What shall we call this one?

He thought that no one knew him, and he was right.

He knew that relationships were too shallow in the place that he lived in. he didn’t want people to know about him; maybe that’s why he never bared his soul to anyone. Then he started to go nuts, questioning the doctrines of the church, wondering whether there was a god, searching in vain for the ultimate purpose. He felt used and empty like a tube of toothpaste with all of its contents sucked dry.

He wanted someone to listen to him, someone smart and intelligent, he thought he had that someone but then distance came between them, reducing their interactions to the yearly chance meeting.

He felt guilty, but did not know what he was guilty of; he had lost his power of reasoning and began on the journey to insanity with the quixotic irrationalities that his kind loves to ponder. He thought he was smart, but then he began to doubt that too. He lost faith in himself, in his abilities, he couldn’t trust in who he was, he had no idea himself. He never did anyway. He started to explore the occult, the flip side of sensibility, the forbidden fruits, what he had never tasted. He wanted someone to save him, someone to save him from his sin, to exorcise his hell. He’d been searching in vain. Was his heart still alive or had it frozen over many times? How many times, no one knew.

He had forgotten how to love, how to see the good in others, how to appreciate the simple things, how to be happy. He was so entirely consumed with his remorse that he had forgotten all that.

He felt surrounded with fools, one among the rest, one who wanted to be different but never quite knew how. The rebel without a cause, they called him, rocking himself to sleep. How long was this to continue? No one knew, not even him. He knew they kept him in the dark, he knew they were all pretenders but he could never fully realize that.

He kept his secrets to himself, feeling almost like the Stone Age man, without an outlet, a means of communication. In spite of living in the age of communication, he felt so without it. He was not like the others, not like one of the plays. The voices in his head started to drive him over the edge, the edge he could never define.

The Grim Reaper.

Long time No See

Well it's been a long time indeed. My life's gone from bad to worse in the past few months since July. I now sit at the back of the class, not with Mr Behra, who sadly lost a year, but with Miss Muffet, who talks too much. Yes i got a woman for company and no, i am NOT seeing her. Seeing as in not the visual seeing but the other seeing. Thee seeing part is suppossed to be between her and Mr. K. At least that's what i believe it is.
Anyhoo, besides that i've been understanding nothing in class, not aided in the least by the fact that i sit at the rear end of the class. and besides sitting there is a lot of fun. i got mr S for company and together we launch a verbal assault on the teachers. not nice you see. and then there's the brat of the class, whom i shall desist from naming here. very nice. and besides that it's been bad. real bad.
i played a song, of which i am not proud. i wanna play pink floyd, or maybe Green Day's working class hero. or maybe something by that new band, Poets Of the fall. nice stuff.
class has gotten to be rather boring with no one to discuss metal with and most importantly no one to make evil sounding growling sounds with. if i do that at the back, i risk causing grevious harm to those around me.
well time does not permit more ranting now. but i'll tell all about the miss muffet and Mr k story(theory, actually) later.

Peace, laterz folks

grrrrrrr!!!!!

well...it never lasts does it. the levitating feeling of goodness. surrealism, i always had a problem contemplating and understanding that word. but now i get it. getting back to a rut, and finding yourself not where you started but miles behind the damn race-course....phew....

blogging, like so man other hapless souls caught my attention because of the vent it offered. grumbling confessions, condescensions and virtual reality unfolding is quite ok. have sure learnt my lessons....and would always think before yielding. sicking by the originals and the standard beliefs keeps peace and keeping that in mind i guess i have to move ahead.

i dont know when i would get back to writing sense. its been long and it fells miserable. the books too dont feel the same. it all feels so cynical and made up. i hope VS NAIPAUL can bail me out....kiran desai has no effect on me any more...im too numb for that....damn.

shall get back afresh with something new....im sure and i hope soon....will get back to where i started and stay, stay, stay.......

The Monkey & His "Mushy" antics...

The resounding popular opinion has finally undergone the ultimate catharsis, it has received the final approval of the gunshot and yes, now it has moved to being-A FACT. President George W Bush is indeed a fine jester and he is quite capable of running a circus. The "Monkey" is back to grab attention & entertain with its perverse antics. He does make the world dance though....doesn't matter even if everybody laughs and shows condescension.

The whole drama-packed episode with the grand finale that we witnessed a few days ago-WHAT WAS IT?? Musharaff finally realising that there indeed is a mosque power-packed with ammunition, terrorists, extremists, hostages...bang in the middle of Islamabad-cheers-the rest of the world would drink to his new-found enlightenment. What took him so long to move the veil? or is he just trying to distract attention and change headlines to "Pakistan fighting terrorism- Musharaff cracking his whip on extremists" from "ooh!..the uncouth slander of justice in Pakistan- Musharaff, the Dictator!".

Well, Politics is a gimmick-played to fool and make-believe. Sounds like fiction but it sure isn't. Killing 200 "militants" & the cleric at Lal Masjid could just be a pawn in a game of chess. The King is still to be moved to light and Of course, that would never happen. By taking the stand he took Musharaff has gained his million dollar earnings from the USA & the UN. a share of which would surely find its way to the secret Swiss bank account-but there might just be a possibility of him not being alive long enough to enjoy the money. It all boils down to greed, money and expensive gifts and compliments from the "BIG BOSS". In his unrealistic hope to clamber into the Hall of Fame "Of The Saviours of the World and The Warriors of Terrorism"- he like his counterparts (Tony Blair & George Bush) has now been cornered by his own people in his own country. He now faces the threat of not only losing the election or his wonderful chair of honour but his LIFE. He is free to play cat and mouse with all his country's and his own resources to save his life. Can one get any more NARCISSISTIC? The Editor of The Outlook very scathingly said that he would like to remind Mr.Musharaff of "Operation Bluestar"-Mrs.Gandhi was afterall finally assassinated by her own bodyguards.

