Happy Diwali

Wishing all of you a very very happy Diwali. May your joys multiply and may you find peace.

When we danced...

This post is dedicated to that little darling I call my nephew. He turns 3 today. Happy Birthday, sweetheart. This is the design I had printed on his birthday T-shirt.

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Avuncular pleasures are few but, aah! Such pleasure be they, that any more and hedonism would be redefined. Recently my sister and her four-month old son visited us and then stayed with us for a few months. Amongst the many things we – my nephew and I – did, there is this one ritual which grew to be very dear to me. Before I get into that, I would need to detail certain things which facilitated the birth of this activity!

My sister loves to sleep, so much that we were worried that she might go into labour while she was asleep. She stays awake till way after I have fallen asleep and stays asleep for many hours following my diurnal rise. We haven’t noted a single day which serves as an exception.

My mother likes to get all her work – prayers, cooking, cleaning, chores, etc. – done in the morning. No, she doesn’t have her dinner then, but a significant portion of her work gets completed by 11:00 a.m. And while she says her prayers she will not touch certain “things”, which includes babies.

My nephew, for reasons unknown, is a lot like me in his schedule. He rises early, goes to bed early (well, if you skip the occasional going-to-bed game of his), must have his food on time and burps exactly 48 seconds after his last mouthful. He is good, I must say, for one tends to morph flaws into benign goodness with the able hands of sophistry.

With all the characters set, and it is a fine feeling of a theatre director that I have now, we shall now study the ritual. I really wouldn’t want to call it that (and I have no clue what my nephew wants to call it) but for the lack of a better word. So ritual it shall be. We designed various rituals and regularly changed their forms to introduce variety for him, but this one was serendipitous.

It all began one deceptively common day with his cries, gurgles, and finally a bear hug which thrilled him more than the noisiest toys in his kitty. My sister dreamily handed him over to me. I took him out asking him about the weather and what he thought about the recent evacuation initiative in the Gaza Strip. He stuck his tongue out for both. We really need news reporters like our man here. Iwalked him up and down the length of our house discussing a variety of things and pausing to obtain his expert expression on them. Soon he got bored, which I believe has little to with me or my conversations but with his sense of time; matters of the world can occupy only thirty minutes of his morning.

I decided to strap him to the car-seat, which is basically a basket-like contraption to house a baby, and, when babies are unavailable, can contain washed socks and sundry. He demanded some entertainment. Rattles and soft toys and spinning tops and musical ones were brought out one after another and were operated, sometimes, simultaneously. He sulked at the little bouncing toy, whichrepeated its trick of the past few days and then looked up at me. I took him off hisbasket and he was excited about what was due in the next few minutes of which I surely had no clue.

I walked him up and down the house again, until I reached the audio-visuals room, which is nothing more than the room, which houses all appliances that make usually pleasant controllable noises. With him wriggling on one arm, I picked the DVD with the widest choice of songs and pushed it into the player. Out came a “Long, long time ago, I can still remember” in Don McLean’s voice! Our man straightened his neck and – thank god – stopped squirming. He looked all around him and then again at my mouth. I kept it pursed with a “guess-what” smile. He looked up into my eyes with his head still unsteady on a rock-n-roll neck. When the guitars picked pace, our man smiled. Hmmm. This was interesting. Then I turned him to face the player with all its coloured bands flaring up and falling to the beat. When I turned around, he quickly spun on a still supple axis and kept looking at the rainbow band singing in a man’s voice with some nice guitar tracks.

I slowly started swaying him to the music and he shrieked with joy. It was such a delightful reaction from him in the morning. His laughter and such shrieks are pretty much the only things that make the mundane task of babysitting a shade better. He loved it when I sang the “Bye, bye, Miss American Pie” blowing some air in his hair on the “bye” and “pie”. Slowly the dancing got a little bit more like Volkstanz and he was delighted when I spun him around my no-longer-supple axis! His shrieks transformed into “Encore” and he kept pumping his fists!! The song changed to “Summer of 69” and the young rocker was busy head banging – well, not really, but kept moving himself back and forth by pushing against my chest. To a more mellow “Annie’s song” and “When you say nothing at all” he glided well on the “floor” and enjoyed the slow dance.

I was tired sooner than the 4th or 5th song started and I sat on the cane hammock. I made him sit on my lap with his back well cushioned on my stomach. We beganswinging to the Tamil number “Thoda Thoda malarnthathenna” from the movie Indira. Soon he was sleeping like, well, a baby.

This was just the first day and I happily shared this with my sister who was excited to know that her son had an ear for music. My mom had watched some portions of the various dances we had performed in the room and was happy without much reason! My sister started envisioning the days when he would learn music and croon like Kishore Kumar and funny scenes of him serenading to women, who for all practical purposes weren’t born at that point of time. He was busy sitting in his basket making spit bubbles.

