Tuesday, February 28, 2006


Today is it. I started writing a poem but then I decided to be obviously open or rather openly obvious about it instead. I guessed a few more lines of open admission will not really harm anybody. My month ends today. If you are still guessing why all this hullabaloo about February, you have already missed it and so it does not matter.

My efforts in blending in with the world around me have been quite successful. So successful in fact that most people have ceased to pay any notice to me. It feels strangely banal to stand amidst the crowd, to be at the end of the queue and to be passed over most of the time.

I just walked down a road while leisurely wandering around the neighbourhood. I have wandered thus, a few times before. I remember a congruent evening a few months earlier. I was talking on the phone that evening. Many things were the same, the evening, the roads, the empty cup of hot chocolate fudge I had just finished, the phone in my pocket and yet it was so different today. The beginnings and endings have blurred each other out at some rusty horizon, and I am worried that by the time I reach that horizon I will fall off my flat earth.

Two of the most beautiful people on this planet hugged me today. I feel I am blessed. A hug. An admission of honest love. Voices without a hint of make believe. A carpet of dreams lining the road on which I walk. These exist. I have seen them with my open eyes.

So many memories crowd my head, each jostling with the other to burst out. An email from the first girl I ever asked out for dinner. A phone call from a sister who held on to my tiny hands when I forgot how to walk. A song which loops endlessly on my CD-player refusing to surrender the promise it holds in its words. A lifetime of longing framed in a photo which hangs above my bed.

I have been walking up the cliff for some time now. I reach the edge today. I stand at the shore of the vast unknown, with only an infinite unblemished sky stretching in front of me. It is time to stop reaching out frantically, and to stop holding on to any remnants of life. It is the time to jump...

Monday, February 27, 2006

Illimitable rapture

A mesmerising breeze blew on the most beautiful of all evenings in New Delhi, as a crowd of music lovers gathered in numbers far beyond what was planned for. The occasion was an open-air concert, organized by SPIC MACAY at the Nehru Park, Chanakyapuri, New Delhi.

As we walked in, I saw Ustad Zakir Hussain adjusting the microphone decibels with the sound technicians making sure everything sounded just right. We had to reach the concert site and hour and a half early to get good seats and the wait was worth every second. Six-thirty and Zakir carried the Santoor onto the stage. The Santoor is the instrument played by Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma. Zakir's tabla was already there. The two maestros took centre stage, and then it began.

I will not even attempt to say a word about these two great artistes. My words cannot do justice to such incarnations of divine art. I want to, however, attempt to convey what I felt when they played.

Wood on string,
The air vibrates,
Soft twinkles lighting up
an evening of velvet shine,
Fingers conjure beats,
A soft cadence teases, slowly
up a cup of crimson wine.

A brook trips
and falls in glee
free from shackles bound,
She shies away with
an inviting glance,
A touch, a smell, a sight, and all
to the might of sound.

like fire and smoke,
A lingering kiss,
A passionate bite,
Fingers dance on
His lap divine,
Sparks of ecstasy
of sheer delight.

The winds dance
to a frenzied quake,
You run your fingers
down my spine
tracing tales of yore,
Raising the wild
beast asleep
inside, madness
and wanting more.

Zenith of a
crescendoing thrill,
One with Him
a virgin soul,
Life scorched forever
with a celestial
touch, her and me
in a seamless whole.

Sunday, February 26, 2006

The Tea Seller

June had never been a forgiving month in Faizalabad. The trains, however, never stopped. Faizalabad was an important junction for the Central Railways. The hot winds which usually frolic on lands barren and dry all throughout the Indian summer, showed no mercy to the railway platform or the people who were scattered on it. Weaving his way among the unfortunate souls forced to travel in such weather, was Chandru.

Chandru had sold tea on the platform ever since his father had fallen victim to paralysis. That was fifteen years ago. The man in the dusty, tattered, brown shawl had been there on the day he made his debut on the platform. The man appeared, every morning when the first train came, and left when the last train had gone. Chandru's father had known him when he was a strapping young man of twenty-seven. He had been an engineer with the thermal power plant.

He sat on the wooden bench, as always, watching the tracks with searching eyes. His face contorted, asking a question to which he had still not found an answer. Chandru left a tumbler of tea and two slices of bread beside him every afternoon at twelve. He was already ten minutes late today, and so he hastened. Besides today, he had good news to give.