President Musharaff is trying to soothe fire with air. His country's stability is at stake & he is trying to quench his thirst. The world just got interesting again & more debates, discussions, films & documentaries are to follow.

We, at India with our stereotypical animosity are watching with shock in our eyes, glee on our lips & relief in our minds.
TERRORISM is afterall a global phenomenon and is funded by "Monkeys", supported by the "Mushy" and they all would let us hope LIVE to see us all LIVE in PEACE.

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
`By thy long beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me ?

The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin ;
The guests are met, the feast is set :
May'st hear the merry din.'

He holds him with his skinny hand,
`There was a ship,' quoth he.
`Hold off ! unhand me, grey-beard loon !'
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

He holds him with his glittering eye--
The Wedding-Guest stood still,
And listens like a three years' child :
The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone :
He cannot choose but hear ;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

`The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top.

The Sun came up upon the left,
Out of the sea came he !
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.

Higher and higher every day,
Till over the mast at noon--'
The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.

The bride hath paced into the hall,
Red as a rose is she ;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear ;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

`And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong :
He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.

With sloping masts and dipping prow,
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe,
And forward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
The southward aye we fled.

And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold :
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen :
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken--
The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around :
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound !

At length did cross an Albatross,
Thorough the fog it came ;
As if it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God's name.

It ate the food it ne'er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit ;
The helmsman steered us through !

And a good south wind sprung up behind ;
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariner's hollo !

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for vespers nine ;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white Moon-shine.'

`God save thee, ancient Mariner !
From the fiends, that plague thee thus !--
Why look'st thou so ?'--With my cross-bow
I shot the ALBATROSS.

Facile credo, plures esse Naturas invisibiles quam visibiles in rerum universitate. Sed horum omnium familiam quis nobis enarrabit ? et gradus et cognationes et discrimina et singulorum munera ? Quid agunt ? quae loca habitant ? Harum rerum notitiam semper ambivit ingenium humanum, nunquam attigit. Juvat, interea, non diffiteor, quandoque in animo, tanquam in tabulâ, majoris et melioris mundi imaginem contemplari : ne mens assuefacta hodiernae vitae minutiis se contrahat nimis, et tota subsidat in pusillas cogitationes. Sed veritati interea invigilandum est, modusque servandus, ut certa ab incertis, diem a nocte, distinguamus. - T. Burnet, Archaeol. Phil., p. 68

Plagiarism and music

Plagiarism and music

There was a time when I actually found Hindi music catchy and appealing. There was also a time when I found rehashed classics, also known as remixes, interesting to say the least. In retrospect I’m left wondering what was going through my mind back then. Maybe it was just the fact that I couldn’t yet appreciate the classic rock n roll that the Beatles and Elvis were dishing out on my pop’s stereo. Maybe I was just stupid, but alas realisation is bound to dawn on you one fine day and I’ve come to realise how myopic and dead Hindi film music really is. Just a few stupid lyrics and a non existent score both contribute to an utterly boring and disgraceful front for the sacred name of music. If the song was a hit among the ignorant masses then there’s sure to be a rip off of the song, conveniently rechristened as a remix for the next generation. How dare these fools that go by the tag of “disk jockeys” mess with and degrade what were once revered classics of Indian music, jewels with immense lyrical and poetic value, even if the musical component was a little less prominent. Who do these Akbar Sami’s and Suketus cater to? The brain dead svelte and swish set of the city, with a truck load of cash to blow? Are these the levels that Indian music has stooped? Are we so devoid of creativity that we are left to cleverly rehash foreign tunes to suit the Indian ear canal and then claim to have drawn inspiration from them? Inspiration? That can mislead the uneducated masses who have been brought up on filmi music, but not the educated and specially those exposed to international music.

No wonder that those jerks who constitute the so called Indian music industry are put to shame, no are literally confined to the gutters where they rightly belong. Why does Indian music, with its rich and varied styles to draw from, fail miserable at the international level? “Directors” stake claim to the fact that they package Hindi music to suit the masses are liars. Blasphemous liars who know nothing about music, all they do is cater to the ordinary junta who are bought up on those embellished nursery rhymes called film music. They know nothing either, it’s just a vicious cycle of the ignorant blindly following those who have the guts to take the lead. Down with the cheapos, let the cream rise. I’m not claiming to be much of a aficionado or an authority when it comes to Hindi music, but I know good music when I hear it. Jal, Junoon, Strings and the like have been the pioneers of an alternate style of music; Sufi infused rock with infectious riffs and lyrics. That’s the way to go folks.

Ravi Iyer, Banks, and that bald guy who’s on Launchpad (Nitin Malik) were all there when musical styles were changing and its good to have some advocates of the counter culture around to bring it to the masses. I heard and liked the work of one band on Launchpad in particular, Decibel, specially their rework of the classic nagin refrain. Lovely work that. And oh yeah speaking of Launchpad, its great to see a platform finally materialise that promises to make successful musicians of out struggling, long haired axe men and skin beaters. Long live them.

And the Hindi bashing continues now. But the scene is not all that grim. There were some songs that I really appreciate that I’ve “seen” in some Hindi movies. Examples include the ones in that Amir Khan starrer, Dil Chahata hain. Now that was Indian music at its best. But look at the new crop of nonsense. Himesh that lunatic, with that stupid cap on his head, pouring out the musical equivalent of sour milk. Now what does he know about music? Does he play an instrument? Can he? I don’t think so. But why single him out, most of those so called playback singers cant wither. But all they can do is hog all the limelight after a song’s success. What about the underpaid musicians whose fingers and mouths are put to use to provide the strains behind that “great” singing? Who gives a thought to them? Who even knows their names? Not many.

And what of all those so called talent shows that claim to provide a platform for budding singers to be seen? What happens to the eventual winners? 15 minutes of fame and then obscurity? Isn’t that the rule more than the exception?