The next day was to herald similar fare until he grabbed hold of my jaw with both his hands. I rubbed a really fast swivelling nose against his and after his laughter subsided he held on to my jaw. I looked at him through narrowed eyes and then let a smile grow with the beat of “Pudhu Vellai Mazhai” from Roja. I shut the door and slowly started humming the tune to him. I placed his head against my chest so that he could feel the vibrations. Humming turned to singing and singing turned into a full song with instrumental interludes mouthed to something quite distant from the real note of the instrument. We swayed together and I held him aloft while trying to impress upon him the beauty of some lyrics. Then we were back in the cane basket, the one that held adults and now, held the bond that had grown between us, and swung around till he fell asleep.

The following days let him hear other songs and now he could clearly specify which songs he liked; he basically reached out to the music system. If he didn’t like a song, he would look vacantly at me and slowly frown. I would change the song. His all time favourites were “American Pie”, “Annie’s song”, “Bantureethi Kolu”, “Vaseegara”, “Hungama hai kyoon barpa” and some others, which I have forgotten.

Soon he started making sounds to match what he heard. It was difficult to believe that a child so young would do that. He would try to sing, or so it appeared. We would put him in his basket and then place him in front of the TV. In the mornings, some channels broadcast Carnatic music and we would let that play to him. He would listen with rapt attention and then draw in his breath. He would let it out with what seemed like a cry but turned out to be an accompaniment to the piece being played on TV. I even recorded a few of his recitals. Very interesting.

After he left, I haven’t played that disc again. Nothing sentimental, but merely didn’t find enough drive to play it. Maybe I needed someone to dance with me. Maybe I needed him around. Those were fun days when he danced like a baby possessed by the most cherubic and frivolous devils, though I am sure he would deny all of this once he grows up; like how I deny that the reasons aren’t sentimental!

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Sonnet - 3

To the One and only who matters... :-)

What Love has set on me when Life smiled sweet!
A mind so rich, a soul so complete, so stark
A difference. Should Love fall to such conceit?
What use be such a world in lost Love's dark?


Carefully tread your path, with love held close.
So rare a gift, 'tis called a God's sad whim
To let His breath seek another from those
Who hold in their void your love to the brim.


But the twain shant meet in your stained yards,
Of beliefs, hopes and misunderstanding.
How bloom a Rose amidst society's shards?
Why bloom a Rose on this Earth so scalding?


For you are to be but in my heart's beat
Where love for Love's sake leaves our souls replete.

Ye Raat Ye Chandini

Such a night, such moonshine (shall we ever see) elsewhere?
Pray listen to the heart's tale.

On the boughs a drowsy moonlight
Lost in your thought a moonlight
In a while tired, it shall vanish
This glorious night never to return
For a moment or two is the life of this tapestry
Pray listen to the heart's tale.

On the lips of waves rest a dulcet tune
In the moist breeze blazes a fire
Come and enjoy burning in this fire
And change the tune of life's melody
Set free the tongue of your heartbeats
Pray listen to the heart's tale.

Beauty shall pass and youth shall well
In the shadows of stars shall remain our tales
If having beckoned you should they leave
Never will they return those infidels of Spring (the prime of life)
Come, for life is still young
Pray listen to the heart's tale.

(Wouldn't it be better had D-A strummed the guitar a shade more convincingly? :-)

Koi Hota Jisko Apna

Wish there was someone
Someone I'd call mine
If not near, then yonder
But still someone who'd be mine.

Sleep failed my eyes
They'd swim in tears
I'd lay awake in my dreams
Someone to soak in my grief
Someone to be by my side.

Wish there was someone
Someone I'd call mine
If not near, then yonder
But still someone who'd be mine.

Some forgotten promise
Some memories passed
Loneliness retold them through the night
Some solace to be found
Someone to call my own.

Wish there was someone
Someone I'd call mine
If not near, then yonder
But still someone who'd be mine.

Zen Koan - Reflection

It was that time of the year when little Aiko loved lazing under the firs, though it was mostly the mystery of the wet-needle-thrower that brought him there every day. He would rest quietly on the damp sere leaves, with one eye open waiting for his invisible tormentor. Suddenly a dew drop would fall on his furry back and a twitching shudder ran up his spine to whip his head into a spasmodic search for the phantom. He would look all over and search for monkeys and bark a warning to no one in particular before spiralling his trot back into the centre where he would rest, waiting for the next clue.

Today was also the day when a particular batch of students were to leave Sensei Hisa's school and make a life for themselves. Some found a life in there while others thought it impossible to treat this school as anything beyond a rung in the ladder of their progress. It was rumoured that the king's son was also one of the students but no one was able to spot the royal scion based on the Master's treatment of his students. Today there would be the ceremony when the Master would hand over each of his students a bamboo leaf with a directed but cryptic message. Most of these leaves simply rotted away with the household beetles treating it with no greater reverence. Some of the students lived their lives entirely based on that singular message, and grew to be great commoners. Still others used it to guide them through times on their path to noticeable greatness. The Master never refrained from continuing this tradition but always explained to the bamboo shoots as to why he needed their leaves.

