Present: Confused; Future: Blank; The Past: HURTS!

I am a thought, an ideology

2010-07-25T13:27:00.000-07:00

Yes, I've been lucky! I know this statement of mine disappoints quite a lot of those who know me well enough. Some others might regard it as amusing, surprising or plain attention-seeking. And I know for a fact that there are a few who would find it relieving. This list of profiles of people who know me, is by no means an exhaustive one, but if you happen to be one with a reaction to the statement, you certainly have at some point in our lives cared enough to judge me. Thank you for judging me.

Yes, I have been lucky. No, I have never counted on being lucky. Endless hours spent praising the lord would have pleased thee - now relieved - but that didn't happen. Or at the very least, an acknowledgement of fortune. I was never humble enough for any of that. I thank you for judging me.

Yes, I have been lucky. Yes, I worked hard too. Fortune was knowledge, fortune was health. Fortune was everything from the privilege of family to the side of friends. But the one who sees relationships as lasting, recognises those moments and the effort to craft it. Family is an asset to depend up on, but name the one, who has never hurt their mum. Knowledge is a wonderful thing, but did we not have to earn every single bit. Was being fortunate ever enough? - To own the throne, Arthur had to dig out what shone! For you judge me, I am grateful.

Yes, I have been lucky. Yes, I found that things didn't always work out when I worked hard. Success is counted sweetest, by those who don't succeed - to comprehend a nectar, requires sorest needs. If everything we did was yet another successful venture, Bruce the Almighty wouldn't be a comic with a lesson to deliver. Since you're persistent and dedicated to the task of judging me, I send my heartfelt gratitude your way.

Yes, I have been lucky. No, I have never experienced things just being handed out to me for no reason (unless they were going to explode). This one is for the believers - those who agree that the free lunch is a concept very noble. Thus charity to me, is nothing similar to an aid. Thank you for judging me.

Yes, I have been working hard. Yes, I have been lucky too. I like the order of things to follow this route. I didn't change the course of 'destiny' when nemesis decided that those heights could not be scaled. I do not believe in giving up just because I am 'destined' to fail. Thank you for judging me.

Sorry to disappoint you, all those relieved. I have a duty to my own - to relieve those I disappointed by saying I'm lucky. I'm not a mere person - I am a thought, an ideology. Thank you for judging me.

The Polygon of Life!

2009-08-23T04:33:00.000-07:00

Travel long enough on the London Underground, and you would have met everyone in your era. Everyone important and everyone you know / have known / will know anyway!

On my way back home tonight after a routine farewell dinner for a friend, I happened to bump into an old friend of mine. [Yes, you read that right. Farewell dinners are pretty much a part of my routine these days]. Call it 'A Season of Ashes', if you will. I prefer to call it yet another 'English August'.

It had been long since I last found the days of my life worth scripting on impulse. Farewells and introductions, trust and betrayal, memories re-lived and created, pennies earned and pounds spent, pounds gained and skin lost, offers made and favours withdrawn, prides shelved and joys swallowed, hearts swollen and broken, whims fancied and wishes resigned - if there is anything about my life that is certain, it is that it always goes through emotions capable of churning out Bollywood movies year after year. [Those who know me well would agree]. The days of my life that weren't worth scripting on impulse were no different.

As we stood there - my friend and I - both contemplating whether to go up and talk or to pretend to be oblivious to the presence of the other, I realised how time had swept by since the last year, and the year before that. Names changed and faces evolved, but the patterns remained. This is a season for ashes - ashes from bridges burnt down by the pride we couldn't swallow, and those ashes dispersed over the wide expanse of oceans of time and space separating us. A season to realise that I'm just a lonely guy, tweaking my mind by creating an illusion of a few familiar faces in one hell of a masquerade in this beautiful city! The beauty of a masquerade is that the golden mask with a silk braid is never amiss - and the face masked under it never matters enough to be missed.

