate hain." I couldn't believe. He was bargaining here. HERE.
"Sir there are no discounts at present."
"Bahut mahenga hai!"
"Sir this is pure leather."
"ye 300 ka hai...aur Pure leather hai" He said pointing to his waist belt.
I sidelined. How in the world could he bargain! This was so INDECENT!
"Sir this is ELAN. Its a big brand.", the salesboy tried to justify. He was caught unawares. It wasn't hard to guess that it was the first time a customer was asking such questions to him.
I had to intervene. "Papa yahan ye sab nahin hota." I was almost scolding him. That made me realise that sth. has happened. I, who always criticized malls and the whole hollowed poshness, was in team with the them and against my father. How come?
We asked him for a punching machine(thanx to my patli kamar), but he didn't have one then. They sent us to the another- corner-of-the-earth-they-owned for the billing but the items were 'Not Updated on the System'. So we went to yet another corner for manual billing. This little mismanagement made me quite at ease. I got it! It was the MALL CULTURE. It had made me part of itself. When you enter you see elites with trollies, salesboys more smartly dressed than you are, the extravagantness of the building, and thus to be normal you become one with them all.

They often say India is either Rural or Urban( or, elistist or leftist as one of my friends put it). I wasn't really urban for I rarely shop more than necessity and I wasn't really rural for i don't ask for discounts or check price tags. I love Pizza Hut and I often go there in filthy faded pyjamas. I use Dove and H&S(ya, sometimes i do take baths) and like dining on floor. I have flied a few times by air and I have travelled an awfully lot many times in ordinary buses.
So Where Did I Belong?

I know what Robert M Pirsig would call me. A platypus.

P.S. When we were returning, my father asked why did i call them Maw-aul. I said they are spelt as M A A L. He said that every tourist destination has a Ma-al Road. I realised the root of that Desiness. and I realised i was part of it.

The Goa Trip: Part Two

2008-04-14T22:31:00.022+05:30

The following facts are also true but you are requested, again, to NOT form any wrong impressions. Things like these happen, when start goes wrong things go chaotic.

And as Forrest Gump preaches, "Shit Happens, Sometimes."

Home, Jaipur. Lost the tickets of both forward and return journey! And realised that only A DAY Before!!! Yeah, really. Searched for contacts in railways, persuaded, perspired and paid penalty. The omens were perfect!

Tito's, Goa. Flamboyantly dressed. Tried to catch some chick for entry, acted over smart, got warned by a heavily built rude Bouncer.

Banana Boat, Arabian Sea. Slipped and was being dragged forcefully by water(the boat had speed). Thanks to one of my my tripmates, my costume went off and so did my hold on the boat. There i was- almost drowned(i was wearing life jacket), almost naked(i was wearing life jacket), and almost abandoned abt 600 mtrs from the shore.

Chaircar. Begged to a 5th grade cute little Mumbai girl for mercy. The fault was entirely mine, I had tried to give her some Gyan. By the by, she was very sharp, best wishes to her.

Roadside, Mumabi. Eyes shined widely on seeing some very rare direly wanted books. Bargained so badly that almost shown finger. Sadly, no deal.

Outside Military quarters, Mumbai. Roaming late at night(only 2230 hrs) in restricted area(only military area). Enquired by an army man on stroll. Identity verified. No big deal.

P.S.: Though not expected then, I have totally overcome the trip...overcome all shocks and obsessions. Back to Decency now(that does not necessarily mean it was absent then).

I have enjoyed the trip more in memory than in action. It happens when you presuppose an event, you form images of the things to come and feel not-in-now and not-so-happy when things go otherwise.

The Goa Trip- one hell of a trip!

2008-04-08T08:54:00.022+05:30

My idea behind Goa Trip was a few days of undisturbed freedom which would help me in philosophizing a few pending issues and in spiritual growth. I had imagined myself basking on beach whole day with a notepad in one hand and a pencil in other.

But Little did I know!