Hideaki was looking forward to this occasion as the Master was also known to pronounce who was the best student. It didn't happen always, but Hideaki was planning on pressing the Master to confess to Hideaki being the best. He might also pursue, based on the the number of creases on the Master's forehead, to educe a greater accolade of the best of all times. He had outshone everyone in every subject except in bonsai, where Daisuke had surpassed his capabilities. But Daisuke was just a common help in the Master's school. What better could he do than bonsai and winnow.

The Master was busy composing the individual certificates while the boys waited outside, some discussing about the fair that was being setup at the outskirts and some about the maidens who came to wash clothes near the streams. Some were studying books in the hope that their Master might take that as a sign of sincerity and award them suitably. Hideaki was rehearsing his speech of gratitude. He would flex his muscles to let his Master realise that he hadn't erred in conferring the title on him. The Master's door opened to snap everyone into their ranks. Even Aiko dropped his trail of the phantom and darted towards his master in foot-long leaps. The Master stood for a brief second surveying the assembly before re-entering his chamber. The students paused a while longer before following him in.

The Master was seated behind his low table with a stack of leaves beside him. He was casually looking at each boy as they entered. When they were all seated, he arched his lips before addressing the batch of students.

"I suppose you realise that today is your last day here."

The boys nodded in silence.

"Hmmm. May it not be. This school has a purpose, and that purpose is to let you learn enough so that you may carry on with the life chosen for you, without much hesitation. Nevertheless, the school also includes in its purpose that of welcoming the student whenever they feel a need to learn more about life. Do remember that nothing stops. Such is the breath of the Buddha."

He paused to make sure that everyone had heard him although none had understood him. Like a tan, there are some Truths that will fall unnoticed on the mind but create an impression over time. He was in no hurry.

"I would like each of you to eat your fill today before you leave. Now I shall hand over the certificates to each of you."

He then proceeded to call each student, handed the certificate to them and blessed them with a life without regret. Once he was done, he nodded his head to the students. They would wait for him to nod once more before they rose to the music of rustling robes and left the Master's chamber. Hideaki was unable to hold himself back.

"Master, do I have permission to speak?"

The Master nodded with a smile.

"Master, it is my honour to be your student and no greater honour can be done unto me in this life."

The Master's smile neither grew nor shrank.

"Master, if this is impudence, may I be struck down by the God's wrath, but I in earnest and borne by the eagerness of establishing the greatness of what you have taught us, seek to know whom you consider the best amongst our batch."

Murmurs rippled through the class and the paper stretched between the strips of woods of the amado trembled. The Master looked around.

"Does anyone have something to say?"

No one opened their mouth.

"Then silence is the best to practice."

He turned towards Hideaki and smiled.

"Hideaki-kun, I think we shall not go into why you wish to find that out or what you intend to do with it, like I didn't ask why some of the boys here wanted their certificate when all they were thinking about were the maidens of Kyoto nor what they intend doing with the certificates upon receiving them. I hope everyone realises that Hideaki-san's request is acceptable in this gathering."

The Master paused before continuing.

"Without doubt, Hideaki-kun, you are best student of this batch. I was about to pronounce this just before this batch was to leave and I am thankful to you for having given me the opportunity."

Hideaki was holding his joy back in the pressure of his clenched fists, but he still had more to know.

"Master, if I may explore further, may I know whom you consider the best student from all your batches. Perhaps it is someone from this batch. It would serve me and others to have someone as an example to live up to."

The Master smiled and closed his eyes to visualise what was going to come. His eyes lightened behind the closed lids.

"An example for the world of this school, eh? Quite a noble intention. In that case, the finest student that this school has ever produced is Daisuke."

This time the murmurs were loud enough to stop the school-helps outside. Hideaki was shocked and was unable to hold himself back.

"What? The winnower? Master, perhaps I didn't make my question clear. My apologies. I wanted to know who amongst all your students was exceptional in all that was taught and can serve us as an example. Daisuke hasn't even learnt the art of sword-fighting from you. I am told that he did attend a few classes of yours before he was relegated to the role of a help. Surely, you do not consider him an example for all of that you have taught."

"I understood your question quite clearly, Hideaki-kun. Daisuke has learnt the crux of all that I have to teach as well as something that I haven't taught anyone."

"But he is just a winnower! What is there to learn about winnowing? He doesn't know literature or fencing. How could he be an example?"

"That is for you to figure out, Hideaki-kun. Surely, someone with your sharpness cannot miss that."

Hideaki, for once, had the sympathy of all the students. They couldn't digest the fact that all of them had to look up to a mere winnower. They rose silently and left the chamber. The Master studied the length of the sun rays and realised that it was just a few minutes before his morning bath. Suddenly, he heard some commotion outside. He smiled and walked toward the entrance of his chamber.

Outside, he saw a circle of students with Hideaki and Daisuke at the centre. Daisuke was on his knees with a mound of grain scattered all around him. He saw Hideaki standing arms akimbo towering above Daisuke.

"Come on, I challenge you to a duel."