Life goes by quick and easy when you find yourself on a skateboard looking head straight into the horizon. No limb moved, no muscle stretched. The lights change too frequently to be captured and the memories are too many to be cherished. Or well, too few - the skateboard doesn't really allow for the time to count - I wouldn't know for sure! Before you know it, your track marks go round and round - making polygons not circles - because polygons have alternating edges and lines. Edges, that hurt but form the only exit points. Lines, that are effortless high velocity cruises.

Today, I want out of this polygon. But where to? To a wider and newer polygon of life? Each mask in the masquerade is a potential answer to these questions, and an edge on this polygon of life. But would I ever stick around long enough to unmask the pain of living on the edge?

"Running in circles, chasing our tales... coming back as we are! Oh and I rush to the start!"

Of Allergies and Allergens!

2009-06-18T15:37:00.000-07:00

Interestingly enough, the tall claims of humankind continually making significant headway on the righteous path of betterment never seem to cease. Ironically enough, each one of us finds himself / herself in the state of an ever increasing helplessness when it comes to the most trivial things in life. The remarks of how we can successfully diagnose and cure the most obscure ailments of the human mind and body, yet how helpless we are when it comes to curing a common cold, are perhaps just as cliched as my rants about finding a purpose in life are. Yet, there is something about allergies and allergens that captures my imagination enough to force me to scribble something up on my dilapidated blog tonight. Allergens have loads in common with the prime subjects of my never ending amazement and amusement - people!

Just as allergens, people are insignificant masses floating all around in our environment. I bet that if it weren't for the discomfort they cause, I'd barely even notice them. Just like allergens, they don't bother everyone alike - in fact most are 'okay' with them too. Even with the most advanced medical sciences, the cures for allergies are merely temporal and symptom related. Even with the most advanced socio-managerial skills and pragmatism, the I cannot get away from feelings of utter disgust and cynicism. The only possible cure for allergies is to avoid the allergen itself, and all those who're smart know that I don't even need to draw an analogy with people there.

We somehow learn to deal with not having peanuts, avoiding lactose and walking away from dust mites with considerable ease, because we don't want to have a swollen face, smelly farts or scaly skin. The mystery of why we can never heed to the hazards of a putrefied mind, foul thoughts and tainted reasons, though, is still one that never ceases to intrigue me. Maybe people are my allergens - the closer they are, the more dangerous they turn. Maybe they should be dealt with in exactly the same way allergens are dealt with.

Revisited: Who will cry, when I die?

2008-05-14T05:36:00.001-07:00

I always believed I was ready to sort out the inherent uncertainty that I mentioned was presented by 'what-we-call-as-life' in my post 'Who will cry when I die?', but a mere revisit, in the light of the events that have shaped my life recently, was good enough for me to realize that I was wrong about the same.

Ignorance is bliss. Or is it? The answer to this one is yet another mystery of the human nature in the adversity-we-call-as-life. On each occasion when I believe I have it all figured out, what-we-call-as-life presents us with some testimony or evidence for me to re-evaluate my stance and I often find an inherent incoherence that has crept into the value system I swear by and constantly strive to streamline and harmonize. The real question is more sinister, I guess.

If I were able to figure out who would cry when I die without actually having to pull the trigger, I don't know how it would transform my life, but think about this for a second. If I knew for sure who would NOT cry when I die, would that not completely change the way I live what-we-call-as-life? Would I try to touch the lives of these souls positively so that they do cry when I die, or would I back out and say to myself, "hey, let them be, who cares anyway... life's a b****... You were born alone, you die alone... the way of life is to LIVE alone... not merely survive alone". Those who know me well enough, know which one is the way of life for me. Or do they? (smirk) I thought I knew, turns out I did not either. (smile)

The real question, the more sinister one, is what am I trying to achieve? Is it really possible to fit my life (or that of anyone human enough, for that matter) in a 2x2 matrix design and suggest a framework for it? Ignorance may or may not be a bliss, but it shall prevail, in one form or the other. Whatever I shall and will model till the time I die will be a model of the reality - my reality, as I see it and shape it, in all its true colours - but it will always be a model! I'll keep revisiting it and refining it, even remodeling it from scratch. So tell me now, how does it matter if I can find out or not, who will cry when I die? Actually, how does the very question, 'who will cry when I die' matter? Or doesn't it?