Who cares about them anyway? Fools.

But look at the emerging bands all across the country, writing their own music from the bottom up. I’d pay to buy their work anyday. Let them grow and compete with the world’s best. Let them shine. Pentagram, Vaayu, Bhayanak Maut, Decibel, Level 9, Parikrama et al. Go!

Why stagnate and mull over the past? Let it die with them losers. Let’s move forward and take Indian music to even greater heights.

Peace.

Another one about the train

What is it about those metal monsters that has made then an inseparable part of the city of Bombay (adamantly, not Mumbai)? Is it the seamless amalgamation of technology of the fifties and the 21^st century? Or is it the colourful souls who use them daily? Or is it the sight of the meandering tracks that seem to stretch forth in front of you for miles on end? Or is it the sight of the same iron lines, ground till they shine by the weight of an overcrowded train above it? Is it how the lines seem to bend and blend so easily into each other when viewed from the grilled windows of the train?

I can’t quite seem to put my finger on it and neither can I explain how I never seem to tire of seeing the same stations on my journey to and from college. What is it about them that makes every train journey worth the pushing, shoving and body odour? What makes it seem magical? There may be those among the regular travellers who would beg to doffer, after all being hardened by years and years of unforgiving train travel does kill off a part of you in a way, but to them the magic of train travel is lost as it has attained a purely functional meaning for them. A little imagination is all that is needed to appreciate the invisible yet tangible sense of camaraderie and unity that engulfs you as the train engulfs you in its crushing yet soft embrace. A world of opposites is what you enter. The second class, populated by those who are too stingy to afford a more comfortable means of travel and the scum of the city, the people who make it tick, the ticket less traveller. The first class is the domain of all those who scorn on the city’s grease and can’t bear to lower themselves to interacting with those of a lower financial standing than themselves. They take comfort in ejecting those whose appearances are not befitting to the sterile green environs of class one. The ladies compartment is the place where vegetables are cut, tales spun and gossip flies through the air in such a thick stream that it can be cut with a knife. Friends meet, new ones are made and the headlines read across a shoulder.

All in the train. Sure the more developed countries may have a more efficient network that specialises in getting you from point A to B, but that’s it for them. Purely functional. The magic has been lost to modernism and efficiency. Nowhere in the world will you find what you find here.

The local train.

The Falling ...

Or is it the rain? Captured in this spectacular image taken by a fellow train user, Shreyans, from here

Being Capricious.....is it worth forgiving????

Impulse is the beauty of art & the blemish on polity. Moving people, reducing them to tears or driving them to blissful happiness with words,drama, paint & voice. To change opinions, shape lives, change ideals forever.... driven by the impulse of a fiery speech or otherwise...these are some of the aftermaths of IMPULSE. they have made the world & today we bear its brunt.

Perpetual Peace is possible, but not by the balance of political power. Politics were meant to be thoughtful,constant brutish manipulation. It is to be well-thought and planned but unfortunately in the era of "no-time" we are forced to rely on fiery speeches, 2-minute interviews to form opinions based on the visual appeal alias impulse& gut-feelings.
We get what we vote. The world votes impulsively& they govern us likewise. Mahem & pandemoium follows. The need for speed has replaced quality decisions. Mr. Bush & Mr. Tony Blair made impulsive decisions & sure- both are bearing the brunt of a being out of office at the cost of what we all know- millions of lives.

Millitants thrive on impulsive decisions made by the youth. The condition in Africa is as big as the "war on terror " focussed in the middle-east. Women gang-raped, constant perrennial fight against poverty & diseases has left the people deprived of basic human necessities forget rights. They do not want courts for justice to take the men who gang-raped them to the gallows- they just want PEACE. Peace, some smiles, some laughter even at the cost of everything else.

oooh....but impulse in art is BEAUTIFUL. The sudden flow of words for a writer, the flash of a tune for a musician, the vivid firm fierce strokes of a painter...when the clutter clears up & the impulse results in the gush of fresh views...it makes one's blood rush. only an artist would know this. 17-20 hrs of back-breaking work for years together feels a little like a batter of an eye-lid because of the passion and drive that the impulse creates. For most artists that one flash is enough to sustain the feeling to its completion. Isnt it wonderful?? The thirst to know more...to feel established & then again to be exposed to fresh no-man's land to be conquered and WON. The conquering is easy- it is the search to find the unattainable that impulse insights in an artist.

A journalist would write day-in & day-out, travel unrelentlessly, meet people with the same questionable, curious, objective gait but it feels different every time, with a different country, with a different human & with a different subject. One can never know it all & it is this that bursts the mind & opens the gates for more to flow in.

A great mind had once said- "Influence in the world is a capital, which must be carefully guarded if it is not to dissappear". It is a lovely statement to summaize with. IMPULSE is an aftermath of INFLUENCE. For the good or the bad- it triggers drastically & makes or breaks. Impulse is a precious gift that make us human and spontaneous. It also makes us animals or worse. Like all precious things it rarely takes a tour outside the cupboard, but when it does it has a profound impact on lives.

Do we forgive this and let it be? Kill it by teaching rationality & planning? If influencing the minds of the viewer, listener were a crime...then would art live at all??will it thrive?? well, millitants & dictators would thrive too. So, whom should we kill & whom should we forgive? if IMPULSE & INFLUENCE were to be re-defined & instilled in mankind- how would it be & should it be there at all??- that is the question. Rationality KILLS impulse & vice-versa...let circumstances & contexts drive the choice....well, that would be the ultimate impulsive RATIONALE. Is it a valid conclusion.....well.....for a later date.