Daisuke turned slowly to where the Master stood and sought his permission in the silent speech of his eyes. His Master gave his assent in an equally imperceptible manner. Daisuke requested someone to loan him a sword. No one offered so he requested a few minutes before he brought his sword. Hideaki granted his wish with a huff. Daisuke ran to fetch his sword. Hideaki maintained his back towards the Master. When Daisuke returned, Hideaki demanded an explanation for the delay and Daisuke simply bowed his head.

Hideaki took his position and commanded Daisuke to prepare. Daisuke did just that. Hideaki's eyes were filled with a fury which found no reflection in Daisuke's. Daisuke was busy watching Hideaki. Hideaki lunged forward with a scream and attacked Daisuke. Daisuke warded the attack and moved quickly with his sword. Every attack of Hideaki was countered and Daisuke attacked Hideaki in return. Soon Hideaki gained an upper hand and toppled Daisuke on his back. Hideaki burst out laughing and shouted, "What are you going to teach me now, winnower?"

Daisuke rose to his feet and bowed low.

"Shall we continue?"

Hideaki grew serious and attacked Daisuke. The duel grew furious with Hideaki unable to find enough space to pierce his sword into Daisuke's flesh. Daisuke's eyes were fixed on every single movement of Hideaki and every move of Hideaki was countered. After a few minutes, Hideaki was tackled and tossed to the ground with Daisuke's sword placed firmly an inch away from his throat.

"Are we done?" asked Daisuke.

When Hideaki looked away, Daisuke dropped his sword and ran away from the circle. Hideaki slowly rose and the crowd dispersed. Hideaki went and sat on a nearby stump and dusted his elbows and ego. The Master walked up to him and placed a hand on his head.

"How is it possible, Master? Did he have some secret lessons? I have always found him sleeping when the other boys did. He woke up not much earlier than the rest of us. During lunch he would also eat and rest on his pile of hay. The only time he seems to have had for himself was the few minutes he took to get his sword. What could he have learnt in that time?" Hideaki asked and paused. He looked up at his Master and continued, "Is it black magic or some secret communication between him and you? Please tell me Master, else I will not be able to be at peace."

"Daisuke came to this school and after a few days asked me: "Master, how does the rice know how to grow and bear seeds?" I had asked him to meditate. He returned in seven days to let me know that he would like to work in the fields. I granted him leave as his education was over. I have not taught him anything secretly and what purpose does black magic serve beyond placing an individual at a disadvantage?"

"Then how is it possible that a winnower could wield a sword like that?"

The Master smiled and said, "Come with me."

He led Hideaki to the ladies' dressing room. He held Hideaki in front of a mirror and said, "There are two aspects to Daisuke's knowledge and learning. One aspect is in front of you."

Hideaki didn't understand and looked puzzled at his puzzled reflection.

"I don't understand, Master."

"Can you show me your best moves?"

Hideaki proceeded to demonstrate the nagare moves of the okuden class. Finally, he plunged his sword towards his reflection.

"Good, so now you see?"

Hideaki was still puzzled but, like a good student, repeated his moves in the hope of catching something that he had missed earlier. He noted that his flow was perfect in the reflection and his elbow was now bleeding.

"Master, I only see my reflection, and yours."

"Good, so now you know."

Hideaki pondered over and wasn't sure what to realise.

"Forgive me, but are you saying that Daisuke has been studying my reflection?"

"No."

"Me?"

"Not entirely."

"Then?"

"I shall answer this, else the next facet of his knowledge will be totally lost to you. Daisuke was busy becoming your reflection. Do you now see what I mean?"

Hideaki looked closely at his reflection and repeated his moves and stopped as soon as he realised why Daisuke wouldn't take his eyes off him.

"In life, all knowledge is a just a reflection of what is. All demonstration of knowledge is best done when it is a reflection of what the other person knows. Daisuke would not do more than what was required in the situation in which he was placed. All he had to study was how you moved and how the sword moved and he simply had to reflect it."

"And if I hadn't attacked?"

"Does he need to?"

Hideaki nodded his head.

"And the second aspect?"

"You should find out, else how would you justify being my best student from this batch?"

Hideaki bowed his head lower and proceeded to walk out.

"In case you are still wondering why he was away for a few minutes before returning with his sword, he went to remove a few logs of wood from the fire which was heating my bathing water. That gave him enough time to tackle your challenge and then return to a cauldron with water at the right temperature."

"And the second aspect he learned by meditation?"

"No, by being a winnower."

Hideaki walked out of the school gate meditating on that when he remembered his certificate in his kimono's folds. He extracted it to read what his Master had written for him. It was a haiku.

With dust in the eye

Or bloody sword, what reflects?

What you see is seen.

Sonnet - 2

Strange comrades make they, white death and black life -
In white absence does black be born. Yet they,
Under friendless-foeless Time's scathing knife
Lock palms, now right, now left, in silent sway.

Thus scurry my thoughts as I watch unmoved
Of one mate gone and the other arrived.
Where goes the pink, with life's music removed?
And the calm, with death's lissome shroud deprived?