"Noor Chacha." He looked up at Chandru. Perhaps recognition found a place in his eyes for a lingering moment. "Noor Chacha, sorry for the delay, but there is so much to do at home. I am getting married tomorrow. I will take the tumbler later." If Chandru had waited an instant more before turning around, he would have seen it in his eyes. The euphoria of a love struck youth, however, must be forgiven at all times.

A day or two passed before Chandru returned to his work. He made his way to the wooden bench. He picked the tumbler up. The first train was yet to come. The early morning passengers would be here soon, so he turned around to run back to his stall. Something caught his foot. He looked down. It was a dusty, tattered, brown shawl.

Saturday, February 25, 2006

Letting a laugh live

Spiders in the bathroom! I am usually reasonably brave, except when confronted with needles, and creepy, crawly things and... You get the idea. I ran out and fetched the biggest, meanest jhadu (broom) I could lay my hands on. I was all set to met out a thrashing blow when my roomie N stopped me. His plan was to gently lift the spider on the broom, and let it out of the house. I suddenly felt barbaric. For a boy with his unkempt, uncouth and the-rest-of-the-world-can-go-to-hell look, he had right then very potently reminded me about the sanctity of all life.

Though I am quite sure I'll hardly feel the same way when I encounter another arachnid, it did convince me that I still have a lot to learn, from every person I meet. I still have hundreds of questions left in me. Perhaps, everybody I bump into brings the gift of a different answer. I also remembered that fear can make me do many things which I would ordinarily not do. A defense mechanism, I guess. Since I am still alive, it must be a good one.

One another note, I sometimes get this sudden urge for uncontrollable laughter when I know for sure I am going to get a really big scolding. It happens just when I am about to face that person. It does not happen always. And it is not that I am laughing at the person or mocking that person. It's just that somebody getting angry over me for whatever reason seems suddenly, to be the funniest thing in the world. What's worse is that if I am laughing when another person is scolding me, it does nothing to calm the rising tempers! I do my best to stifle the laugh. Honestly. But stifling laughter is another thing I must not do too often. No?

It's not you, silly!

Tee hee hee.
What do you think you are smirking at?
Hee hee! Nothing... hee.
Impudent child!
Sorry... but... hee hupp gulp.
Stop this behavior right this instant! Atrocious!
Haa haa ha... your... haa ha
What! How dare you? Me, me? What about me?
Haa hmmmpph... haaa haa.. hoo hoo oooh my
Hmmpph! He hee ... What? Tell me...
Your tail is on fire!
What!!! Aiyeeeaaa...
Haaa haaa haa.... h..
Oh my! Ooooh my! Help! Wait a...
Toodle ooo... tee hee
I don't have a tail!

Between friends

"Pooh bear! Why, where have you been all this time?"

"I have been visiting, Piglet."

"Visiting who?"

"Yes, I have been visiting Who, but how did you know?"

"I know? But I thought I did not know..."

"Ah! You see the thing about knowing, Piglet, is that when you know that you know something, you still do not know what you do not know. Only when know what you do not know, but always supsected to be true, is the knowing any good."

"Err... did Who teach you that?"

"No Piglet, Anybody who's met a Who knows that a Who never tells what he knows and never knows what she tells."

"I did not know. I've never met a Who."

"I know, Piglet. I know. It's alright. Not knowing. Let's go and find some honey."

What's the use...

Can I...
But I...
Surely, you must...
Please, just...
I promise that...
I'll be very...
Just a tiny bit...

What's the use of having a chocolate factory then!


A simple tube thereof,
Pink and minty,
Manages to fall,
On my belly,
While I try,
To wake up my sleeping teeth.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Waking Life

...because Then happened, Now isn't. But didn't I mention the ongoing "wow" is happening right now? We are all co-authors of this dancing exuberance where even our inabilities are having a roast. We are the authors of ourselves, co-authoring a gigantic Dostoevsky novel, starring clowns. This entire thing we're involved with called the world, is an opportunity to exhibit how exciting alienation can be. Life is a matter of a miracle that is collected over time by moments, flabbergasted to be in each other's presence. The world is an exam to see if we can rise into direct experience. Our eyesight is here as a test to see if we can see beyond it. Matter is here as a test for our curiosity. Doubt is here as an exam for our vitality.

