random drifts

Part 1 – what were you thinking??

2011-09-23T22:11:00.000+05:30

“Oh you poorfu**ing bas***d!”

Pleasepardon my French but you will agree that that now is a very relevant andsuccinct phrase that captures the essence of being a new father. If you thoughtthat the last nine months were a trial, then you better buy yourself an extra-largeserving of patience. To make it easy for everyone, I am going to divide thispost into very manageable pieces

Oh so cute! - Now that is the first thought thatcomes to anyone’s mind while looking at any baby. Ya ya I know he/she is yourprecious and no other kid can come close yada yada… but isn’t that what everyparent thinks?

Black and white - Once the show off period is over(you know what I mean. Relatives, friends, the mandatory Johnson’s baby giftpack, pics on your blog and Facebook and so on) things begin to get nastyJ. Black, dark green, yellow, semi-solid,viscous… You get the picture? No??? Well that’s what you need to go through ifyou need your diaper changing certificate! What’s white you ask? Now that iswhat I call the curd like stuff that is regurgitated

Lights out=Nights out! – Lots of bottles, lots of noise, franticsearching, pulling and wrapping but it not your party!

Bottles and more – this probably is what they meantwhen they said ‘the road to hell is paved with good intentions’. Imagine this. Its10 PM and after a long day at work (who are you kidding?) you just want towatch the highlights of the test match with a bottle of something. And then it happens.The exact means is hard to nail down but in the end you find yourself looking ata line of unwashed feeding bottles. Oh that’s not half of it…the worst part isthe sterilization. If you haven’t done it, you don’t know what I mean.

Do I look fat? – Normally, thatquestion will make any man pause the T.V in his head and take notice of wherehe is and what’s around him. But post pregnancy, that question is an invitationto commit harakiri. There is no right answer to that question because somethingor the other doesn’t fit!

And this is just thebeginning…

P.S: I did do all the above and feel that it’s goodto be involved with your kid right from day one. Nothing can replace the joy ofbeing smiled at and hugged by little hands. But who says that I can’t cribabout all the work?

And she is buying a stairway to heaven….

2011-09-20T19:46:00.000+05:30

It’s strangehow death eats its way into life, leaving everything undone

Beginnings fadeaway like old cobwebs and endings begin to stay.

A childweeps for the warmth of his mother, not understanding that she climbs thestairs

While amother sobs into her pillow, knowing that her little darling isn’t there

But what shouldI say to the shadow of a memory?

But what shouldI say to the silence around?

With threadsof hope we string along our lives, only to leave it all undone.

Century ride!

2011-09-12T23:22:00.000+05:30

Prologue - Iam 6 feet tall and at-least 35 kg overweight with most of it sitting snuglyaround my midriff, loved to cycle as a kid and some reading just took me back tothose careless days. After a month of dilly dallying, I became a proud owner ofa Rockrider 5.2, which i purchased 2 months ago, after a lot of reading andanalysis. Over the last 2 months, I steadily increased my ride distance from20-30-50-60Km and felt good about it. I was doing decent time (anywhere between2hrs 15 min to 2hrs 45 for a 55-60km ride) and was eying a century ride formore than 3 weeks.

Lastweek I stumbled upon this http://tinyurl.com/3cb8hwwon facebook and my friend (who btw did manali leh this year) decided to doroute 2 the long way i.e JP Nagar - Harohalli - Thally - Anekal - Bannerghatta- JP Nagar (approx 120km).

Boywas I kicked!

The ride -
Phase 0 - the start

5:00am - started from home with the bike in the car and headed towards JP Nagarmini forest
6:00am - bike assembled after a small tweak to the front break and we head offtowards kanakpura road

phase 1 - smooth as silk (approx 35km - 1hour 45 min)

Itwas all downhill from Merida junction to Harohalli and we did good time withjust one pit stop near guhantara.Reached harohalli @7.45 am after a little bitof searching we realized that the good breakfast place @harohalli had closeddown (not sure though) and had breakfast at another hotel. Took off from hereand headed down the road which a few other bikers (7-8 of them) had taken onlyto realize that it was the harohalli-anekal road. No harm done, we backtrackedand hit the road to Thally after asking around a little

phase 2 - dog day afternoon! (approx30 km - 4 hours)

Forthe first 30 min the road was not very great and was rolling but after that, ITWAS HELL (for a noob like me who hasnt done nandi)
Thenext few hours made me question the reason why I decided to spend my Sundayafternoon in acute physical discomfort instead of watching bodyguard like mostnormal people.
Every10 min, I was reminded of the big bad wolf huffing and puffing to blow thehouse down...but at the end of the day, the house always wins. Thally was soonbecoming shangrilla and I was at the end of my tether. a 30 min break..lots ofwater, a snickers bar and a couple of banana's made it a lot better.

Ibegan to dread downhills as i knew what was coming at the end of it and theroad snaked around the hills (periphery of Bannerghatta national park), whichmeant I could not leverage the downhill slopes to climb.
Thevista was beautiful with swift moving cloud cover and lots of greenery andfinally we made it to Thally after almost 4 grueling hours

phase 3 - a welcome break ::(approx 23 km - 1.5 hours)

Thefirst 30 min the road was long patches of very coarse gravel but thereafter itwas relatively flat and uneventful.but the leg cramps and frozen hands began tokick in real bad and hence the ride was interspersed with a lot of short breaksto stretch fingers and legs. When we reached anekal, I realized than i amalmost there and the fear of not completing the ride began to fade away

phase 4 - snails pace ::(approx 20 km - 2 hours)

Wedecided to take the Anekal - Bannerghatta road in order to avoid the madnessthat is Electronic
city.This stretch was probably the slowest that I haveridden on relatively flat terrain (not that i have ridden much!) and the roadjust seemed to go on and on and on... finally hit Bannerghatta road after a fewmore stops to stretch fingers and legs.

phase 5 - home stretch ::(approx 13 km - 40 min)

Theonly thing that was driving me was the fact that I will get to rest my ass on somethingthat is a lot bigger than a loaf of bread! that and the numerous downhillstretches helped a lot!

Postmortem -

afew hours of shut eye and I was back in front of the screen to dissect theride. I soon realized that my 'mountains' in the harohalli - thally stretch hadan average gradient of 2.6% and only 2 stretches (1.2km and 4.4km) were as such'long'. molehills - mountains...get the picture?
trainingharder and longer is the only way to increase endurance. period!

Onthe whole, the ride clearly outlined my shortcomings from both a physical andergonomic point of view. But it only reinforced the fact that I want to do moreand more of long distance/endurance cycling to burn away the flab

Put the Maharaj in the Middle

2011-01-01T10:31:00.000+05:30

The internet, as we knew it, was proclaimed to be the savior of the middle-class (might be stretching it a little but what the hell…it’s the beginning of a new year :) ). The end of the middlemen who knew the mysterious pathways to fount of youth (or whatever little piece of paper you wanted). It’s amazing how shortsighted we get when we are optimistic. If anything, the internet has increased the number of middlemen in our lives, which in this case has a markedly positive impact on consumers and general public – seems to go against economic sense but this is the twisted truth. A couple of examples here might prove my point:

1. Freecharge (URL - http://freecharge.in/index.php)

Is an online prepaid mobile recharging platform that allows you to recharge you mobile and get free coupons for the same amount from various food/entertainment joints like Dominoes, PVR cinemas etc. As a consumer it’s a Win-Win as you spend almost nothing (Rs 10 delivery charges) and get talk time & free coupons. The best part is – IT WORKS!