Uneventful death is life's dreaded act
And lo! behold another falls. They cry
A desultory wail, spiting Fate's pact
To keep alive one's love till love shall dry.

Though scythes will fall on unshent and sinner
They will befriend the fearless and wiser.

Wholesome Foursome

The greatest loss I suffer due to undue work pressure is the paucity of time to entertain my guts (literally). As the hand on the clock moved in predatory circles, I managed to steal a few slivers of time and made myself more of these little merrymakers. Well, all I'll tell you is that a good amount of potato, cheese, corn and some more (the more maketh the little pleasures of life) went into the making of a happy evening! Bon (visual) appetit!!

Sonnet-1

In sadness' tell, I, a weighing heart carry,
Such threads enweaved, held in another's clasp.
Every smite a painful tonne's decree
To buckle, founder, but bear all's rasp,

For in Fate's tutelage, love's a queer whip
That bringst little joy but anxious wantings.
Dare a moment of trust lie sweet on Time's lip
The next shall cleave, lese majesty it brings.

Myriad ferules make coral scars common
And mind sillies to seek purpose in pain.
What such life heralds, what seeks the soul broken
Will one ever know, what be good Fortune's bane?

When grey sorrow bows to a blacker one,
Sole joy I limn in grief's colourful run.

Why?

I wonder why
I confuse names
But never yours
With another face
Or another voice
Or another smile.

I wonder why
I still wish to hear
You laugh at me
And call me cute.
Pity me and my world
Scold my tormentors
Shoo away the black crows
Of destiny that
Mingle with my shadow.

I wonder why
Your approval matters
Why I still seek
Your "ok" even after
A hundred "go ahead".
Teach me the magic of
Infusing power and hope
With a bi-syllable.

I wonder why
I feel empty without you
And every dream
Has you at the end
Or at the beginning
If it were a nightmare.
Let me curl up to you.
Be my pillow for this
Lifetime's sleepy travels.

I wonder why
All that you give me
Can be counted
On several fingers
But what I have to give
Doesn't have me unfolding
A single finger.
But my hands are
Firmly holding you
In my heart
And I wouldn't
Move a finger for the
Banal purpose of counting.

I wonder why
You never get to hear
My heart call out
Your name
Before and after mine.
And then just keep
Calling out yours,
For mine is lost in there
Somewhere.

I wonder why
You will never know
That I keep
Wondering about
The silliest things
In our life
And imagine how beautiful
It would be
Every single day
Only if you had stayed on
To hear me tell you that...
.
.
.
.

I wonder why
Like a lonely boat
Unmoored
Unanchored
I buoy to the
Painful thump
Of your departing feet.

Plug-in

This is my nephew trying to clean his ears. The best thing about him is that he is stupid to the core (stupid in the dear sorta way). He had this earbud plugged into his ear and he was walking around. Much to my sister's delight I must confess that he is as weird as I am. So I see this little nut walking around with a erabud hanging out of his ear and I asked him "V what do you want me to do? Should I hang my handkerchief there!?" He gave me this sheepish grin and went to sit on his Pooh chair while watching my mom do her puja. Suddenly, he decided to operate it and that is when I shot this!!!

Brahma in this Age

I couldn't help but shoot this image of Brahma on the mobile. The lady was reluctant and turned around before I could complete the shot. It was absolutely hilarious to watch One of Brahma's heads on the mobile!! This was shot backstage at a recent dance performance that I had attended.

Rawness

I earnestly resist the lazy temptation of casting it all into the "American" mould (and they would spell it as mold). As much as I use several American inventions and thank scores of them for making life easy, I also look around myself and try to figure out which aspects of humane life have they really touched and enhanced. Now, when I say "they" I really mean the West.

A friend of mine and I were discussing how the "Americans" have made everything so vulgar (including the words they seemed to have invented). Junk food, to start with, is very tasty but devoid of nutrition and only worsens the health of an individual. Nuclear power transmission was well conceived (although mostly as a part of the notorious Manhattan Project) "there" (though the transmission to a grid was first done in USSR who don't really form a part of "them") the current state of nuclear warfare and devastation owes a lot to "them". Art has become crass and silly thanks to "them". Jokes are better when they are laced with "American" words for various anatomical parts. People consider themselves cool and the like only when they speak with a false accent and use four letter words as punctuation. MTV, Ms. Spears, Janet Jackson, divorce (if you wish to believe that the man with the higher rates is responsible for your son following suit)... name it. The tone seems to be of "do whatever you feel like doing" which only brings us closer to our animal self which we alternately justify or condemn depending on which side of wall we are on (and sometimes the same person condemns some of them while rooting for the others). Why, a perfume brand is now called FCUK. Like I need to be a rocket scientist to figure out why the lady in red was smiling when her eyes fell on that vial of vulgarised aroma!