Is the real world any more real than the world of dreams? Who is to say I am not dreaming all this, and I'll wake up one day as a alien in another universe, having dreamed the whole of earth and its history during an afternoon siesta. Can I dream or think of dreaming inside a dream?

An assumption develops that you cannot understand life and live life simultaneously. I do not agree entirely. Which is to say I do not exactly disagree. I would say that life understood is life lived. But the paradoxes bug me, and I can learn to love and make love to the paradoxes that bug me. And on really romantic evenings of self, I go salsa dancing with my confusion. Before you drift off, don't forget. Which is to say, remember. Because remembering is so much more a psychotic activity than forgetting. And as one realizes that one is a dream figure in another person's dream, that is self awareness.

Waking Life is a movie. It is not a story though. It jolts the visual and auditory modes of perception by way of a surreal narrative, created solely by the juxtaposition of dialogue. It is a two hour eat-all-you-can lunch buffet for the mind. A fluid visual style created by rotoscoping non-photorealistic animation on live action footage creates the basis for a constant repertoire where one bouquet of ideas melts into another. It is a movie, which you may find has an uncanny resemblance to your life, or to your dreams. Do you know the difference between the two?

You haven't met yourself yet. But the advantage to meeting others in the meantime is that one of them may present you to yourself. Examine the nature of everything you observe. For instance, you might find yourself walking through a dream parking lot. And yes, those are dream feet inside of your dream shoes. Part of your dream self. And so, the person that you appear to be in the dream cannot be who you really are. This is an image, a mental model.

If this was a dream,
My dream,
Born inside me,
Would I be fighting on the losing side?

If this was my fight,
My strife,
Fought for my life,
Would I forbid my heart to beat?

If this was my heart,
My love,
Alive with my blood,
Would I be bereft of you right now?

If this was my dream.

The excerpts from the scripts of the movie, given above, are from this site, and all copyrights rest with their rightful owners.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Pent-up dreams

Aaja saanjh hui,
Mujhe teri fikar,
Dhundhla gayi
dekh meri nazar,
Aaja na...

There was nothing better to do all evening, so I was all set to go out by myself and hunt for a few books. But then as I was walking, I just went into this really long day-dreaming spree. I imagined such wonderful possible futures that I was grinning from cheek to cheek. By the time I snapped out of it, the euphoria of the what-if's had blanketed my restlessness. So I did not go out. I went back to work instead; at 8 p.m.

Aandhyion se jhagad rahi hai lau meri,
Ab mashalon si bad rahi hai lau meri,
Namon nishan rahe na rahe,
Ye karvaan rahe na rahe,
Ujaale main,
Pee gaya,
Roshan hua,
Jee gaya...

Have you ever felt like the world lies at your feet? I feel like that right now. An endless sea of oppurtunity beckons. Then why am I still moping about and not doing anything at all? What am I waiting for? Who am I waiting for?

Aur bhadke ga jo shola
sa hamare dil main hai.

Zindagi to apni mehman
maut ki mehfil main hai.

Door reh paaye jo hum se
dum kahan manzil main hai.

I also keep shuffling between extremes of perception these days. One moment the world is speaking to me, like I can smell the faintest of smells and see the smallest of sights. Everything - the cement on the walls, the tar on the road, the leaves, the sky, the computer screen, the chat window - is speaking to me. Another moment, I am so numb that I cannot hear the person sitting beside me. It is as though I am stuck in a limbo. Why is this happening?

I find that I cannot cry anymore. The tears just flatly refuse to flow. Why is that? Frozen? Dried up? I also feel this overwhelming helplessness. It's like somebody is calling out to me... Somebody, whose life depends on it. And in spite of all my trying and all my wanting, I cannot move from my place. It makes me so angry sometimes. And then it just dies within me. It has no other place to go.