2. Snapdeals (URL - http://www.snapdeal.com/deals-bangalore_koramangala_plus)

The Indian version of Groupon (my first impression of what I have seen) that provides you with special offers/deals in your city/geographic area that you are living in. from where I stand, this again is a win-win for me as I get to know more about what sells and what doesn’t in my locality, which is very useful info for a consumer marketing professional (somewhere down the line, FMCG’s and retailers will surely tap this!).

Two businesses that act as the middleman, the new ‘Maharaj’, who help you get what you want, when you want it and where ever you want it. The increasing number of businesses that provide incremental value by offering price comparisons and discounts (also think makemytrip, cleartrip etc) makes me wonder if, as consumers, we are playing into the hands of the big bad wolf – organized business.

The biggest maharaj, who to a certain extant is still in the making, is yet to hit us. And when he does, it’s going to be big, or that’s what the punters say. Facebook! Think of all those personal messages, think of all those wall posts and private info that you share. Birthdays, weddings, anniversaries and everything else under the sun, including professional info. All that info is sweet music to a marketing professional. All that data will put a smile – a real big smile on the jokers face and he will be laughing away to the bank.

So what’s my point? What am I trying to say? It’s simple – while at one end you are getting things almost for free, be sure that somewhere on the other side there is a number cruncher who is busy sticking labels to your profile and figuring out how to make you think you are the Maharaja and the deal you are getting is a King’s ransom!

What goes around always, ALWAYS comes around.

Happy New Year!

Apple of my 'i'

2010-12-22T23:52:00.001+05:30

20^th Dec 2010

9:28 AM – my son was born

11:00 PM - And all I did was stare and stare at his tiny form...afraid to lift or hold him for the fear that he might cry

21^st Dec 2010

11:35 AM– I hold him in my arms and watch him stare at me and I wonder what is going through that tiny little head

7:47 PM – my care taking duties begin and my first experience was not so bad after all :)

22^nd Dec 2010

8:12 AM– his shrill voice echoes in the room and I understand what it means to be clueless all over again (don’t compare this with what women put you through, that’s cryptic but this is utter helplessness)

10:25 AM – I watch him sleep and wonder what he is wishing for?

8:20 PM – he just can’t keep still. He needs to see where he is and who he is with.

11:52 PM – all I can say is that words cannot do justice to the experience of inexplicable joy

The unbearable lightness of being....

2010-12-04T21:08:00.007+05:30

I watched those small fingers curl into a tight fist – one so small…but so powerful that I was amazed at complexity of emotion that is evoked by the sight of such a tiny thing. It did not matter that it was not my child. Was it a boy or a girl? It did not matter. All that mattered was the innocence It radiated and my impulse to protect it from any harm.

People might argue that it was my frame of mind and that I was getting ready to be a father but I think this is a lot more than that. I guess it’s this instinctive desire in men to take responsibility for immediate physical protection of their loved ones. If you are a man, answer this – have you ever looked at a woman, it might have been some random stranger or your girlfriend/wife, and felt the need to wrap her in your arms, create this cocoon that will protect her from all the hurt and just watch her smile at you. If you haven’t my friends, your day will come.

Today for the first time, I felt the real weight of what it could mean to be a father. My wife, who was sitting next to me, says that my face took on this expression of surprise (imagine Shrek being surprised…his conical ears letting out trumpeting sounds..Well something like that :)) and she was scared that I will not breathe. To tell you the fact, I was a little fidgety and scared that in a few weeks; I will have a kid of my own. Thought I have known this for the last 8 months, I never really had a chance to think a lot about it and I keep pushing it away. Cross the bridge when you reach it..yada yada…

But today the bridge came to me. And I am sure that most parents will agree with me here, it is an experience of a lifetime. For the second time in my life, I fell in love. I fell in love with the image of what could be my kid. I fell in love with all the baggage he will bring. I fell in love with the sleepless nights and midnight vigils that people keep talking about. I fell in love with the idea of caring and protecting another human being. And finally, I fell in love with another woman, the mother of my child. Now all I need to do is wait…. :)

ideas....

2010-11-10T20:57:00.001+05:30

I know a certain someone who says that it doesn't matter what bus you get on or what seat you are sitting in...all that matters is that you get onto a bus!well imagine this...you are stuck in a dark room and do not know where the light switch is..all you can do is grope and shatter things around you or hurt your fingers and let fear slowly take over your form till the desire to find light remains while the will to search fades away.

To me,this is the true reflection of problem that I and many of my friends are struggling with.While our park avenue cocoons and fruity(read apple/blackberry) concoctions help us forget that we are the equivalent of safari suit wearing-pan chewing babus of yesteryear,our desire and ambition are stifled by inertia.

The irony of our situation is that even our parents encourage us to remain in this state of denial.Remember when you were young - your parents(think tambram!) always pushed you to set impossible goals..and now all they want you to have is a honda city,seven figure paycheck, your own home(given today's real estate prices, this comes pretty close to impossible) and a partner. In most middle class Indian households(there might be a sampling bias here),talk of doing things on your own is discouraged. The minute you move from the standard, the emotional blackmail begins and will not end till you capsize.In the end,

Your life = 0.5*{everybody's(including you building doorman) collective definition of 'right'}+0.1*{Your self deluded,rationalized idea of what is 'Right' for you}+0.4*{shit happens}

The important thing to note here is that a significant portion of your life is defined by the random component called shit happens and most statisticians will tell you that if you can predict 60 percent of your life, you have a very good thing going ...but what they fail to highlight is that the payoff from the 60 percent you can predict is in no way close to the payoff from the 40 percent that you cannot predict. Its like comparing Sachin's ODI 200(which none can forget) and Anil kumble's test match century(which is not what he will be remembered for).

The big question then is why not? why not jump off from 20,000 feet and trust your life to a cord that you can pull when you want? why not experience the adrenalin rush of hurling to the ground at mach speed?why shouldn't I experience the thrill of the hunt?

The bigger question is when and how(will need a completely different post for that!)

Ideas are like firecrackers...some just fizzle out in the downpour of criticism and some just linger on long enough in your mind to make you crave for freedom...

Hijli Unearthed....

2008-03-26T18:02:00.007+05:30

Its strange how one thing can lead to another and at the end of it all you end up wondering what you actually are doing.
Today happened to be one of those days. Was generaly reading a blog on Trivia and Quiz and stumbled upon this question:

Q.The British Government decided to establish a few detention camps, creating the Hijli Detention Camp in 1930. A significant moment in the struggle against British rule occurred at The Hijli Detention Camp on Sept. 16, 1931 when two unarmed detainees, were shot dead by the British and Subash Chandra Bose came to Hijli to collect their bodies.
Today,What is located in the place where Hijli detention camp stood?

Ans. IIT Kharagpur

The answer just zapped me.

The proverbial cat raised its head and curiosity began to google the episode in question. Below are a few extracts that I found.

" All happened within the district of Midnapur in West Bengal and within the span of two years. Those killed were British I. C. S. officers. The martyrs were Bengali young men of the time. There was an old lady also.

At that stage the whole district was seething with political activities. Salt Satyagraha by the Congress was at its height. The great sacrifice by Matangini Hazra further electrified the atmosphere. She was an old uneducated widow, carrying aloft the national flag in hand when the police ordered her not to proceed. She defied and faced bullets boldly.

Exactly then two youngsters entered the room. Quickly came out bullets from the revolvers they were carrying which hit the target on the chest. He was rushed to the hospital where he breathed his last. This was the revenge on Douglas for his earlier crime of killing two unarmed young men at Hijli Detention Camp

The younger and very handsome, Pradyot Bhattacharya was arrested. The usual torture followed to get the name of his comrade. But he was made of sterner stuff. His execution date was the 12th January 1933. The hangman, Shibu, could not pronounce the difficult name, but remembered the lovely face of Pradyot with affection and admiration. It is evident from a similar role he later played in Hemen Gupta's Bengali film, Bhuli Nai (Have not forgotten).