The Unwritten Rules

The Ten Commandments

1. Thou shalt not use any other mode of transport other than the sardine tin.
2. Thou shalt allow all who be smaller in stature than thou to find comfort in placing their face in thine armpit. Thou shalt do the same for those of a larger stature than thou.
3. Thou shalt strictly not adhere to the rules affixed everywhere. Thou shalt not allow those alighting to take the upper hand. Thou shalt send them back into the recess where they belong.
4. Though shalt stand near the door for as long as possible as the sardine tin coasts toward its next halt. Though shall make the task of boarding as difficult as possible for everyone else.Similarly thou shal start pushing to exit the tin much before it has stopped, providing a rish of adrenaline to those near the door, enough to last them the whole day.
5. Though shall make use of the nearest shoulder as a hand rest or pillow as the situation may demand. If though be unable to pass through the portal to a free massage, though shall perch thineself upon the roof and avail of the blow drying session with your cronies.
6. Though shall try and force thin way into the first sardine tin that comes you way, treating it as if it were to be the last one available.
7. Though shalt never discuss the faults of the fish who run the sardine tin and its bones whilst within the tin. Once outside, though art free to say as though pleases. Though shall never speak blasphemies about these concerned people.
8. Though shall give up thine seat to the nearest female entity and then look at her as if she’s something straight out of your wildest dreams.
9. Though shall move with the rest of the sardines as they swim towards their destinations even if where they are going is not where you want to. Never oppose the flow.
10. Though shall scream and tear someone’s hair out over the most trivial of issues. To vent your frustration after a hard day at work, a travelling students backpack makes for a good punching bad. As does all the stuff that the person in front of you is carrying.

Love & Mercy - Michka Assayas

Some morning, a handful of people board a commuter train, carrying bags filled with charge, all stuffed with bolts and nails. I am refusing to analyze it. Try putting yourself inside the head of a madman, and pretty soon you'll find yourself feeling like one too. Moreover, that is exactly the aim of those delirious political and religious sects: carrying the world into a collective madness at the end of which, of course, truth will prevail, a truth that only its followers detain.
In a magazine called Courier International, i have just read about the story of Zarema, a twenty-three-year-old from Chechnya. Armed with an explosive belt, she renounced, just at the last minute, to smash herself to pieces in a pub in Moscow, and turned herself in to the police. A Russian journalist got the opportunity to interview her in her cell. There she told him her appalling life story. Her mother abandons her while she is a ten-month-old baby. Then her father gets murdered on a building site in Siberia. It doesn't sound like a great start in life. It isn't. Raised by her grandparents, she is forced into marrying "according to our old customs", as she puts it, some local dealer. Pretty soon, the man gets shot by a competing gang. At that time, she is expecting his baby. For want of money, she is not able to raise her baby daughter by herself. So out of hand the husband's clan places the baby in another family. Zarema is accordingly parted from her child and sent back to her grandparents' place. They live at the far end of the country. There, she goes out of her mind with grief. So what does she do? She robs the family jewels, which she proceeds to sell to the market, so as to board a plane and to abduct her daughter. But her aunts recapture her just as she is about to do that. They humiliate her and strike her repeatedly, because she has become the disgrace of the family.So Zarema sees only one solution. To become at last a "decent person"--I'm quoting her words here--she thinks she has to sacrifice herself for Allah and Jihad, so her shame gets washed away and her debt paid off, since the rebels give away a thousand dollars to a martyr's family. At the rebels' hideout, she encounters other suicide applicants. One of them, a nineteen-year-old girl, blows herself up during an open-air rock concert in Moscow: fourteen dead. Zarema sees the bodies on television. Something clicks in her head. Above all, she feels compassion for the young girl who died in the operation, the one whom she saw everyday---her companion. "She is the one that i pitied the most", she says. So her eyes open and she gives up the madness. You can say a kind of miracle happened....Love and mercy: those words do not only make sense for the survivors. In order to fight effectively against the terrorist insanity, perhaps they're more than the infiltration of cells, the shelling of villages and the so-called war on terror. Because the nature of that terror is moral and religious as much as it is political, the answer sometimes has to be of the same nature. In one case, love and mercy simply worked...................

The Mumbai & Metro experience.

It’s bliss-a renewed faith in mankind, a spring in my step, optimism to it’s helm (to the point of foolishness)…..some of the aftereffects of visiting my beloved city-Old Mumbai (South Mumbai!)-the amazing smell in the air. I get all nostalgic for no reason at all. My usual cluttered mind clears up & paves way for ideas to flow-oooh….It’s bliss.

Traveling first class or in a nice swanky Merc may be an option or a “dream” travel for many- but hell!-I love the local trains & my walk through the city. From CST to Churchgate to Marine Drive to Nariman point, all the way back to Fort, Colaba. Looking at nothing in particular. To get “lost in the crowd” feels good. You aren’t lonely, you are alone. Your head showing the way. The mere glance of the sea on one end & the corrugated, dirt-platted buildings on the other is an ambience perfect for …yeah…DREAMING. You dream big, you talk aloud to yourself, the neighbour who hears you merely nods at this & is in complete sync mentally. The cold borrowed archeitecture does not fill me with resent-I don’t know why-I feel “belonged”.

On the way you pick up gems- an old book here & there, the cup of chai your dad drank when he struggled while dreaming, the heavenly, refreshing, cool milkshake at Haji Ali- all the while the vastness of the sea compels you to drown in it forever. No, I don’t want to drown in the beautiful Hawaii Islands or the Bahamas. I’d like to drown in the filthy sea-water of Mumbai i.e, if I am destined to die that way.

When there is so much beauty in a place, a beauty that can’t be seen, that does not stand demanding appreciation-it’s felt, it moves, it stays & you come back to it seeking solace, to escape, to guide & to be lost to win. I’ve seen the same buildings a million times, sat at the same place at Marine Drive watching & writing, munching those stupid groundnuts-(I land up buying them all the time)-but everytime it’s different. The aura refuses to fade. It’s an aura my dad had & probably created- I feel the same. It’s never going to fade. I’ll be awestruck like a 3yr old-everytime. Can keep my mouth shut effortlessly & await the sinking in, the drowning, the dawning. It’s an aura that will remain. I don’t know if only I feel it & others just walk by in the crowd. It’s not the people I like, it’s the place. I think I’d walk through it alone and still feel the same.