But then that would be silly (no, not the rocket scientist part). I think what "America" has done is to take their philosophy of capitalism beyond the industry (and capitalism is so misunderstood to its own undoing). What works in the context of an industry (create goods in demand and sell them for a profit, re-invest and continue to grow the business) doesn't work well in facets of life outside the industry. Art is also created based on sheer market forces. How else would we justify Harry Porter, chick-lit and other short-lived sensations aired on the Big O show? Look at the crazy world of movie making (there was a post about this, a while ago). Look at how children interact with their parents in the West (they want to do what they want to do and are entitled to their individual rights with least concern for their parents). Old age homes are justified on the simple rational that it doesn't work out to be worth one's while (and one's time and energy are vital and valuable as resources in the capitalist scheme of living). With notions like "only you matter" and "you are the most important person in your life" a possibility of cooperation based on intangibles is wiped out (and what might they be?). Life becomes a sheer barter and profit making venture which cannot be censured on the grounds of logic for what simpler logic can a man call upon than the need to satisfy his hunger which seamlessly extends into satisfying his needs and like one cloud merging with another at no particular point, into a satisfying his wants. No argument on earth can logically deny a man the means to satisfy his wants unless it brings direct harm to another person. But extrapolating that to every walk of our life doesn't always make sense. That "they" have actually made a business out of nearly everything "they" touch (academics, visual arts, sports, music, journalism, etc.) has ushered in a lot of good and professionalism but doing the same to several other aspects of life (interpersonal relationships, entertainment, sense of worth which is quite a senseless thing, etc.) has overshot the possibly intended purpose and has become a moral famine where everyone seems to be doing well based on what they own or achieve but a dirth at the core.

When I look at the commercialisation of nearly every aspect of life, I tend to wonder whether this makes any more sense. Surely the commercialisation of human sentiment and pride (which goes by the name of self-help and positive thinking and a lot more) feeds immorally on people. People are more comfortable at a material level and have gradually allowed their finer side to be corroded by the tell of the West. Undoubtedly, people in the West have a fine finish and many (and many more, though the Joshua Bell episode still makes me smile) have retained their suave side of conduct, but as a philosophy the West has contributed and promulgated a lifestyle of irreverence and short-sightedness, focusing on the gains and profits of today and this lifetime rather than on moral correctness. This is not an attempt at preaching from the moral high-horse (or rather, condemning à cheval) but at trying to go beyond the obvious rawness in display to the underlying motivation.

I read Ginsberg's "Howl" and I see no sign of anything beautiful though irreverence screams out in glitzy neon. All that is described in there, if it were true, only speaks for a highly irresponsible world made possible because everyone is free to do what they want. While great industries and movies are made there, the need to educate the individual into becoming a responsible individual is clearly lacking and where dropping out of school to found a company is considered sensible and right as it makes an Ellison out of wannabes. But is that the point and purpose of life!? What is!? The lack of a holistic approach and lack of inculcating patience and restrain is the hallmark of present day education. Although this is the case with education systems all over the world (as far as I have bothered to seek and find out), the "American" way of life itself popularises the "go-getter" attitude which, again, is fine in commercial business but falls flat in most other aspects of life.

I think it is vital to realise that no one philosophy works well everywhere. That faster processors sell more is fine, but that sex sells and hence have skimpy women in advertisements for coffee or wheat flour doesn't make sense and only takes us closer to our animal nature. "As long as it sells it is ok", doesn't work everywhere. What is the point of prosperity in a void? Popularity and prosperity are good motivators for certain things but when applied to every aspect of life, it doesn't really work well.

When a person caters to the banausic and base needs of one's animal side, what one essentially is doing is making righteous the pursuit of such needs and hence causes an entire generation to sway in confusion without a firm spine to provide direction and robustness. It is not a matter of morality in the religious sense but morality in the core fiber of being human. Such a rapid degradation can only be herded in when the lack of strengthening the core is associated with success of various sorts and one mistakingly marries them together and makes the former essential for the latter's realisation. The sheer rawness that "they" demonstrate in every aspect of their presentation only facilitates several generations of incomplete individuals living irresponsibly and irreverently.