The last words on the lips of the martyrs were: - "We are going and leaving the unfinished task in your hands to finish;" We have achieved Independence thereafter. But have we fulfilled their real dreams of building up a happy India? A question of questions indeed."

All this reading left me with a feeling of swallowing a pill that was too hard to digest.
The irony of the situation is that in a place where young men and women gave up their life to free India, youngsters who had the courage and maturity to think of independence, in that same place the best brains (arguably) of India dream of earning in $ the minute they step into the institute.

Signing of with this slogan that rang through the hearts & minds of thousands who thronged the gallows:

सरफरोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है,
देखना है ज़ोर कितना बाज़ुएया कातिल में है.

Fade to Black

2008-03-20T17:12:00.004+05:30

When its time to reflect upon those most important things that you have done in your life, you realize that all you have is but a motley and odd collection of events and memories that have turned Grey. Time fades away the colors from memories like the paint peeling of the picket fences and turns the brilliant hues of blue and orange to a sepia ocher.

Your image reflected in the mirror, that has a rusted frame and many a remains of a uncounted shaves, tells you the truth. It tells you of all the compromises that you have made - reflected in the lines on your forehead, of all the unfulfilled dreams - reflected in the dark depths of your eyes, of all the risk you never took - reflected by sagging cheeks and of all the joy you gave up to lead a secure life. What it doesn't tell you is that you have lost your self in the labyrinth of mundane reality, that you lost your freedom to the textbook society and you lost your voice. The voice that helped you understand others, that helped you stand up for yourself.

And when it is time to introspect, to try to understand where you are, you realize that all you are is an empty shell of words and meanings that can so easily be replaced.

"And then one day you find...Ten years have got behind you...
No one told you when to run, You missed the starting Gun"....Time By Pink Floyd

Hazaron Khwahishen......

2008-01-01T18:40:00.000+05:30

Time and again one strays down the aisle
Of the wonderfully miserable years of ones life
Half realized dreams and unsatisfied passion
The yearning for a new learning

The beginning again of another end
The ending again of a new beginning
Beginnings and endings taking away your breath
Till you are left with one last breath
One last breath to watch the movie of your life
Before you fade away into a new beginning

Crossroads are where you find your peace
The sullen peace of a confused mind
Wandering down the aisles of disturbia
You wonder where you should be.
This or that? Here or there?
Where?...where to begin

Where should you begin your journey to salvage
The remains of a human that you once were
Innocence lost in the mirth of monotony
Pride lost in the labyrinth of power
Your desires rekindle the flame in your heart
But your conscience wants no part

Ambition is your new desire
Success is your new attire
Glory be to the kings of deception
Where simple thoughts are a misconception
You strut down the corridors of broken dreams
Where one drowns in his silent screams

Time and again you come back to the end
Of a dream that had once begun
Your promise to yourself to live the dream
Ends with the beginning of another desire
Ambition desire dreams and agony
The vicious circle that lives your life.

Hazaroon khwahishen aise ki har khwahis pe dil aajaye
A thousand dreams such that you want to pursue each one with all your heart

Re...Flect.....ions.....

2007-11-24T15:48:00.000+05:30

Wondering what is true and what is the image?
Wondering and wandering down the black and white alleys of a vivid past?
True colors don't shine...true colors don't reflect the serenity or the insanity of the present...
Reflections....are just the image tampered by your prejudices...interpreted by your insecurity....

Wanderlust.....

2007-11-03T11:14:00.001+05:30

Something I ought to have done a long time ago...start using the right side..(or is it the left side???)..of my brain...
Planing to do a series of posts based on pics take by Blah...well..here comes the first....

If anyone wants to know the meaning of the phrase "A road to no where" he has to start with this pic...a brilliant piece of work with the cam...i can see myself driving down this road on a 350 cc bike cruising at a speed where the you cant hear anything...not because of the wind in you face but because you are too busy wondering how to digest this mirage in front of your eyes...

Any bikers dream is to just stop at such a place and contemplate the vicissitudes of life of that bought you to this place at this time...the pic reminds me of Zen and the art of motorcycle maintainance...maybe this is just the kind of place where Mr Prisig went to start or rather relive his chautaqua on Quality....

Bring me the misery of life here i shall make it disappear...bring on the solitude of a living between a million busybodies and i shall take em all and make em disappear....

Signing off with these line...

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

timshel...

2006-08-21T18:20:00.000+05:30

GENESIS 4:1-16

And Adam knew Eve his wife; and she conceived, and bare Cain, and said, I have gotten a man from the LORD and she again bare his brother Abel. And Abel was a keeper of sheep, but Cain was a tiller of the ground. And in process of time it came to pass, that Cain brought of the fruit of the ground an offering unto the LORD and Abel, he also brought of the firstlings of his flock and of the fat thereof and the LORD had respect unto Abel and to his offering: But unto Cain and to his offering he had not respect. And Cain was very wroth, and his countenance fell.
The LORD said unto Cain, Why art thou wroth? and why is thy countenance fallen?
If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.
And Cain talked with Abel his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him and the LORD said unto Cain, Where is Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not: Am I my brother's keeper?
and he said, What hast thou done? the voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground and now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy brother's blood from thy hand; when thou tillest the ground, it shall not henceforth yield unto thee her strength; a fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth.
And Cain said unto the LORD, My punishment is greater than I can bear. Behold, thou hast driven me out this day from the face of the earth; and from thy face shall I be hid; and I shall be a fugitive and a vagabond in the earth; and it shall come to pass, that every one that findeth me shall slay me.
And the LORD said unto him, Therefore whosoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold. And the LORD set a mark upon Cain, lest any finding him should kill him.
And Cain went out from the presence of the LORD, and dwelt in the land of Nod, on the east of Eden.

East of Eden - John Steinbeck

“Do you remember when you read us the sixteen verses of the fourth chapter of Genesis and we argued about them?”

“I do indeed. And that’s a long time ago.”

“Ten years nearly,” said Lee. “Well, the story bit deeply into me and I went into it word for word. The more I thought about the story, the more profound it became to me. Then I compared the translations we have—and they were fairly close. There was only one place that bothered me. The King James version says this—it is when Jehovah has asked Cain why he is angry. Jehovah says, ‘If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.’ It was the ‘thou shalt’ that struck me, because it was a promise that Cain would conquer sin.”

Samuel nodded. “And his children didn’t do it entirely,” he said.

Lee sipped his coffee. “Then I got a copy of the American Standard Bible. It was very new then. And it was different in this passage. It says, ‘Do thou rule over him.’ Now this is very different. This is not a promise, it is an order. And I began to stew about it. I wondered what the original word of the original writer had been that these very different translations could be made.”

Samuel put his palms down on the table and leaned forward and the old young light came into his eyes. “Lee,” he said, “don’t tell me you studied Hebrew!”

Lee said, “I’m going to tell you. And it’s a fairly long story. Will you have a touch of ng-ka-py?”

“You mean the drink that tastes of good rotten apples?”

“Yes. I can talk better with it.”

“Maybe I can listen better,” said Samuel.

While Lee went to the kitchen Samuel asked, “Adam, did you know about this?”

“No,” said Adam. “He didn’t tell me. Maybe I wasn’t listening.”