No single movie or a book has done justice to this city, probably Shantaram a little bit. “Life in a ….Metro” being the BIG RECENT DISASTER. I HATED it & for once got beaten up for it. The stupid idea of watching “Life in a…Metro” at Metro Adlabs, first day, first show…stupid me. Should have suspected the idiotic “DNA-SPEAK UP” chap who brilliantly recorded every vehement abuse to have escaped my lips. I could have murdered Anurag Basu for his brilliant perception of hapless souls having to loss virginity & have super-duper affairs- all analogous to Life In a Metro-WHAT!!!! Call the movie “Meri Jindagi” or something. I said all this & it all got printed. I feel a little embarrassed to bear the brunt of thrashing a 3-star ratted movie by all the film critics of all the popular newspapers, The Times Of India, DNA, Mumbai Mirror….all gave wonderful, uniform ratings but I’m still fuming.

But all in all, sitting at “Gaylords” (Churchgate) devouring the Swiss Chocolate and watching people walk by I read this…

“That there is a minimum of free choice; but that people cannot live unless they imagine that they have free will”

That sums it all up. I smiled, I opened the book, I just began to read “War and Peace”-it’s bliss.

Kaddlicks

Kaddlicks

Like that only we are, men. What men, I heard today that they are talking about us in the papers men. What is this men? What they have about us? We be like this only. In those pitchers you know men, they be showing us as the local dons men. We get the hooch for everyone men. How it is like that men? Who told them about us and hooch men? That is for us only. We don’t drink and kill people. We drink and sing men. We sing like happy people. At least we drink at home and all the people are knowing about us drinking men. They, those pitcher people men, they drink and be eating the dookhar and the maas and then when they intercept with us they tell us that eating the flesh is bad for the health. That is why we live longer than them men.

Where is the time to see all these pitchers men? We don’t have time to see the hens in the shack men. What men? My TV is broke and that cablewalla bugger is not coming to see it men. Stupid bugger. When the TV comes again I’ll see all these pitchers and then I’ll tell the other gaon chaps. I’ll tell them that these pitcher buggers, how they are making fun of us. But who cares men? Live and let live men. Those people who live in our houses men, they took away all our houses men. That is why we live in Boorovli now men, in IC colony men. There only men, not far men. Knoot in Bhassein men, not that far. You take the fast train and you reach IC at 7. 7 10 latest. It’s a nice life. But we had to sell the fadders house in Bandra and come here men. But its nice here men. There are somany people like us men. They also like to live big men. Real big. One bugger goes on those rigs where there is no booze and he brings back the money. The others party all day long and live nice. The chicken shop here sells nice chickens. They, come you know alive and some come dead. But we buy the alive ones and keep the died ones for the others. You know those buggers who come in the night, to eat chicken; they take it and eat it. Like us. They also like chicken and meat. But when the sun comes up they don’t be liking it. Funnee people.

In the village men, you know where there are meny of us no, there is always a church. We go for mass there and we stand outside , on the graves and talk there. But when the fadder is talking, we listen. He says that we are outstanding katlicks. Very outstanding. After the mass also we stand there and we talk about odder people in the village. And they talk about us. Sometimes we go to each others house to talk but that is not fun. No fun like church talking. It is also not nice to intercept with people when they are having a fight with their fathers. Mudders and wifes. If you intercept then, then they intercept with you when you don’t like it.

If you see someone you know at the station, you make hand to them. Even if it is fadder from church, you make hand to him, but if he doesn’t make hand back, then you make hand again. He will make hand eventually. One day no, I met my friend from the convent, I made hand to him and he made hand to me and we started talking about the good old days. When the fields were green and the rivers had water. Those were the nice days no? What had happened today men? All these people ? from where they come and to where they go nobody nows. He told me no. that his sister men want to be taking a job in a school as a teacher. I told him to tell her to be a receptionist. Sit, tell some people good morning and afternoon and do something. That is a good life and come back fast.

But the chrsitmas mass if the fun part. You go for the mass and come back and feast on the turkey. Sometimes we eat the pig. You know we catch the one pig and make it nice and fat so that we can eat it. Then you drink and sing and sleep.

That is life. Sleep. Eat. And enjoy. Don’t be taking any tension. Be happy and don’t worry. Don’t worry about anything. Just do it.

DISCLAIMER

The ideas and words used in this piece are not meant to harm anyone from MY community especially. It’s all in jest and should not be taken as a dig at us (me included). Laugh if you want to. That’s what this is meant to be. A joke. It’s all in jest. Inspired by a similar piece that I read in today’s HT. And BTW, I’m EI. If you know what that means.

Being stereotypical

Being stereotypical

Is it right to follow the herd always? Why should the herd always be right? Is it really that difficult to think for yourself? Should you keep your thoughts that go against what everyone else thinks, to yourself?

Where is the “herd”? What constitutes it? Who decides the direction that the herd will take?

Maybe the answer to these questions lies in the current state of world society. Why do we rely on the government to take decisions on our behalf? Why do we elect people to take decisions on our behalf? Is it because we’re incompetent? Granted that the gifts needed for being a leader of the masses is bestowed upon a select few, but does that mean that the rest of us mere mortals resign to the fact that we can’t do anything?

Why does rot creep into society? Is it because the masses that endow a select few with power are too scared to revolt against what they deem is wrong? This is not the Stone Age anymore where society consisted of men and their immediate surroundings but has the human social network evolved into something so complex that some must dedicate their entire lives to deciphering its intricate, interconnected webs? Can’t the common man decide which nationalities of people he’d like to get along with and which he’d be neutral to and to which select few he’d be hostile to? Ok ok, I’m sounding a little crazy here, wanting to take the world back to the age of tribal clashes and the like but just give it a thought, would the world be better if each had his own?