It shall pass.
This shall pass.
A better life awaits.
A tomorrow free from all anguish,
from misery,
from sadness.
A tomorrow filled with love.
Believe me.
Trust me.
Glowing in simple beauty.
Past all this chaos.
I'll learn how to breathe again.
In memories.
Not yet, though.
Wait some more.
The past no more,
The present shall pass,
The future will come to be.
A point in time.
Forever, always.
Conflicts exist.
All around.
No compromise.
Not now.
Not ever.
Never again.
Ever again.
This shall never end.
This shall pass.
It too, shall pass.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Languages of Silence

A glass window, a headphone,
The tapping of keys on a keyboard,
The hum of an air conditioner,
Every note in place,
Making this world real.

En mi cielo al crepúsculo eres como una nube
y tu color y forma son como yo los quiero.
Eres mí­a, eres mí­a, mujer de labios dulces,
y viven en tu vida mis infinitos sueños.

Is raat ke simat te kadam
jo din ki quaid me kho jayenge,
Apne saath lekar chali kuch sapne,
Jinhe ab neend ke sahare
ki aarzoo nahi rahi.

La lámpara de mi alma te sonrosa los pies,
el agrio vino mí­o es más dulce en tus labios:
oh segadora de mi canción de atardecer,
cómo te sienten mí­a mis sueños solitarios!

bheja megher kol theke phoske
podlo eshe aamar gaaye,
tomar gaaye
shei aaeki brishti.

Eres mí­a, eres mí­a, voy gritando en la brisa
de la tarde, y el viento arrastra mi voz viuda.
Cazadora del fondo de mis ojos, tu robo
estanca como el agua tu mirada nocturna.

It's just me,
A messenger idle
speaks, comforts distances
which join us, forever.

En la red de mi música estás presa, amor mí­o,
y mis redes de música son anchas como el cielo.
Mi alma nace a la orilla de tus ojos de luto.
En tus ojos de luto comienza el paí­s del sueño.

The verses in Spanish are a Pablo Neruda poem, En mi cielo al crepúsculo (In my sky at twilight) from his book Veinte poemas de amor y una cancíon desesperada (Twenty poems of love and a song of despair).

Monday, February 20, 2006

Recalibrating my head

I have been advised to give up this blog. But I cannot. My life depends on it. I cannot burn down all bridges to the other side. So this one door will always stay open for in it manifests my hope that what is eternal never dies. Walking down an empty street at night has cleared up my head a bit. I can now see more clearly, past all the misery that I have caused, to a future which exists in my dreams.

It was wrong on my part to try and crush something which has done no wrong. Fortunately, it still lives on in my heart. It will live on till time immemorial. I just have to adjust to a new time scale of waiting that's all - one which spans lifetimes.

I'll wait.

What have I done!

I have murdered something that's what. Killed it in cold blood. I have yanked out a throbbing heart, and dashed it on the ground. It still throbs.

Now when I stand, covered in blood and try to cry... the tears refuse to flow.

I did not want it to end like this... I did not want it to end at all. I'll pray to God that you never realize what I did. No, then this will never work. My banishment must be complete. My confinement impenetrable.

Forgive me.

Sunday, February 19, 2006

The darkness returns

It's a beautiful evening outside, light breeze and a setting sun. Dhoni just hit two consecutive sixes and beat the living daylights out of the opposition. Strains of an energetic "mohe tu rang de basanti" are saturating the air in my room. Everything is going right with the world. Everything is going wrong with me. Except perhaps that my capacity for suffering pain just keeps on increasing.

Much as I want to be happy, and smile, and be calm, and let it all go in peace, I cannot. I cannot write about anything else, not think of anything else and not see anything else. I am being consumed. By love. By anger. By a feeling of infinite helplessness.

With this constant burning, comes the dawning of the fact that I am no saint. I cannot push out everything that is negative, out of by blood just by wishing it. The undistilled rage is coming back. The frigid, sarcastic, lifeless cold is returning. It is evident, is it not, that the same intensity manifests in both the positive and the negative. Perhaps this is why I am not with anyone. I'll obviously end up ruining somebody else's life.

I wonder about those of you who read all this madness I keep spewing out here. When you see me beating myself up, wallowing in this pain, do you pity me? Do you think I am crazy? Will you refuse to recognize me if you bump into me on the street? Do I embarrass you? They say it's how the person acts when the going gets tough is how he really is inside. I'll tell you how I am inside right now. I am rotting, I am decadent. I am honest. I am brutally honest. I cannot live any other way.

Go. Go away. Run away so far that even my thought seems distant. Forget that I exist. I'll soon cease to anyway...