Lee came back with his stone bottle and three little porcelain cups so thin and delicate that the light shone through them. “Dlinkee Chinee fashion,” he said and poured the almost black liquor. “There’s a lot of wormwood in this. It’s quite a drink,” he said. “Has about the same effect as absinthe if you drink enough of it.”

Samuel sipped the drink. “I want to know why you were so interested,” he said.

“Well, it seemed to me that the man who could conceive this great story would know exactly what he wanted to say and there would be no confusion in his statement.”

“You say ‘the man.’ Do you then not think this is a divine book written by the inky finger of God?”

“I think the mind that could think this story was a curiously divine mind. We have had a few such minds in China too.”

“I just wanted to know,” said Samuel. “You’re not a Presbyterian after all.”

“I told you I was getting more Chinese. Well, to go on, I went to San Francisco to the headquarters of our family association. Do you know about them? Our great families have centers where any member can get help or give it. The Lee family is very large. It takes care of its own.”

“I have heard of them,” said Samuel.

“You mean Chinee hatchet man fightee Tong war over slave girl?”

“I guess so.”

“It’s a little different from that, really,” said Lee. “I went there because in our family there are a number of ancient reverend gentlemen who are great scholars. They are thinkers in exactness. A man may spend many years pondering a sentence of the scholar you call Confucius. I thought there might be experts in meaning who could advise me.

“They are fine old men. They smoke their two pipes of opium in the afternoon and it rests and sharpens them, and they sit through the night and their minds are wonderful. I guess no other people have been able to use opium well.”

Lee dampened his tongue in the black brew. “I respectfully submitted my problem to one of these sages, read him the story, and told him what I understood from it. The next night four of them met and called me in. We discussed the story all night long.”

Lee laughed. “I guess it’s funny,” he said. “I know I wouldn’t dare tell it to many people. Can you imagine four old gentlemen, the youngest is over ninety now, taking on the study of Hebrew? They engaged a learned rabbi. They took to the study as though they were children. Exercise books, grammar, vocabulary, simple sentences. You should see Hebrew written in Chinese ink with a brush! The right to left didn’t bother them as much as it would you, since we write up to down. Oh, they were perfectionists! They went to the root of the matter.”

“And you?” said Samuel.

“I went along with them, marveling at the beauty of their proud clean brains. I began to love my race, and for the first time I wanted to be Chinese. Every two weeks I went to a meeting with them, and in my room here I covered pages with writing. I bought every known Hebrew dictionary. But the old gentlemen were always ahead of me. It wasn’t long before they were ahead of our rabbi; he brought a colleague in. Mr. Hamilton, you should have sat through some of those nights of argument and discussion. The questions, the inspection, oh, the lovely thinking—the beautiful thinking.

“After two years we felt that we could approach your sixteen verses of the fourth chapter of Genesis. My old gentlemen felt that these words were very important too—‘Thou shalt’ and ‘Do thou.’ And this was the gold from our mining: ‘Thou mayest.’ ‘Thou mayest rule over sin.’ The old gentlemen smiled and nodded and felt the years were well spent. It brought them out of their Chinese shells too, and right now they are studying Greek.”

Samuel said, “It’s a fantastic story. And I’ve tried to follow and maybe I’ve missed somewhere. Why is this word so important?”

Lee’s hand shook as he filled the delicate cups. He drank his down in one gulp. “Don’t you see?” he cried. “The American Standard translation orders men to triumph over sin, and you can call sin ignorance. The King James translation makes a promise in ‘Thou shalt,’ meaning that men will surely triumph over sin. But the Hebrew word, the word timshel—‘Thou mayest’— that gives a choice. It might be the most important word in the world. That says the way is open. That throws it right back on a man. For if ‘Thou mayest’—it is also true that ‘Thou mayest not.’ Don’t you see?”

“Yes, I see. I do see. But you do not believe this is divine law. Why do you feel its importance?”

“Ah!” said Lee. “I’ve wanted to tell you this for a long time. I even anticipated your questions and I am well prepared. Any writing which has influenced the thinking and the lives of innumerable people is important. Now, there are many millions in their sects and churches who feel the order, ‘Do thou,’ and throw their weight into obedience. And there are millions more who feel predestination in ‘Thou shalt.’ Nothing they may do can interfere with what will be. But ‘Thou mayest’! Why, that makes a man great, that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he has still the great choice. He can choose his course and fight it through and win.” Lee’s voice was a chant of triumph.

Adam said, “Do you believe that, Lee?”

“Yes, I do. Yes, I do. It is easy out of laziness, out of weakness, to throw oneself into the lap of deity, saying, ‘I couldn’t help it; the way was set.’ But think of the glory of the choice! That makes a man a man. A cat has no choice, a bee must make honey. There’s no godliness there. And do you know, those old gentlemen who were sliding gently down to death are too interested to die now?”

Adam said, “Do you mean these Chinese men believe the Old Testament?”

Lee said, “These old men believe a true story, and they know a true story when they hear it. They are critics of truth. They know that these sixteen verses are a history of humankind in any age or culture or race. They do not believe a man writes fifteen and three-quarter verses of truth and tells a lie with one verb. Confucius tells men how they should live to have good and successful lives. But this—this is a ladder to climb to the stars.” Lee’s eyes shone. “You can never lose that. It cuts the feet from under weakness and cowardliness and laziness.”

Adam said, “I don’t see how you could cook and raise the boys and take care of me and still do all this.”

“Neither do I,” said Lee. “But I take my two pipes in the afternoon, no more and no less, like the elders. And I feel that I am a man. And I feel that a man is a very important thing—maybe more important than a star. This is not theology. I have no bent toward gods. But I have a new love for that glittering instrument, the human soul. It is a lovely and unique thing in the universe. It is always attacked and never destroyed— because ‘Thou mayest.’”

*********************************************************************************
Timshel...thou mayest....

thou mayest rule over thy craving
thou mayest crawl out of thy illgotten savings
thou mayest smile through thy pain
for thou mayest be joyous in the rain.

opens a whole new world.

This is Single Malt speaking!

2006-07-07T10:46:00.000+05:30

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Mr ******, the thought behind the machine, the brain that conceived ##### 20 years ago, the man who stands for everything that our times represent.
Brzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz….i think we….crsssccccccccccccccc…creeeeeaaaaaaaaakkkkkkkk…are experiencing……bzzzzz…some difficulty…….

Good morning ladies and gentlemen.
This is single malt speaking.
You might be wondering who am I and why am I here instead of Mr ******.
I think its time to address the question that one faces at some point of his life.
The dilemma of choosing between satisfaction and ambition..

One begins to wonder where one ends and the other begins.
Two things that can never go hand in hand. Or can it?
For all that matters is what you are and how you are? Does it?
Or is that all that matters is what others think and how others thing?

MBA. That is the key word, the gateway to all things that one expects. Big names that come to your doorstep and lift you up with their mind boggling language, their slick ease and of course their promises of a better future, a clean future where only you matter and your performance does.
Once you get in you realize that you were taken in. the language and the faces mouthing those words were just the mask that is used to hide all the mess and the drooping faces behind the scenes. None of the masks will talk about the people required to do the dull dreary and mind numbing job of keeping their system in line. None will talk about the requirement of taking any shit from the customer as long as he gives you the contract.

It makes one wonder why people are not treated as people.
Can you imagine this? A senior HR manager in an MNC telling a new employee this
“ You are all just numbers for us. We pick you and put you where we want. Who are you to decide where you want to be? We get requirements and we fill it up.”
Now that is perfect. The faceless monster in the open. One wonders what was it that made this person reveal so much of the monster. They usually go to great lengths to keep it hidden under their plastic every ready smile.