How can one guarantee that the opinions of George bush, for instance, are representative of the views of America at large? How can this be true when there are large factions, (it’s not right to call them factions, actually) of people who beg to differ?

Coming back to a more “back home” example of people following the herd, just look at the masses of engineering hopefuls who long with all their heart to get in to that coveted branch called “EXTC”, What a bunch of losers they are , who can’t even expand that to its full form. Now which part of the sky did this concept of “scope” fall out of? Who makes scope? I’d say you make your own scope. What’s the use of getting into that branch only to find out too late that you don’t like it and lose interest and ultimately fail? Who told them that that branch in particular was interesting? How can someone else decide for you where your interests ultimately lie? Isn’t that stupid? I wonder where the person who started this information trail is today. How can you place so much trust in the words of others, even your friends? They may mean well, but you have to take everything with a pinch of salt?

Among another disturbing trend that I’ve resisted from becoming a part of is the coaching class culture. Why must learning be done in air conditioned class room, outside school or college? Let’s not forget for a minute here that Einstein probably learnt to think the way he did, not in a coaching class with a bunch of zombies, but in his school. It’s here that minds and thought patterns are shaped. A coaching class can at the most, get you marks on a piece of paper and little else. Whose dream was it to be turned into a book digesting zombie? (Insert that cranberries song-Zombie here). Can a zombie think for himself (or itself)? Doesn’t the same apply for any one of those stupid products of the common coaching classes? You claim that you have more marks than me, but really smarty pants, how smart are you? Can you stretch your knowledge of the fundamentals to something new? Can you answer my question if the answer is not in your book? Can you defend yourself in an argument? Do the folks at your classes teach you the ways of life? Do they teach you that the world extends far beyond the last page of your textbook?

Who profits at the end of this futile quest for marks? Your pockets are lighter and the people you pay at that fancy coaching class have pockets so heavy they can’t even support all that cash. You’re none the wiser, just poorer. Why must school be your passport to the board exam? Is that what the thoughts of some have reduced it to?

One attends a coaching class, tells his mates and soon a mass exodus follows with no apparent head to the herd, no top dog, no bull in command. Where does this lead? Nowhere.

Stand up. Be counted, be yourself. Unbelong. Be you.

Peace.

PS- I have a little more time on hand now as the saga of the oral exams has ended,( finally, long overdue) and there’s more carnage to come but I seek the armour that will protect my soft flesh from the piercing arrows of the exams.

Nihilism-morals & values.

“To believe that no values or morals exist in this universe”-Nihilism. To adulate nihilism would be to try & surrogate “Religion”. It would lead to a falsified, glorified belief- needless to say-would be ephemeral & loathed soon-like all religions today. Relativity in ideas has forced everyone to view ideas with trepidation. Forced to think of all point of views-accommodating all of which would lead to mediocrity-again very rampant today. Extremity is Utopia, imagination. Mediocrity is practised and sullen. Morals and values-they too are relative and following all forms would lead to mediocrity.

What are morals and values?- A sense of responsibility of goodness imbibed by society in a way that befits and benefits it invariably SAID to benefit oneself. Would it lead to happiness as touted by the most popular-absolutely NOT. They thwart happiness and incarcerate one in the labyrinth of false beliefs that one has created for himself. So, should one forsake all MORALS & VALUES & turn NIHILIST?

Well, I agree GREED & JOY are the 2 basic instincts man was made with & he can’t part with either. The primitive man had everything in abundance- food, water, time, solitude-everything. But he went for seeking for more of his kind. Was it the joy of procreation or the greed to dominate the other living beings by sheer number or was it plain curiosity or the need for companionship? Either way it was GREED, the greed for joy or something else. Man was made to be happy & greedy- his basic nature. To try being selfless, all giving & ever charming, peaceful-would be inhuman-a cheap emulation of the Almighty. Goodness to society is always different from goodness to self. If both are to be followed COMPLETELY-you need to be 2 different people else you let circumstances drive your choice & it leads to mediocrity in beliefs.

If the “religious sense of morale” were to be followed- why didn’t the primitive man who had everything just serve every other living creature around him, think of good & God & die?? Basic natures are true morals. To seek joy & pleasure for oneself is nor wrong. Being narcissist & an egotist might be. Like wise being selfless & hoping for goodness foe everyone by sacrificing oneself is not praise-worthy. It is against man’s soul & it will kill his soul & he would die emulating “the God” he/she believes in.

Morals and values are framed & made to help man-if it is imprisoning him, it is high time to turn Nihilist & refrain from the falsified morals. Novelty must set in & lead way to a NEW WORLD of the basics- it is all after all CYCLICAL!!

Outlaws

Outlaws

Why must there be suffering and strife? Why must we endure emotional pain, and tear our minds out trying in vain time and again to decipher the meaning of life? Why is every attempt at finding that magical key to happiness in life futile? Why must families be torn apart? Supposedly educated and open minded people at loggerheads over the most trivial of issues, picking out every speck of dust in the others eye and yet, failing to see your own, more significant shortcomings? It seems that when two become one at the altar of God, the other significant people in one of their lives are torn apart between the “two halves” and end up taking sides. The strength and the future of nations lies in the grounding that young, impressionable minds are given in their first school, the school of life, the family. What a child learns in the presence of his parents and extended family, if applicable, forms the bedrock of his thinking and ideologies for the rest of his life. If a kid constantly watches his parents bickering and arguing is becomes embedded in the child’s mind that these things are the acceptable way of social conduct, that there’s absolutely nothing wrong in resorting to domestic violence to settle scores or to vent frustration.