Saturday, February 18, 2006

A decision

Koi bhi teri, raah na dekhe
Nain bichaye na koi,
Dard se tere, koi na tadpa
Aankh kisi ki na roi,

Kahe kisko tu mera
Musafir jaayega kahan...

I was quietly sitting in my office, having finished whatever work I had yesterday night. I was quietly watching 15 Park Avenue. I missed the film at the cinema hall, so I was catching up.

I have become quite incapable of watching love stories any more. They have been sending my thinking circuits into overdrive. You might think that as silly - thinking triggered by mush? What next? I frankly do not know the answer to that question. So, here I was watching Mithi search in all earnest for her house at 15 Park Avenue, thinking (yeah ... that seems to be my only occupation these days) I am not living a much different life either. Living two lives, one where I am me as most of the world knows me, normal, calm and smiling. And another where I am me as... Never mind!

So here I lost in my own search in my (own?) head, when the boss decides to creep in from behind me and ask, "Can you come and fix... blah blah blah?" Well, I made him sit down and watch the remaining ten minutes of the movie. Then I went with him to fix whatever it was that was broken, because: one, he asked nicely, two, he is really a good guy, and three, after all he is the boss. Since this was around 10 a.m. today morning, and I had decided to catch up on breakfast after I finished the movie, and the fix took three hours, I was essentially starving at 1 p.m.

I had to pick up mom at 2 p.m. so there was no time for lunch. I had to walk for about 25 minutes to the bus stand. A brisk walk on an empty stomach can perhaps cause hallucinations. For me, however, it brought forth a revelation. It was crystal clear. The decision. About time I made one. The thing is I have been worrying myself to death (quite literally) about whatever is happening... to me. I am scared that I'll not pull through this, probably break down at some point, or turn permanently bitter. And somewhere at the end of this tunnel I know lies the possibility of living on alone, forever. But suddenly I knew today.

I'll never live a compromise. I have not done it in my professional life. I'll not do it in my personal. I now know how it feels, and if I never feel like this again, I am staying single for the rest of my life. If it means that I'll break rather than bend then so be it. Obviously I have not spelled it out to anybody yet. I know I'll have to, at some point, at least to my parents. I hope they will understand. I cannot change what others think or choose, but I can control what I choose. This is my choice. No compromise.


Shaking hands.

Exploding head.

Blurred out world.

Deafening silence.

Infinite emptiness inside.

The beginnings of a crack... I am scared.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Answers beyond reason

How do I hold in,
Lock up in a single heart,
What can change lives forever,
How do I erase what is,
Etched in blood from end to start.

How do I look past,
A light which shines so bright,
That it purges clean every dark,
How do I accept that it is not the chosen path,
When every living shred screams it is the only right.

How do I pray and not ask,
For everything I want as mine,
To be human for a change,
How do I unconditionally surrender,
Myself, in this tryst with the divine.

How do I give up,
Every claim on my own breath,
The right to fight for staying alive,
How do I walk into an everlasting still,
Disowned by life, unclaimed by death.


The day was going by as any other day. There had been the usual meetings, and seminars and what not. I managed to see Bluffmaster at last. After which I followed it up with a movie in Portuguese called Cidade De Deus or City of God. I tried to listen, instead of just reading the subtitles. I can pick up bits n pieces of the language as it is somewhat similar to Spanish. But all that remained after the movie was the sound of gunshots, ringing in my head! Rio is still floating somewhere in the back of my mind.

Then, suddenly out of nowhere, a couple of friends turned up and dragged me out. They had been playing badminton for sometime. I had expressed a subdued interest in it at some point of time. It seems they had decided that it was about time I took a more active interest in it. And so I went to a badminton court after a gap of about three years. First shot: Shuttle leaves my left hand, right hand swings the racket, shuttle falls to ground near my feet. It was so embarrassing. I could feel my face go blood red. But thankfully it came back after a couple of clumsy shots. Soon I was into a heated doubles match, running all over the court. I was really surprised when I dived - on a cement court - missed, bruised my leg and felt really good about it! The best part was we won - 15/13. I had so forgotten how good it felt. Of course I am going back today, my aching shoulder, notwithstanding.