You must have often heard the statement “Live for today but plan for tomorrow”.
Now that is one hell of a statement! Today is just another day in life, same people same things what can you do to change that? How much can you change that?
It all comes down to one thing, 8 hrs a day have to be spent in a place where you have to drag yourself to.
Every morning the first thought that comes to your mind is ‘damn another day in drowning paradise’

Drowning paradise, the place where one-steps in with high expectations.
One feels that till then one was just another name another number in the register.

Drowning paradise, the place that promises so much, where one can forget all the injustice done to him. Where one can prove what he is. No one realizes that it’s just another farce.
Performance bonus, incentives, hard work, intelligence, all just fancy words to hide the fact that as long as you create no problems and don’t ask too many questions, You shall be treated as just another number a punch card that walks in and out and does what it is asked of.

Number: 100xxxxxx
Days worked: 30
Salary: xx, 000.00

I am Single malt.

Many of you spend the evenings staring at me in one form or the other, alone or together, staring at walls of flashing lights and mind jarring music or just sitting alone at home thinking ‘is this what I want?’
You curse and spend hours together finding and highlighting every single thing you think is wrong, you plan and plot to change at least one thing in your life. You decide you can’t take it any more and plan to exchange one paradise for another.
But what is it that you are really want?
The numbers change the faces change but monster remains the same, in one form or the other. The euphoria of landing in another drowning paradise shall drain away and you shall once again find your self staring at me.

I am not here to provide solace to your confused mind. I am not here for you to drown your sorrows. I am for people who live life the way they want. Only then can enjoy the joy and the warmth of facing me. Only they can relish the subtle difference.

For the rest of you its just a question of which will get to you.
Ambition or satisfaction.
Ambition, the fire that makes you jump from one paradise to another, just a vicious cycle that starts with euphoria and ends with me.
Satisfaction, the charlatan who seeks to keep you where you are, just another number, just another name.
The choice is yours.

Rest in peace
This is Single malt signing off.
Good day.

its that time of the year....

2006-07-05T09:37:00.000+05:30

its that time of the year....

when a nice warm blanket and hot coffee is more attractive that the girl next door.

when the smell of wet earth reminds you of the smell of her hair when its all wet and soft.

when dark clouds filter the light and turn day to
night.

when rain drops caress you face, warm and soft, hiding your tears.

when cold rain seeps into your skin kindling the fire deep within.

when all is beautfiul and fresh like a new born.

when life smiles and you smile back wondering what is it that makes you smile.

when there is nothing left to celebrate but the bromides of every single day.

maria

2006-05-20T15:53:00.000+05:30

"I bequeath my mind to the lanes of life where the ritual of silence stalk,
and no man shall ever tread....
for fear....takes nightly walks.."

A flicker of light on a dark surface, a face, a tree, blue skies. Everything captured upside down.

I wake up to the sound of thunder, a mid summer thunderstorm brewing in the sky. The breeze whistling through the leaves of the coconut trees. Drenched in sweat I reach out for the glass of water, to drown memories in the sublime taste of this clear liquid. Wandering through the dark halls I remember the laughter that echoes through the wandering lanes of my mind.

* * * *

It was the summer of 1943. The wind bringing with it the distant smells of a war that was raging through the continent. But we were hidden in a world where no war could penetrate. Maria. A breath of fresh air that would bring with it a thousand different smells, different everyday. And her voice, her voice was my light as it guided me through every shape and color and expression in this world.

Imagine describing a strawberry to a person with his eyes closed. Someone who had never seen the fruit before. My maria would have told him how it tasted even before he had the chance to touch it. She created the world around me with her astute sense of observation. The small things that one tends to forget, she would remember to tell me.
Her words were the foundations of my world and without them I would be able to carry on for a single day.

* * * *

The first thing I saw were the blue curtains blowing in the breeze and clear skies beyond. I had asked them to leave my by the window when it was time. I wished to see the beauty as my maria had described it to me and not the dull white plastered walls and the bed.
I would give everything back just to have her here with me now. But that is the irony of the situation. I was viewing the world through here eyes.....seeing all that she would have described in her sweet voice.

* * * *

"Uncle Johnny! Can I ask you a question?"
"Yes maria, what is bothering you?"
"Does one ever get tired of living and feel like going to god?"

I was shocked that an eight-year-old girl could read my mind. That was what I had been thinking about the past few days. A blind man who had no responsibilities and no will to continue the journey of life.

I felt her soft hands hold mine and could feel the puzzled smile with which she would be looking up at me

"No maria, how can anyone get tired of living when you are around to help them out."
" Daddy says I am an Angel, is it true?"
"Oh yes, you are my angel!"

I give her this crooked grin of mine that has made many a man turn around and walk away, but I know that this little girl could never imagine that I was anything but sincere.

"Then where are my wings? I have no wings. How can I fly to ones who call out to me when they need me?"

"your heart has wings my little girl, you don't need wings. All you have to do is close your eyes and pray and their calls will be heard."

* * * *

It's weird to see through the eyes of a different person. In fact its weird to see things, the light seems too bright and the sounds still are loud. You still try to feel your way around the rooms and the riot of colors is so overwhelming that you just want to close your eyes and go back to the darkness.

Its cruel how a life can be blown out in a second, just like a candle. Maria, the light of my life. Gone in a flash. The doctors gave all kinds of fancy names but Christie told me it was her heart. Her heart had stopped beating

* * * *
I look at the phototgraph taken with her on a swing. Brown hair flowing with the sea breeze and her dark eyes smiling at the camera.

How in just a second can one capture the essence of a person?
how can a smile be understood by just looking at it on a piece of paper?
How can time be frozen for eternity?
how a heart is broken by perfidity....

Ramblings.....

2006-05-20T11:18:00.000+05:30

This is where it all began.This pic...the single leaf and t riot of colors. From yesterday afternoon i was obsessed with this image of a single leaf lying on a bench...
i try to picture what lies beyond this perspective..A park..fall season..people walking around..
but everytime I get stuck at one point, who is it that took this pic? What was his perspective?

I can imagine the leaf falling of the bench the next second, a soft breeze disturbing this tranquility. Sometimes one wonders about the transient nature of life. I spend a lot of time thinking what if this happened or that happened.

One of the most profound moments in my life would have been watching the rain clouds gather from the terrace of my college hostel. It was an amazing sight to watch these thundeheads roll in and the breeze turning into a whirlwind...lifting up debris and dirt....the smell of rain quenching dry grass and mud....the feel of the first drop of water on your forehead....
there are no words to describe such moments one has to feel it and only then can one realize that nothing is more simple than the simple pleasures.

Chasing a thousand dreams one forget to live life. We forget that summer has become spring, rains have come and gone and the chill is setting in.

"..and then one day you find..Ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun!"
- Time by Pink Floyd.

People run alright but they never know whether they are running in the right direction. The shift and change and mixing all leaves one disoriented and wondering where the hell am I!

Wats t point???

2006-05-19T13:50:00.000+05:30

Now that is a very gud question!

Sigh.........

2006-05-12T10:38:00.000+05:30

Freedom...its just a thought...its just an expression...

Slavery...t reality...

Plastic

2005-05-17T09:18:00.000+05:30

He was a ghost of the past. Exorcised by the slowly eroding waves of time.
Wandering through the streets of memories, reliving the days he was alive.
Every man has his ghosts to contend with. But the worst of them are the ones who cling onto you, however hard you try to shake them off they always come back. Some place or aura surrounding someone seems to bring back the clingers.
One never realizes that these are the ghosts of people and places that you ran away from. A temporary escape from the things that would haunt you for the rest of your life.