Day 1. CULTURE SHOCK!!! Pubs, babes, tattoos...Indians in minority! loads and loads of Babes! shacks, sports bars, himym milieu...and Lord! Hot and sizzling and mind boggling BAIYBES.

Day 2. By noon, an appreciation for white skin. Not over from the culture shock yet. By evening, an attraction towards white skin.

Day 3. An OBSESSION for white skin. The 'Topless Beach' fell straight from the heavens to be discovered and ravaged by the chosen few. No ravaging done however.

Day 4. Bye, Bye Goa. No overcoming from Culture Shock.

Day 5. Matheran. Calm, Serene and Raw. Only Indians here but still obsessed by the good old bikini clad freely wandering perfectly curling white skins.

Day 6. A Gaming store. Seven up, faces down. Good at Maths != Good at Gambling. Highly indebted to friends.

Day 7. Mumbai. Books of wisdom purchased. Vows taken for no more adventures. Vows broken...we ended happy and gay.

Day 8. Donnowhere. Reflection on past few days. Train stops with a jerk...another shock, coffee spills, head bangs and swells . Perfect ending.

P.S. The facts are true to the best of my knowledge but your inferences might be false. I absolutely DID NOT foray beyond my moral boundaries(and they are very short).

I always say that I am modern, broad-minded and not influenced by my culture at all but I realised after this trip its one thing to Talk the Talk and quite another to WALK it.

The trip as such wasn't a total failure, I had gone to Goa for a short quantum leap in my personal development...and Boy! I sure did take a leap.

Routine Enquiry

2008-01-29T19:57:00.000+05:30

What really matters?
and what really doesn't?
How should i choose?
and exactly how i shouldn't?
Compelled by past?
or free am I in present?
Why trying to figure out?
why obvious it isn't?
May be there is no answer
...just how to know there isn't?

...by default

2007-11-12T09:32:00.000+05:30

I act, react for survival
with no volition, with no halt;
in an existence quite causal,
I subsist by default.

Never take your verses too seriously.

2007-09-27T00:07:00.000+05:30

I think and I feel
I do and I don't
I live,
basically to waste life.

or visit: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lIEt3gPEBp8

Tired Already

2007-09-24T17:27:00.000+05:30

Tired already of motion
of drill, of jive,
of the banal pattern,
of repetitions so rife.
Though only twenty-one,
tired already of life.

...by compulsions

2007-09-05T14:24:00.001+05:30

Derived.
Arrived.
Surviving.
Destined to Depart.
How compulsive the compulsions are!

The comedy continues

2007-08-01T16:11:00.000+05:30

...and I try to gain control over self,
not knowing what is I, not knowing what is self.

till now

2007-06-26T14:50:00.000+05:30

Hoping to get
i make another jaunt
knowing i won't get
as i know not what i want.

PASSTIME

2007-06-09T21:20:00.001+05:30

i thought abt a thought
and thought, and thought...and thought,
then i laughed at my thought,
then smirked at my laugh,
then i thought abt my smirk,
then i thought abt that thought,
and thought, and thought...and thought.

Funny, me

2007-05-24T12:37:00.000+05:30

funny equally 'truth' and 'lie'
I am without a faith and without a cause
though fond i am of asking 'why'
ridicule equally i all 'because...'

note: Funny, me or funny, world?

Slave of pen

2007-05-16T18:09:00.000+05:30

tired,moodless;
a pen in proximity.
servile, freedomless;
I pen a formality.

Sat to meditate

2007-04-10T20:11:00.000+05:30

I closed the door to hear silence
but failed to mute the voices inside.
I opened the door to show them off
allowing only more noises inside.

Probably, on right path

2007-03-01T20:59:00.000+05:30

Wandering in vain

suddenly I realised-

if questions are in mind,

how can answers be outside?

How comic I am!

2007-02-22T18:59:00.000+05:30

I think

...and there is sense.

I understand

...and there is meaning.

I question

...and there is answer.

I seek

...and there is way.

I believe

...and there is.

I realise

how comic I am.