The limits and boundaries of what is acceptable behaviour and what is not, in society get skewed and seem unclear to someone who hails from a shaky family background. This in turn breeds evil on its own. Crime, violence, things done in a fit of rage, oh the evil that men can inflict on each other. Why is it that those united in holy matrimony find it so difficult to get along with their so called “out-laws”? In most cases people build a wall between themselves and these alleged perpetrators of evil and settle down to life on the wrong side of that wall, never daring to breach it in an attempt to get to know the people on the other side better that they already don’t. Why must it be so? Doing this almost inadvertently results in the festering of evil thoughts about the people on the other side of the divide where every action of theirs is viewed upon as having and ulterior, evil motive. The main aim being the downfall of the new entrant into the family. Now which sane person would wish evil on someone so closely attached to someone they love, irrespective of whether they can see eye to eye or not? Spitting out the bitter taste of hate? Accusations flying thick and fast? Baseless talk? Tales spun in an instant?

Communication is the key in such situations but the most difficult barrier to overcome is the mindset of both concerned parties. Neither willing to be the one to take the first step to brokering peace, this difficult and essential task is usually left to and incompetent outsider who , more often than not takes undue advantage of the nature of the two warring factions, to spread evil. Herein lies planted the seed of the grapevine, that evil tree of Satan that encourages even the most genial and unassuming of people to be messengers of ill will and word against other people. The person called to broker peace ultimately ends up feeding the outside world juicy titbits of the inside happenings of the household that ideally, only a trusted insider should have had access to. The germination of evil then begins and the vicious cycle that is gossip and idle talk takes over all involved.

The road to hell is always enticing and welcoming in the initial stages but the road to heaven is laden with difficulties and thorns and is the path that is readily shunned by many. I don’t want to sound like and ideological idiot not do I want to sound like an agnostic ,but all I can say is that I’d love to choose the path less trodden, the uphill struggle, for the rewards, though delayed, are immense.

In the words of Robert Frost:

And I have promises to keep;

And miles to go before I sleep.

And another few words that keep me going:

Two paths diverged in the road before me,

One well walked and broadened;

The other laden with burden;

And I chose the path less trodden.

Peace.

The Bright email cow

The bright outdoor email cow

Yesterday, seated comfortably in the train, coasting out of andheri I happened to read the writing on one of those huge ad boards that have sprouted all along the railway line. What was so unusual about this one was that it had no ad on it and merely had the logo and name of the advertising agency on it with a line at the bottom mentioning their contact details. The strange part was that it was hand painted and not printed as you’d normally expect and the painter obviously had not much internet exposure and was oblivious to the new symbols and lingo that the net had introduced to us. This person had written “Contact us bright outdoor email cow”.

--------With the errors removed

The Mall Rat

The Mall Rat

Ever since there’s been a torrent of malls springing up all over the place like mushrooms there’s been a steady evolution of the guju-kind that formerly inhabited these areas into the slick mall rat. The vermin that form that lifeblood of the spanking new, marble floored shiny and well lit malls that suddenly seem to be at every street corner.

They prowl the ever expanding corridors of the modern day shopping centers in search of everything that a typical rodent would want. Some social interaction, some food, some to be eaten and some to be stashed away for a wintry day and some entertainment. They seldom enter the shops to examine their wares but are masters at ogling at all that is beyond their monetary reach from the wrong side of the glass expanse that separated them. When that rare time comes to purchase something, they attack as a pack, leaving a very annoyed keeper of the shop in their wake. They move in packs of roughly ten individuals with each individual being the resident expert at some part of their many layered den.

Their plans for the day emerge impromptu as they assemble to begin yet another assault on the shopping paradise that is the mall with their chosen time of attack being the late evenings to the wee hours or as long as opening hours permit.

Some of their more industrious comrades have even taken to earning off this passion to be in the glittering confines of

the mall whenever they can. How? They sell advertising space. Where? On themselves, the forehead being the most sought after place by advertisers only too eager to experiment with new channels of reaching out to gullible buyers.

As the daily attack begins, the pack disperses in various directions; some ride the escalator, some take the elevator and still others stalk the nearest corridors in search of, well nothing. Their minds are as blank as the polished floors that they tread on. They look for prey that has been killed already and which needs scavengers like them to prevent the rotten stink of a marketing campaign gone wrong from filling the air with a disgruntled manager’s ear-smoke. They attack free offers from generous organizations seeking exposure and greedily devour all that is offered and more often than not, return for a fourth helping.

At then end of a hard day, they regroup to scour the place for any leftovers as a group and to discuss the day’s conquests and acquisitions. They then disband and seek solace in their warm beds to recoup for another attack the following day.

Live off the mall, grow, multiply and reap. The rat. The mall rat.

Peace.

A BUOY IN THE SEA…

The vastness of life was compared to the sea as it was unfathomable for anyone to CROSS it or KNOW it. To prevent oneself from drowning while experiencing the sea-one needed THE BUOY. It helps you keep afloat but of course!- not forever. Everybody is after acquiring the buoy- scared to venture into the sea without it. Sadly their lives begin and end at the shores. I sometimes wonder what is important….Acquiring the buoy or living the sea, or both. Isn’t it like a balance between brash risk taking ability and security for oneself to the point of obsession. Moderation…..you cry…I’ll acknowledge.

Looking at everyone around me…I think about what those buoys are that people cling onto for their lives. It’s different for different people but in general ….I think there are four. Financial security, emotional security, spiritual security and lastly immortality through work and passion. We run around like blind humans walking every road to try and acquire each of these. For most today, getting securities is synonymous to having lives. They don’t know what to do after it. The soul purpose of birth seems to have been fulfilled and death awaits and they slowly smell putrid and decompose. These securities are also re-assurances….they think it’ll help them navigate the sea but the forget about the sea- still guarding their buoys. How inconsequential and foolish!!! This frenzy has become so big that today people are gauged by how many buoys they have, NOT from how much of the sea they have traveled, known and enjoyed. Your “status” (pseudo) is judged by the following- wealth, a stable family legacy, followers of man-made righteous religions (god-fearing! –they call it) and how much of a value-addition you are to your field of expertise that you have chosen. ( the value-addition parameter judged by popular opinion.)