* * * * *

He watched the endless parade of men and women talking to him and laughing with him. He could define the whole experience in one word. Plastic.
Plastic smiles, plastic surgery, plastic glasses, plastic faces, plates, spoons, earrings, handshakes, emotions, shoes, feelings…everything was plastic.
After all that was the name of his first book.
“Plastic”
he was nauseated by the smell and taste of the whole occasion. It was like a hangover, splitting headache and a rubbery after taste.
And then the ghosts appeared.
One by one, slipping through the crowd, lost and confused by this mire of humanity worshiping the one man who had blasted away their cocoon of protection with his words.
Mere words had blown away the shell in which humanity was crowding around. Only he knew the truth. He knew how powerless were his words. They had cracked the surface, but it would soon mould itself to its original shape.
Then his words would be powerless. They would lie there in polished wooden racks, slowly yellowing with time or would lie on a table sucking in the moisture, the dampness dousing the fire of rebellion.
* * * * *

Seema: what made you write this book?

Ranjan: I was sitting on my table and reading a book. There was this plastic glass, which had cold lemonade in it. As I took a sip my eyes wandered over the pen stand. The pens, ruler, paperweight, files and everything else seemed to be made of plastic. Then it all began.

Seema: did you know what exactly you were going to write and how it would shape up?

Ranjan: every writer has a vague idea about what he is going to write. Only as he writes does it crystallize into an object that has shape and nature.

Seema: have always had this inclination to write?

Ranjan: its been more of an on and off affair. I thought of it as a hobby and not a career.
Seema: you are a chemical engineer by profession?

Ranjan: yes. I did my specialization in chemical from MRN College of engineering. That I guess is the reason for my obsession with plastic.

Seema: can you tell us about you schooling and your childhood? There seems to be no information about your past.

Ranjan..Uhh..it is…uhh…something’s are better left alone…

Old ghosts had been awakened. If one searched the closets no skeletons would be found. But the ghosts existed. They always did.
* * * * *

Some days they left him alone. Only the clack clack of his fingers drumming on the keyboard and the whirring of his thoughts existed. And some days they slowly invaded the space in his mind, cajoling and coaxing, screaming and cursing. After all it was their world that he was dissecting. The plastic world of unexpressed thoughts and unsolicited clichés that echoed in empty spaces.
Is it right?
The one question that he tried to answer a million times but failed.
Is it right to break the false sense of security that man has?
Is it right to unravel the strands of the cocoon and expose the creature to the harsh sunlight?
For that is what it is. A creature, devoid of originality, living on the thought of a few men who broke their cocoon and paid the price for it.
Recycle, reuse and reduce. The philosophy of today’s world.
Recycle the old ideas, heat the plastic and make it flow. Cast it into the same mould with small variations. A small clog removed from here, the surface smoothened, the size reduced a wee bit.
Viola! The new grass on which the next few generations can chew and chew never realizing that the juice had been drained away a long time ago.
Reuse the cud again and again and again. Old products and ideas replaced by a variation of the oldest themes. The millennium cud. The juice never seems to go out.
Reduce the capacity of a man to think. Systems and structures, hierarchies and orders. The assembly line was perfect. Small jerks and vibrations never cause big damage. Tighten them and they never existed.
The three R’s running the world. And the ghosts. The ghosts were always there. Who could ignore them?
Everyone did, except him.
Rajan Saha
The plastic man who broke the bonds and catalyzed the reaction. If only for a few seconds.
* * * * *

PLASTIC

A novel by Rajan Saha

“ Man is born free…that is the biggest misconception of the twentieth century.
Man is born chained. He is chained to his creator by a thin tube. Since this is cut with the first breath one takes, it is assumed that man is free. The child does not see the protective cover of plastic that keeps him away from the reality of his surroundings. And thus he begins to rely more and more on his plastic shield even as he grows older, staying away from the reality, content in his own world. His space expands and so does his experience. But never does he never contemplates the nature of this’ experience’.
What he experiences is manufactured, doctored and prescribed, to be taken in large doses for small doses can leave one unsatisfied. And it is the unsatisfied mind or body that seeks out new peaks and questions the existing ones…”

That was how it began. What started it?
The answer lay with the ghosts.
Ma…pa…uncle Danny…..smooth faced principal of st. Peters…and every other man and woman who entered his life. They were all anachronisms. Just a little heating, a tap here and a twist there and they would fit into the mould of today, perfect!
The greatest quality of plastic.
Recycle it…..reuse it…but it never reduces.
* * * * *
Rajan Saha – the author of plastic…now reduced to a ghost. A real ghost in the sense for he never left his home. High in the hills where the mist hides the wounds of battle. The battle between the forces of earth. Mountains and hills, blisters on the skin, clouds and mist were like sterilized cotton that eases away the pain.
People had talked about his book and his thoughts and his ideas. Some understood it and kept their distance from him for who would challenge the ghosts of the past in support of a mere mortal. Some just read the words and gushed forth their views on the symmetry and scientific actualities. Most of them did not even bother to look at it.
He thought he had thrown a stone into a still pond. Only later did he realize that what he thought was a stone turned out to be a pebble and the pond was frozen.
The pebble skittered on the ice, leaving behind small scratches that were frozen over the next day.
The sheet o ice remained unmarked.
And the ghosts left him alone.
They had overestimated the power of words. A mistake that many a fool had commited and had paid the price for it. But the ghosts remained the same.
Recycled, reused but never reduced.
* * * * *

After word

I talk about creation and innovation, I talk about restructuring and reorganization of old ideas and forms to create new ones that are not very different from the old.
One might ask what have I created?
My answer to them is Nothing. I created nothing.
I have just recycled the ideas expresses by many people who were unfazed by the ghosts of society.
I have reused the saleability of their ideas to sell my not so innovative thought.
I have reduced their voluminous material into the pages of this book that is easier to handle and understand.
That is why it is called a novel (because there is nothing novel in this)
Recycle, reuse and reduce – this keeps the world going.
Why add a new dimension to the complexities of the world?
I do not want to take on the ghosts of the past.
Let someone else find the courage after reading this ‘novel’.

Rajan Saha
14th may 1984

This was the page that the editors refused to publish fearing the reaction and backlash by the critics. He let the book be published without it, never realizing that he was the first person who found the courage to challenge the ghosts after reading his novel.

* * * * *

Sphere

2005-03-19T09:16:00.000+05:30

There was no other light in the room save the lamp. The blue shades reflecting and distorting the milky white light. She looked at the globe of glass. A white sphere with a hue of blue infused into it. At its center was a black sphere.
A smooth round sphere of black surrounded by transparent glass. There were packets of air trapped in glass. All transparent except the black sphere. She called it the black hole. It never reflected but absorbed all.
She never knew why she liked looking at the black sphere under the table lamp. Every it was a ritual…a compulsion. Dark room….blue light….black sphere.
A sense of calm pervading her senses as she stared into that dark void. She often thought of all the things that could lie hidden in the dark depths of the sphere. A diamond…a milky white pearl…or just a pocket of air.
She never realized that the smooth black sphere trapped in glass was her. Absorbing but never reflecting. The world around her nothing but a glass sphere…with packets of joy…trapped! Reflecting…having no color of its own.
Only she was real. The black sphere.
She didn’t realize that every human being was a dark sphere, with varying shades of white. Some jet black…some a dark grey. Absorbing more and more, but reflecting less. Trapped in a color less world.
She wondered what would happen if the glass were to crack.
Would the pockets of air escape?
Will the black sphere exist or would it drift away…a black haze slowly drifting with the flowing breeze…..fading away…….