*************************

A: Is it a poem?

B: Well, I think that the poet wants to say that if you think it is a poem, it is a poem.

A: Hmmm. I understand how comic you are.

Why garner vanity?

2006-12-08T13:06:00.000+05:30

I fell in oblivion
while garnering vanity;
from one and one million
far equally is infinity.

Now, I know

2006-11-19T18:15:00.000+05:30

I seek Truth
not to seek Truth
but to slake thirst
of seeking Truth

Ignoramus in bliss---3

2006-10-23T15:45:00.000+05:30

Depriving all knowledge,
I opt to be inane.
Enlightment is exorbitant;
I just wanna be sane.

Ignoramus in Bliss---2

2006-10-23T15:23:00.000+05:30

I resolve to sleep,
and relish to dream,
or how will I appreciate
my awakening?

Ignoramus in Bliss---1

2006-10-23T15:06:00.000+05:30

Eyes I close
and Light I shun,
Darkness I prefer
to purblindness due to sun

i was wrong!

2006-09-20T20:07:00.000+05:30

I waited for the wind
to push me to nadir,
but i was still on cliff
-it was a zephyr.

Trapped in Labyrinth

2006-09-20T19:57:00.000+05:30

I stand, in terrible plight,
in midst of intersecting lanes,
and i choose one from the infinite
only to choose one again.
There is no way out-
i am unbounded but caged
and i find myself lost
in this cleverly designed maze.

The sacred laugh

2006-08-08T10:09:00.001+05:30

I looked in her eyes and was trapped, as I so often was.

She stood, statued. Her face radiating energy. Her angelic body in sublime harmony, making me believe in the existence of a Great Designer. Every part of her body in rythm with every other; each musical note playing independently, yet cordant to form a divine symphony. The smooth glowing terrain of her face was not distorted by her nose and eyes, but integrated. Her big eyes opened wide, like a shining gem from a sea shell, were so cognate to her smile, that the being of one seemed unimaginable without the other. Her smooth, slim hands were folded casually in each other's company but they appeared to be jelled in an alignment. The wavy, amble wind made her hair flow gently on her back. Her hair didnot resisit the flow, but became the flow.

She stood, staued. Her face radiating energy. I looked at my drawing sheet and cmpared, then smiled silently at my silly thought.
"Its...", I annonced,"...its done."
She came, approaching gaily; her eagerness winning over her fatigue.
I stoped her. "Wait. First promise me you won't laugh when u see it."
"I promise. But is it beacause I look bad or you draw bad?" The michief in her eyes told me it wasn't a question, just a play.
But I forced some reply,"Niether."
I allowed her to scrutinize my efforts. The zeal in her eyes gave way to some shock, as she stared at the canvas. "Don't say that's me!", she said pointing at a man who was admiring the night sky.
"Ofcourse not. Actually...", Isaid, "...that's me."
Amused by my reply, she asked, "Then where am I?"
I knew she would laugh, and i wanted her to. So i reminded her, "You remember your promise?"
"I do, my lord."
I gathered some courage to get naked, and still be ignored. "That's you", said I, pointing at the top right of the sheet.
She laughed, I rejoiced. I prayed the time to halt.
"Why do you always play pranks with me?", she complained without complaining at all and went away. When I could no longer descry her, I gazed at my creation.
There amongst the foggy night clouds was a stainless moon, chaste, serene and unobscured, looking at the distant viewer, and laughing sacredly.

the virtue and the sin

2006-07-25T15:55:00.000+05:30

the virtue of innocence
and the sin of ignorance
are, but, separated by
a very scrawny fence.

Ignorance is, more often or not, the originator of innocence.

i hate reality

2006-07-25T15:45:00.000+05:30

i hate reality

I sit in darkness

with my eyes closed;

not because i m scared of light

but, from what it shows.

A Girl's Life

2006-07-24T14:45:00.000+05:30

A GIRL'S Life

a flourishing flower

draws every man's eyes

until one of them plucks;

and the charm dies.