Ménage à trois

He thought he had arranged it all. I could see that his pace was that of someone who had ran the entire scene - cast, costumes and all - in his head, tweaking portions of it here and there to extract a nod from some faceless critic of life's videos, and growing impatient in the wake of the moment when he would carry it all out and step on stage for his bow. He could practically hear people speaking - in the hope that their words went unheard - about the remarkable demarche that he was about to carry out. He went about nudging my armchairs to correct the distortions that my room caused when superimposed on the motion picture in his head. He smiled at the coffee table and swooped to change the page of the newspaper lying there to the review of some unctuously saccharine romantic movie that was showing in Minerva. He snapped back to his position, cocked his head to the side and smiled.
"She's coming, yes?"
"Yes, Jai, and if you stop running around in circles I might still be conscious enough to receive her."
"You will, you will. You fine? Don't let her know I am here. Ok? Maybe we should move the sofa a little behind."
He rushed to push it, with me on it when I warned him that he might just have turned to pulp the roses he had hidden behind the sofa.
"Holy shit!"
He ran around to cradle the rather malnourished bouquet in his arms.
"What are you planning to do with her?"
"Come on Andy! What else? Shhh... shhh. It's a secret. I will let you know when I'll let you know. By the way, do not forget to give her the biscuits. She loves the smell of them."
I couldn't grasp his excitement. I had a fair idea of what he planned on telling her, but the need for such elaboration was beyond me. I continued to sew the button of my shorts back in place. It was always a pleasure running the needle through the button holes watching it sink in, dragging an otherwise flimsy thread until it fastened around the bridge between the holes of the button. Something about this task made me feel a great connection to life, a rather organic analogy to the whims of life itself. Where the holes had little of the button in them, they allowed for the button to ...
"Andy, she's here!" Jai hissed into my ear and proceeded to straighten my tee. I slapped his hand away and tilted my head towards the rear of the sofa.
"Coming!"
I casually walked down to the door only to notice Jai's footwear mingled with mine. I hesitated - why bother!? It wasn't my fault but a mere facilitation of a possible act of God. I opened the door to find Anita push her mobile into her jeans' pocket.
"Howdy!"
She hugged me before giving me a quick peck on the cheek.
"Should I assume that means you are fine?"
"Come sit."
It wasn't often that I was welcomed into my own house.
"So, what's up?"
"Andy, I have something to tell you."
"Don't waste the three words on me."
"Shut up, Andy."
"There, I told you!"
"What are you doing?" She was staring at the sewing kit on the sofa.
I lifted my shorts straight into her view.
"God! You really are gay aren't you?"
"Yes, and so is every tailor you allow to measure your bust for a blouse."
She shook her head and smiled.
"I am planning to get married."
"Aha! And the person in context would be?"
"You don't know him."
"Are you certain? There are very few men in your life whom I am unaware of."
"You don't know him."
I peered deeper into her eyes and watched her move back at the same pace.
"Andy, I can trust you."
"And I would normally ask on what basis, but we'll let that pass."
"I am leaving Bombay with him."
"And that would mean he", and I leaned back on the sofa, "would be aware of this plan too?"
"Of course."
"What do you want of me? Other than these biscuits?"
I offered the plate to her. It would have been odd to have some of them without offering it to her. She took one and I continued, "I remember you liking the smell of these."
"Hmmm. Were you not gay, you would make a very caring lover."
I started to protest but was uncertain about what. Like a pair of misguided trains simultaneously entering a tunnel, I felt the need to slam home the point about men also needing caring partners and the twin correction of my preferences, but I shut up. She patted my cheek and proceeded to explain.
"I can't do it here in Bombay."
"I understand", I said without having a clue to what was driving her out of this city.
"Mom and dad will call you first, once they notice that I am missing."
"Because I am gay and know everything about the women in this city?"
"Whatever. They will. You should tell them that you think I have gone to Delhi."
"But you are not going there?"
"Of course not, silly."
"And you would be going where?"
"Cal... Doesn't matter."
"I understand."
"Can you do that?"
"But what about the luggage you are leaving behind?"
"I have packed what I need and it is at... his place."
"Hmmm. What about the luggage you are carrying with you?"
"What about it?"
I shrugged and sighed.
"What are you trying to say, Andy? What? You are trying to act like some priest now?"
"Because I am gay?"
"Shut up, Andy"
"I told you about those words!"
She grew silent. She wanted this court's hearing. She definitely wanted to say her say before she disappeared. All I had to do was push the needle slowly through the hole diagonally across such that the button had one less degree of freedom. I could actually hear a thread snap when pierced by the needle tip.
"Listen Andy. I didn't do anything wrong here. I was simply having fun and cannot babysit all those who didn't realise that."
"Like Jai."
"Jai? What about Jai?" her eyes narrowed, "What has Jai been telling you?"
"Nothing more than I know about you. Biscuits, roses, DDLJ, the works."
"Andy", she stood up and was getting ready to leave,"What is done to relieve boredom is not used to fill life's bathtub."
She walked out of my house and shouted from the bottom of the stairs.
"Damn you, Andy! I hate you, but remember that I am in Delhi."
"Or Calcutta."
I heard her swear and felt the urge to come up and vent her anger, but her heels clacked away.
I continued fastening the button in place when I heard the crumpling of plastic sheets from behind me.
Jai jumped in front of me and laughed,
"Damn! That girl really bought into my story. Damn silly, man. I had told her that she should meet me in Calcutta and we can start our life there. Gosh! She is so easy to..."
"Shut the door before you leave, Jai."
The first impact of a glass bowl falling to the ground is to splatter it radially outward - like Jai's mouth and eyes.
"I only wanted to wish her the best in life. I knew about her plans of escape. I did, Andy. I was close to her."
"Hmmm. So who is the guy?"
Jai turned around thinking of a possible name.
"Does it matter?"
He shook his head, his back still towards me.
"Nope, it doesn't."
He opened the door and before shutting it he turned his face to the hinges and said, "You really are lucky, Andy. I so wish I was gay too."
This time the needle broke my skin.