white noise

2005-03-17T09:23:00.000+05:30

The leaf was a bright orange, gently floating against the blue sky. slowly falling, slowly but surely towards the ground. His eyes followed the leaf, drifting to his right but suddenly rising up, a gust of wind carrying it higher, only to let it fall again.
Time was ticking, second after second. The leaf was waltzing with the wind.
He opened his eyes….
The silence assaulted his mind. Someone was screaming inside his head…but there was no noise.
He closed his eyes and opened then again, this time the certainty of darkness, his only companion.
He heard voices, distant voice…far away…were they speaking o him?
He closed his eyes.…
He could see the tree. It’s huge branches covered with ages of bark. It’s orange leaves a startling shade against the pale blue of the cloudless sky. He got up slowly…unsteadily…his first steps wavering…his knees trembling. The green grass wet with dew had a slippery feel against his naked feet. The cold dew was comforting against the harsh colors of the leaves. He saw the roots holding onto the ground, buried deep inside…how far did they go? How long had they held the tree?
Hold on….he had to hold on…
Against what?
He opened his eyes…..
There was a dead silence. The silence of a lonely place. A place forgotten by people…a place devoid of life…save his.
He closed his eyes….
The wind was pushing against his back. He could feel the cloth o his skin. Coarse like wet sand…sticking to his back…pushing against him.
He stood on the edge of the cliff. There was nothing to hold onto. he could feel the cold seeping into his skin. A bromide that was comforting. The wind was pushing him but his feet held him firm. The exhilaration….blood pulsing in his veins…flowing through him like a river in flood.
He wanted to fly. He spread his arms…..like a bird in flight…wanting to fly beyond the horizon…wanting to fly with the wind whistling in his ears…but he had to hold on…..and still…there was nothing to hold onto.
He opened his eyes…
There was a faint buzz in his ears. There was no other sound.
Sky blue. Now he knew why they called it that. He felt the water on his skin. Small drops….a fine spray….wet…like the sensuous touch of skin…but there was no sound. He saw the waves rushing towards him, he could feel it pull and drag against his naked feet.
But there was no sound….just a faint buzz…like a swarm of bees…far away…distant…
White foam….white noise…blue sky…
He closed his eyes…..
He was floating, gently, like the orange leaf. He didn’t feel cold….didn’t feel warm…
He was slowly descending…..slowly but surely…
The colors were fading…..what was once blue turned to white. The white liquid slowly turned grey….infused with a darker shade.
It was like as though a painter was mixing blue and white with drops of black. Time was ticking away. The grey world around him was darkening into shadows….
He was still floating but there was no gust of wind to lift him higher…
He opened his eyes……
White light….white noise….
The leaf….the tree….the grass….the sky….
Thoughts like a movie flashing through his mind in rapid succession…jolting his senses.
He was confused but he had to hold on.
White light…whit noise….
Buzz….buzz….crackle…buzz…..
He closed his eyes…..never to open them again.

where....

2005-03-11T10:10:00.000+05:30

As the leaves fall i sit and wonder....
where do we go from here?
the crystal ball, clouded by mist
never shows the long wish list.
fingers crossed and uncrossed again
time slips by, grain after grain.
tears of joy and smiles of pain
hope....forever sustained
i walk the road staring ahead
wondering where the road led...
the crossroads of thought...neither far nor near...
where do we go from here?
on the grass i sit waiting for u...
wondering...if u knew...
where is the world without fear?
where do we go from here?

Silence....

2005-02-18T12:03:00.000+05:30

Let not words shatter this fragile world
Let not sounds break into the silence.
As my mind slowly uncurls
And hurls with brittle violence
The thought of a word…drifting by….
An unspoken sound…unable to die…
Engulfed in a void…. devoid of expression
Suppressed without realization.

Every whisper one can hear……..
Every sound was never so clear…..
The colors speak but you don’t listen
For silence…. has you imprisoned.
You float along, just a leaf in the wind
A smile…. a tear…you never sinned
All alone with only your thought
Silence…what peace thou bought.

Every tinkle you can hear
As the glass shatters from the rear.
Words pour fourth…straining your mind
Sounds slowly turn you blind.
You stumble along searching for that void
But sound…u cannot avoid……
Silence……..elusive as before….
An unconnected dream….never to be restored.....

Silence…. is not the absence of sound…..
It is the presence of a thought so intense that everything else is drowned in emotion.

I don’t understand why silence scares people.
It is one of the most profound statements one can make about how comfortable he or she is with another. Why talk when you can listen. There is this statement someone made that keeps wandering through my head………..

“ Words are but means to hide what you truly feel”

There is also a sense of tranquility when there is silence…you can hear the whisperings of nature around you and can wonder at what you chose to ignore all these days.

Chains....

2005-01-19T13:10:00.000+05:30

Just a piece of metal, shining in the sun
Faded and worn, the forgotten one.

The way it shines, silver and bright,
A brook on a silver night.
Cold and real against the skin
The warm glow of love within.
The hand that made cannot wear
The creation in sunlight’s glare.

The world destroys the one who creates,
What remains are but ruins…..

Ruins of a joy given by touch
Ruins of pain…born of thirst.
A thirst to keep what is yours
To burn every mind that understands your cause.
For how can one see and yet not feel
The joy and the pain..so surreal.

In chains, faded and lost
We pay the cost..
Of life and joy, what remains
Are just old and fading stains.

Moving Shades

2005-01-12T11:15:00.000+05:30

As the sun sets the colors fade,
Everything brought down to a single shade.

The night, filled with a promise,
A mocking grin at your state.
You hope to find nothing amiss,
When dawn cleans out the black slate.

You dream dreams filled with expectation,
Blue skies and a green shade,
Bringing around a realization,
Of the shallow water that you wade.

As you watch the colors change,
A reflection of your inner tide,
Nothing is so strange,
As watching life go by, standing aside.

The Face

2005-01-08T08:55:00.000+05:30

He saw the grasshopper clinging to the blade of grass. He didn’t know how long he had been lying there. Motionless. All around him was the field of green grass, damp from the rain. He could feel the dampness seep into his skin. His world was reduced to the door. The door leading into a room, opening out onto the balcony.
He thought of the slender case of steel, its tip rounded. He thought of it flying through air, the light breeze pushing it 10 mm away from the target. He had calculated and corrected for it.
The lens brought the door so close that he felt he could feel the surface, smooth and shiny, worn away by countless rains.
The door opened and a face filled his lens. A face that had played such a dynamic role in the drama, a decade long.
He aimed for the forehead, a clean shot.

* * * * *

I am 10 years old.
I have lived here since the day I was born.
I know the forest, the trails and trees, old friends of mine.
I am bored. What will happen if I go away?
Will these still exist? Can they live without me?
God, why have you made me like this?
If I was like the other boys then I would not have trees and trails as friends. That is why you made me like this.
Daddy says sometimes boys like me get wings.
Are you going to give me wings god?

* * * * *

He let out a deep sigh and lowered the telescopic lens. He could not do it. Too many memories. He should never have accepted, never have come here.
He saw the blade of grass swaying in the wind. The pale green veins carry water, he thought. Blood of grass, drawn from the ground, seeping through the soil, falling on the ground and splitting into a million parts, flying through air, great clouds…black….like mascara….lending beauty to the pale blue of the sky.
He rolled on his back and stared at the sky, soft clouds of white cotton sailing southwest.
It wont rain today, he reflected.
He closed his eyes and saw the face again. A father he head never had. A father whom he loved.
A father who had guided him, but failed.
He wished his mind had had a secret vault to lock away memories that had been valuable,
But had lost their relevance.
Little did he realize that his mind was just that, a vault without a key.