This is LIFE to the society at large and I reckon it is here to stay for a while at least till I die. I am not against having something to fall back on if my life fails me but I don’t want it to be the center of my activities. What about the FREE MAN….what is his BUOY?? If man was alone what would he cling to?? I like many seek what I lack- CLARITY OF THOUGHT. If a man has no money, family, religion and is not acknowledged for his work…what would make him happy??...I think it has to be the understanding of the crystal-clear, pure water of the SEA. That would help him live and still enjoy himself. He can see the fish, life, many creatures; fascinating mysteries, stories…etc. the buoy would surface thanks to his creation by the clarity of thought. He’ll know how to live. One does not have to seek the buoys forever. The comprehension of what lies beneath is important. The THOUGHT is the buoy I want to cling onto…..even if it is at the cost of other buoys…even if it is A FIGMENT OF MY IMAGINATION….my life….my sea…I’ll move on….

EUPHEMISTIC ENCROACHMENT.

“Euphemism” to me is like speaking while grinding your teeth. The pinnacle of disillusion & dilemma- no, not for the listeners but for the speakers. Their hallucinating temporary bouts of pleasantness, aping while cloaking the obvious. “HA!!” is my reply.

“GLOBALISATION”-the most sought, cherished & the cursed boon is a fancy word. Very pleasant and hip. Enough has been written, talked, debated & fought over coffee-tables, classrooms & offices alike by friends, students, teachers & managers about the new found power to be unleashed, used & tapped to unravel the underlying potential of this world. It is in vogue to take over companies & do each other’s jobs. Indians can Americanize their English & Americans can learn Hindi. We can clean their toilets & they can make us pizzas-all this done very sweeeetly! All cloaked & accepted-“It’s globalization!!”-they say. Americans call India to fix their TV’S, we forget educating slum-children and are in a frenzy to home tutor American children. It’s fashion and universally misunderstood, appreciated, gaped with awe-all the while draining!

Is globalization a euphemism for encroachment??

Cultures are lost-cry hoarse the culturists, values & principles lost blame nationalists, society’s lost blame the sociologists. Shouldn’t globalization be limited to business? Can it be stopped at that & not creep into my daily cuppa? What if I don’t want the overpriced Versace & want to stick to the cotton from Crowford market. Should I watch with tears as my favorite little stalls grow in size because of global business- as stupid Americans buy things in bulk (because they are cheap!)- While I, an Indian, in India die of shortage.

It all started with students trying to study and learn abroad, went on to businessmen seeking apprenticeship, took a complete turn from poor to rich migration to the rich to poor. It soon became a manufacturing strategy & now retail, clothes, food chains, consumer goods, everything has been encroached on. Wealth creation, creating jobs, spoilt for choice, raising standards of living, opening the doors of opportunities, making the big bad world into the small, pitiable, playable on the fingertips palmtop- yeah, sure it all fells good you say but I have my share of convincing to do!

Why did human civilizations differ? Why aren’t Asians as tall as the north Americans…etc? There exists a fundamental difference in the people of different regions. Geographically, climatically, the lifestyles and cultures, the religions, fun & frolic. All these differing on absolute natural and logical reasons. If the entire world moves around in jeans- how boring would it be? If Cuban cigars are considered the best & are distributed all over the world, if Indian spices are packed & exported- would people travel at all??? why should I?? I can see India on my computer (all graphically thanks to Google earth & several other travel websites!)…I can taste the spices from nearby global Indian store & speak to Indians online, better still in the neighborhood. Will the reason of touching the rocks of some historic relics be the only incentive to travel because all cities due to globalization will look alike- CONCRETE JUNGLES. All people will speak English – because it is just profitable that way. Everyone will look alike because every day’s not fancy dress. Will this lead to the UNIVERSAL MAN! Where the ultimate goal is to make “poorer” countries richer by revolutionary globalization- by taking their cheap resources to make them more expensive invariably. An egalitarian society in every aspect of the material dimension. Will that be complete globalization-HA!ACHEIVED!!

The ultimate goal of globalization is offering affordable goods & services to everyone-well, surely that is not happening. The rich get richer & the poor get relatively richer but subsequently remain the same-POOR. In fact, the growth spurred in the developing countries by globalization is only in pockets. Like in China- the NW province remains as underdeveloped as ever & in India, Bihar & UP remain poor. This whole concept seemed to have turned in to EXPLOITATION by greedy capitalists- not enough monetary policies for the wealth earned by the MNC’s to be reinvested at the source-THE IRONY!

I think I don’t know the significance of half the Hindu festivals. It’s all vague to me. I have never seen my village& I have totally lost those roots& like many Indians am working to be the globalised citizen of palmtops, smart suits, smooth talk & perpetually busy buzzing flights. The world is my home & I say that because my life has been encroached on and I am a refugee. Selling myself cheaply to the world, expensive to my own, giving away my clothes and taste-buds as souvenirs to buy relatively expensive (cheaply cultivated,)things in turn. As filter coffee gets expensive on time ( to make it in the morning)- I just go to CCD to drink stale coffee….never mind….I’m at least getting to a “hygienic”-global coffee brand serving me!! Everything’s being snatched by goading with traps- the next generation wouldn’t even know they existed. It’s ENCROACHMENT all without lathis, BMC…etc- it is by the suited, booted, ever smiling, extremely pleasant global citizens. Brain drain, culture drain, invariable wealth exploitation….I cry hoarse….THE EUPHEMISTIC ENCHROACHMENT!!!!!

The First Post

Well someone had to do the dirty work. So here's to the success of this blog. My fourth, BTW.

PEace