I took a shower, and had dinner at the mess. Made a brief visit to the office to finish up some work. Then I decided to walk back. I was merrily talking to myself out loud. Talking about things no one else would be interested in hearing, but they needed to be said nonetheless. When Y and D pulled up beside me, and offered a lift back to my place.

My roomie N, and me, do not have any furniture at all. All our stuff is either in almirahs, or on the floor, as is our bed. So when N informed me a wooden cot was lying unattended on the terrace of our building for the past fifteen days, I knew it was a godsend. We went and examined it. The cot was broken right in the middle, but it was still usable. So we smuggled the cot into our apartment and voila! Well, first night on a cot which made a soothing murmuring sound every time I twisted and turned, was turning out to be kind of rickety. Sleep, however, is a very potent anaesthetic. And soon, it was sweet dreams!

I can't seem to remember my dreams anymore. I wonder why...

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Don't laugh!

Don't laugh, silly boy!

Go play with some frivolous toy,

Or hatch some other devious ploy,

Or make one of those innumerable, irritable, expressions you employ,

Ooof! I can't stand it when you act so totally coy,

Tears overflowing with apparent joy!

Do you think this is what I enjoy?

Forever worried what you may destroy...

Why, you are more trouble than Helen of Troy,

That smile I know is just a decoy,

A tougher nut to crack than Tolstoy,

The kingpin of your rambunctious convoy,

Disguised by fewer years, you are Loki's envoy,

Don't you dare laugh again, understood boy?

Monday, February 13, 2006


A bright sun in the sky, lush green grass on the fields till as far as the eye could see, and a sense of utopian peace where the eye couldn't. Niteesh could not have cared less. He did not even recognize the hands which were trying to feed him now. Loving, caring, wrinkled old hands. Hands which had kept his body alive, when his mind had lost the war to Alzheimer's. He did not thank these hands. He did not feel grateful. He did not even remember what he felt anymore. Anna could not have cared less.

She had not always been there. With him. Though she felt like it now. She had been his first love. He had passionately courted her for a year. She had tried to reason it out with him. "It will not work." "Go live your life. Do not waste it like this." "You have so much promise in you. I am not meant for you." But Niteesh could not care less. He loved her. Beyond words. Beyond reason. Anna had gone away. And she had been away for thirty years. She had a lovely life, with a loving man, with lovely children and with lovelier grandchildren.

Then, one day there had been the doctor's letter. They had traced her from his journal entries, as the only living person who knew him and was still alive. She had gone back to see him. There had been a strange restlessness in her heart, when she saw those eyes once again. Though lost, but still searching. For what? He had lived all his life, they told her, with zest and vigour. He had been successful, and kind. He had never married. It was then she knew, it was time he stopped searching. She knew he would never recognize her again. She knew he would never love again. Anna could not care less.

Saturday, February 11, 2006


Tanha rahi apni raah chalta jaayega,
Ab to jo bhi hoga dekha jaayega.

Jodi tor dak shune keu naa aashe,
Tobe ekla cholo re.

Something stirs. Or does it? It is not about Rang De Basanti, which I saw today. It is a film of extremes, a vision of country, painted on celluloid. I'll admit I liked it but I'll not analyze it. Let me instead talk about something closer to my heart.

Oh no! Not that again. Don't worry, it's not 'that,' again. Though it is related in a very beautiful way, I'll not talk about that relation either. I have seen posts on this earlier on other blogs, and big debates and what not. This is not my answer, or my question. It is a mess inside my head really, but let me try to spill my guts out.

Define India.

Put her in one word? A couple of words? A paragraph? An essay? A book? A few thousand books? My India, your India, his India, her India? States, cities, languages, religions? BPO's, steel plants, jute mills, fisheries? Villages, naxals, freedom, democracy? Poverty, population, corruption, illiteracy? Girl child, communalism, communism, AIDS? B. R. Ambedkar, Adi Shankaracharya, Buddha, Akbar?

Okay, that's enough! I cannot, as you see put my finger on what defines India. She's neither just the sum of her borders nor just a head count. Questions like, are NRI's less Indian, or should every Indian know Hindi, or should we go to the moon when there is nobody to feed countless millions, or will the IT boom die, do not even scratch the surface. She is all that. She is more. She lives and breathes, in each of us. She is in the freight carried on the many trains, in the trains which run on the tracks, in the tracks laid by the Railways and in the minister who heads the Railways. She is as much in the Raj, as in the Mughals, as in the Mauryas, as in Vasco da Gama, as in 1947.