* * * * *
“ Why are you crying my child?” a gentle voice asked.
I looked up and saw the yellow robe, frayed at the ends. Dark and light brown stains heightened its color, yellow, like sunflowers in bloom.
I anted to run but I couldn’t. my leg was hurting.
I tried to look at the face but all I could see was a faint outline of the face.
“Are you god?”
I heard the soft chuckle, trying to be controlled but escaping through moist lips.
“ I am not god. Just his messenger.”
“ They say god is everywhere and listens to everyone”
“ That is true my child”
“ Why does he need messengers?”
Light seemed to reflect from the angular face, like a diamond. All you see is reflected light, not the angles and planes that reflect light.
“ We are for special people like you. We take your message straight to god so that he can grant your wishes.”
“ Can you ask him to give me wings? I want to fly.”

* * * * *

The face is still the same, he thought. The face had not changed. Thoughts words and deed had changed but the face remains the same. He cannot destroy that face, whatever may be the consequences.
God never gave him wings.
He got up and lifted the rifle, broke the stock, butt and sight and fitted them into the case. He slung the case over his shoulder and limped away.
God never gave him wings.
The light faded, the sun blotted out by dark clouds. It began to rain…

Rain …the ultimate soother of pain…
Rain…. the reason for the slain…
Rain…. the lost melody, dancing in disdain
Rain….the giver of grain
Rain….my true bane
Rain….don’t stain….don’t stain….

The Vase

2004-12-28T11:23:00.001+05:30

Like soft mist on a cold night
It stood in the fading light.
Catching reflections of the fading light
From velvet curtains to black grime.
Ethereal and yet so real
The vase stood, a sentry unparalleled.

* * *

He couldn’t believe what he created
From dark earth and a fiery kiln.
He didn’t touch it for the fear of stains
He stared at his reflection, in dismay.
The wrench his heart felt
When he thought of the hands,
That would caress this beauty
In some foreign land.
Break it……………..break it……………
His soul tormented,
Let not unworthy eyes rest on it
The echoes lamented.

Mud walls and a leaking roof
Scattered pallets, his only proof.
With a piece of silver they bought his immortality,
Drunk, he lay, staring at a vacant non-entity.

* * *

Pieces he finds, lost in the rubble,
A thousand years ago, somebody had stumbled.
His eyed fixed on the delicate veins,
Blue and gold with silver strains.

Shattered, like human past,
Gathered in pieces, the broken vase.
Whose hands did make, this mirage.
Made the mistake of making it a farce.

A broken man, a broken vase
Time doesn’t let such things pass.

* * *

Under the lights, in a glass case,
Fragile………..stands the vase.
Hungry eyes devour the detail,
The soul of a man, sold in retail.
Tormenting the echoes of words unheeded,
Poverty is what it pleaded.
The faint cracks no one sees,
What it was…….and…
……….what it could have been!

Mirage

2004-12-28T11:18:00.000+05:30

He felt the heat like a liquid,
Draining away his will.
Heat and cold, battered his body,
Sun and sand, drained the spirit.
Many a tree he had seen, on a far away dune,
Only to disappear, leaving behind no clue.
Parched throat, dry like sand,
A voice, he didn’t know he had.

Mirage! His senses screamed,
Blue water, is all he dreamed.
He didn’t move, for it would disappear,
Slow steps he took, steps of fear.
His thirsty eyes drank in the colors,
Green and blue, ah! What wonder.

This ain’t real! His brain screamed,
His thoughts, his thirst had screened.
He sat down in the shade,
In cold water he was to wade.

Its only sand! Its only sand!
It’s the curse of this rugged land.
Just one minute let me find,
Solace, in my drifting mind.
One drop, like nectar it shall be,
Saving me from eternity.

* * *

They found him sprawled on the wet sand,
His body cold, in a hot land.
His finger wet, soaked in the pool,
His eyes wide open………..
………Like those of a fool.

Three is a Crowd

2004-12-24T10:34:00.000+05:30

“There is no water and there is a man sleeping, with his head on his table.”
“I know.” He replied. “He is dead. I killed him”
I stood up and drained the glass of rum.

* * *

It was freezing cold. I wanted to see snow. It had been 25 years since I watched snow falling. They all said it would be freezing cold but I had made up my mind long ago.

The shops were closed and I was dying for a drink. I realized this place hadn’t changed one bit. And then he spoke
“ Are you a tourist?”
“Yes”
“All the shops are closed for the day. Want to join me for a drink?”

he seemed to have a faint accent that I was unable to place. I had nothing to do and wanted a drink. What had I to loose?
We walked down the road, the fading light casting long shadows. His house had the colonial charm of places built for relaxing. It was not far down the road but the deodars, like sentries, isolated the place from the bustle of the town.
We sat down and he produced a bottle of rum without a label.
The fire crackled and threw eerie dancing shadows on the wall. I asked him for some water and he directed me to the kitchen.

* * *

With great control, which till now had eluded me, I turned around to pick up my bag.
“ 20 years ago I fell in love with a girl.” his voiced seemed so far away, lost in some glory day. “ She was very pretty, like flowers in spring. She lived next door and we used to walk down the hills, on forest trails. She was pretty and her voice was music to my ears. She called me Ritchie.” He spoke, staring into the fire, oblivious of my presence.
“ Leave, leave” a voice screamed in my head but I sat down and poured myself another drink.
“ I thought she was in love with me but Sam proposed and she married him. I still love her and may her soul rest in peace.” He looked straight into my eyes “ they buried her yesterday.”
I was at a loss for words and was completely confused.
“ Sam and I were good friends.” He went on” we made a deal. She would choose the person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with and the other would leave town and never come back. Sam cheated and won. I had to kill him.”
“How?” one word escaped from my lips.
He didn’t seem to hear my question “ I wouldn’t hurt Rosa. So I had to wait 20 years.she was in love with him.”

It was becoming harder to understand his words and the rum was playing tricks on my mind. I stood up and walked out into the cold night. A warm glow spreading through my senses.

* * *

Rosalyn d’souza.
I had come to attend my mother’s funeral but ended up attending my father’s. I wondered who was Ritchie and what I should tell the police. Walking towards the church a lonely grave caught my attention.
Richard Burns
19th September 1935 to 4th march 1959
“ A true friend and a kind fellow”

In No Sense

2004-12-23T14:25:00.000+05:30

Was all alone when the lights faded,
A serene moment juxtaposed in the silence.
You could hear the wind rustling the leaves,
And the soft sob, the heaving release.
Turning around I saw, innocent eyes
Gazing at me in mock surprise.
Sitting in the shadows his features glow,
The freshness of spring, like a brook did flow.

I remember you, but you can’t recall
My face, unchanged by many a fall.

Familiar but distant, clouded by life,
His face had a purity untainted by strife.

I was with you building castles of sand,
Wondering about stars and staging mock wars.
Cycling down the lane, wind in your face,
Arms stretched, with a seagull’s grace.
I felt the pain when the snowballs hit,
The satisfaction, after a banana split.

Who are you? These words escape,
Surprise and fear, such a vague shape.
The smile that plays on his soft lips,
Never to be captured, in some lost clip.

Something you lost many a fall ago,
Your innocence am I, the tears began to flow.

* * * *

I wait for him on lonely nights,
Restless and nervous, before a fight.
The memories reopened an old wound,
A bird without wings, I was marooned.
Unable to relive, the joy that did last,
Into the fiery world I was cast.
Innocence unearthed from the grave,
I never was your slave.