Manumit

I, Eroteme, wish to apologise for my children (still unconceived) who might bring difficulties to your life. I realise that they may trip you or your children, or your children's best friends while one or more of you were traipsing down the alley. I take full responsibility for the candy they might steal from the shop (thereby causing an irrecoverable loss of Rs. 2 or - if we take inflation into account - Rs. 20 to the shopkeeper's family). I suppose they would grow to be artists - and will hence offend your tastes - or techies - and will either introduce bugs in your product or mix vials of the wrong concoctions while preparing your medicine. Hence, I would like to apologise for that. My daughter is most likely going to break at least a few dozen hearts and I would like to apologise for her lack of faith in polyandry. If my son does the same, I am sorry that he couldn't respect your daughter's (or son's, in case my son is homosexual) lack of faith in polygamy. Do pardon them as I have not raised them well. I would also like to apologise for any evasion of tax that they might indulge in as well as for the tax that they paid which helped that country fund a war or the renovation of the presidential suites. I would like to apologise for the vehicles they bought instead of getting onto a cycle and refusing to participate in the fight against global warming. I am sorry that my son - were he to be half like me - will consume more food per day than three fourth of what Somalia does. I apologise for my daughter voicing her opinion against the government (she is quite likely to do that). Last but not the least, I would like to apologise for any SMSese or grammatical mistakes that they might allow to pass in their written communication. That might be the only event that might make me conduct a DNA test. In case the test does confirm them to be my children, I would like to apologise to them and all true children of their assigned parents.

I suppose it makes sense to apologise for something in the future which we might actually cause. than for something that happened a few centuries ago. How I laughed when I read this! I actually had to create a new tag for this post. How stupid can someone get when they accept responsibility for something that one hasn't even witnessed; even the people whom this Mayor represents have not witnessed it? No one living has witnessed it let alone participated in it. What are they apologising for? Why on earth did we have a whole drama of tears and the "two pauses"? And to think that people actually fell for it and consider it a noble act. How stupid can people get?
It is like the whole caste based politics that happen in India. A person who wants to study medicine/engineering should be first capable of doing so. The govt. can pay their fees or help prepare them through specially designed classes/tuitions, but allowing people of lower calibre to enroll is stupid and defeats the purpose of education. Why not directly give them a degree? Why should the present generation pay for something that a few people did in the previous generations? Why should the present generation apologise for anything that the previous generations did? If we are going to use the argument of building our worth and edge based on the advantages that our previous generations have accrued for themselves and hence, for us, then we can keep extending it back to our caveman days and resolve matters with brilliant stupidity.
Every generation has its grabbers and losers. What we need to learn from history is how not to continue with any form of exploitation or any act of depriving another human being or living entity (animals and plants included) of the right to their space on this earth (well, weeds are exempt). Foolish indulgence in self-aggrandisation or self-pity is just that: foolish. If people can't move on and live their life anew, then they really need psychiatric help and not Hallmark cards and apologies. Probably they should approach the govt. to provide the means (time, money, guidance, etc.) to accomplish what they want to do. How will an apology and the related drama help if nothing changes after the speech? How on earth, pray tell me, will having an Annual National Slavery Memorial Day help? So we all gather around in a park and talk about what happened 200+ years ago and then? What? What do we plan to do?

Stupid human beings!

World's Kitchen

"A poem shall blossom anywhere
Like love in a leper's heart.
Seek not a venue for Muse to bare"
So said those who don't impart.

How can this world's incessant woes
Trip you on your journey there?
If wings you have, push from your toes
And soar through magical air.

I listened hard and believed deep
For naivete is a poet's soul.
This world was painted bright anew -
In words I lost my wordless hold.

So here I face the furnace blaze
With diced carrots on a basket's bow-
A knife's flat in fiery display
Mute players of a futile crambo.

For what ballad shall tilt my quill
In this cthonic culinary lair?
Oh! Pit me not with mettle's fill
I am a man, in a commoner's wear.

Pray tell me, how shall I mould
An elegy or a lament's tear
Midst rotting parsley on fish, cold
Tubers' effrontery on fire's smear?

With a wounded quill, I rush away
Skipping a step up and out.
From one to another I foray
Driven by a jejune knout.

"All the world's a grand cookhouse
With fires stoked in watery basins.
A soulless meal that all espouse -
Made and fed while life sickens."

So said He, and turned to stuff
A fresh apple in a swine's snout.
I for my part, know 'tis enough
To live life without soul's grout.

I enjoyed this

I have sinned, and I am now going to make it scaldingly terrible by sharing it with you. Suffer my shameless confession. It is not often that I get to do this and - a sinner am I - enjoy it. Rarely would you find a man on his knees baring the thoughts that course his humane mind; rarer still a man who enjoys it not in vanity - for what vanity doth one find in a beauty, chattel to none? - but in the helplessness of his impassioned self in the presence of something which horripilates my entire being. I read this with my soul and couldn't help but smile. Shall we feast on it together?

A post which I admired too much, today.

An update

People might be interested in this article while reading this post.