Utopian? Maybe. But the very less of what I understand of her, and the slightly more of that I feel, forces me to conclude thus. I do not know whether this country needs a revolution or not, or whether we are an elected dictatorship or a forced democracy. I do not know whether you should fight the 'system,' or condemn it and run away. But I do know, she needs us to believe. And the sooner we get this the better. This is not a solution to any problem we face today, nor is it the last ball of a cricket match. It is about what all the annals of history scream at you, what you'll find inside if you look at yourselves closely enough. It is about a conviction. It is about...


Thursday, February 09, 2006

Ten Questions

1. If every one who knew anything about the theory of information, typed a random sentence would the entropy of the written piece be high or low?

2. In the finite dimensional space spanned by their beautiful linearly independent basis vectors, if you spin an electron clockwise, would its entangled pair spin likewise in another finite dimensional space?

3. If I wore a black denim pant instead of blue, will the deviation be enough to change the course of world history about a million years from now?

4. If the ringing of the cell phone, resonates with the natural frequency of the steel rafter overhead, can it bring this building down?

4. If everything fast is relative to everything slow, then is it the same with flat and curved? What about space-time, where is the flat relative for that?

5. How many mutations of my DNA, will make me invisible? Will any number of mutations ever bring me back?

6. If P turned out to be equal to NP, will the price of crude oil come down tomorrow? Or is this precisely the reason they have been asking us to use renewable sources from day one?

7. If Da Vinci did not meet Mona Lisa, would that smile be still on some painting? Worse still, what if Mona Lisa did not let Da Vinci paint her portrait? Will all smiles be lost?

8. If there is a star for every man, woman and child on this planet, what happens to all the other people on all the other planets? Is that a life-on-another-planet question or one in first order logic?

9. If India made cold fusion a reality, who'll feed all the power companies? Who will feed all the power? Who will feed?

10. Can I ask one more question after this?

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Deadline met

After surviving on a diet of buns, cheese and Maggi for a week mom's chicken curry tasted like ambrosia today afternoon. And I cannot even describe how my bed feels like, after a week of sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor of my office room. But the real high, after and in spite of all this, is that I met my deadline! You might think I am crazy. Not that I am not. But I am really elated about the fact I can still do it. That and being very content with what I have, has just made today's all-day-sleeping-ritual very successful.

It's February once again. My month. Delhi is just grand at this time of the year. If you ever plan to visit Delhi, now is the time. Something in the air changes during this time, it's like the world is really happy about my being alive! And even if I just beat Narcissus at being narcissistic, who cares!

Ah! But the point is someone does care. Yes, it is you I am talking to. I am kind of tied down in what I can say here. Like I was in what I could do when I met you. I do not dare think about desiring you. You want to know why? I brought it back from the borders of obsession once. I do not want to venture there again. I have stayed away from the why and the how, and from asking you why not, because I surrendered long ago, unconditionally. Do not ask me why I do not fight. I wanted to, more than anything else, for you. But you know the answer. It was your choice. I'll respect that. Till the very end.

I really want to thank you people out there, those who read what ever I wrote and said kind words. Even those who read and did not say anything. This blog has been a boon. I have met the most beautiful (literally and otherwise), and wonderful people through it. I have forged new friendships, which I hope will last my lifetime.

Other things which happened in the past weeks are that I splurged on new clothes after eons. I bought two pairs of cool denims, one black and one blue. And I was sooo tempted to buy an absolutely enchanting jacket. Alas! My purse had other plans. It had returned to it's state of stable equilibrium, i.e., it was empty. I also met Z again after a long time. It was refreshing as always.

I've learnt to count my blessings. In the past year I have found new meanings for love, strength, friendship, resilience and pushed the limits of my endurance. Tomorrow can only be better.

Life, being born in the palm of my hand,
The world changes pace, as I dare to demand,
To be heard, and brought to bear,
A warm embrace, spanning far and near,
In another time, I'll not bow down,
Neither to a mortal life, nor a heavenly crown,
If anything be true, it has to be this,
Never has anyone desired more, that priceless kiss.