Tw-20-ty One!

2007-04-06T08:04:00.000-07:00

It started off as a fun exercise on being urged by a friend, but primarily because it was much harder than I thought it would be, I thought this should be posted on my blog despite having told the friend that I wouldn’t post it on Deranged. The following are 21 facts I could come up to define myself, the MINDfreak (one more than I had promised my friend).

I hate changes and yet everything about me keeps changing more rapidly than I can get used to it.
As strong as I pretend to be, I am apprehensive of losing people I care about. I get used to them, almost married to the feeling of having them around. Letting go is the hardest thing I have to do, but that does not stop me from losing people, who give me a reason to believe that they’re not worth having around.
I try to be nice to people to whatever extent I can, and it lasts till the time they either start acting too dumb, too snob, offend me or threaten me, after which there is no turning back. They have to go and anyone, who belongs to either of these categories, is an easy one to let go of. The other set of people I lose, are those who fail to come up to my expectations and they are generally hard to let go of.
I usually have a lasting first impression of people. I like to start at a positive balance, keep on decrementing it or incrementing it, as the person reacts to me and my presence, but for no reason, I've hated people when I first met them, and I couldn’t do anything to change that ever. I've never liked people in the very first instance without a justifiable reason.
I believe not many people match up to my standards, thus I reject a lot of people within the very few minutes of getting in touch with them, on various grounds such as being unethical, immoral, illogical, shallow, stubborn, confused, undirected or lacking the basic courtesies, mannerisms and communication skills. Thereafter, I make efforts to ensure a safe distance from them.
I believe in trusting people, even though we all know we usually make mistakes in who to trust and who not to, but I wouldn’t be half of what I am if I didn’t trust people with who they were. It is always easier to trust someone who trusts you back.
It is very easy to hurt me for someone who is close to me. I am most vulnerable and easiest to take down when I am hurt, since I can’t deal with myself then and I hate to face the people who hurt me.
I like it when people know me. The feeling that someone can predict my words before I utter them is unmatched. It gives me a sense of security.
I used to be a terrible when I lost, but the results, in terms of losses and wins, haven’t mattered in quite some time now. I just need to know if I am right or wrong, that is all that matters. Ethics, morals and ways matter much more than the consequences, in fact these are the last things I compromise on.
I am particular about being right all the time. I make efforts to correct myself whenever I am wrong, be it a meagre spelling error, or be it the people I was dating. I hate being wrong.
I am in love with logic, reasoning and technology. I am so fascinated by these that most of whatever I believe in has to have a reason. If it is not logically acceptable, it never is acceptable to me, even as a joke, a novel or a movie.
I love to express myself and I do it by talking and writing. I love it when there is someone to listen to me. I love it either when it is a monologue with me speaking, or a healthy dialogue (the latter is always appreciated more), but I hate it when I have to listen for long spells. I am a bad listener.
Most people, who talk to me at first, do so because they're either intrigued by me, or impressed by me. It is never because I am an exceptional conversationalist, a great comic or a very jolly person. Those who continue to talk to me even after that initial intrigue or impression runs out are few and rare.
I am a pessimist to the core. I don't like people who pay greater weight age to being optimists than being realists. I would love to see movies end on tragic notes; in fact every time I see a superman tale, I hope the superman dies at the end of it crushed to millions of pieces in an accident with a bicycle!
I often wish I could be taller, fitter and better looking. I wish I could impress people by looks before they got a chance to talk to me and were impressed by my personality. At the same time, I know everyone cannot have everything and if I could choose between good looks and a good personality, I would choose the latter, but that doesn’t stop me from wishing I looked better.
On a number of occasions, I don’t do a lot of things for the fear of making a fool out of myself. On a number of occasions, I do a lot of things because I am apprehensive of not being good enough at them. The former number is far greater than the latter. Dancing in public is one thing that increments both the numbers mentioned above.
I hate being confused. I like to be sure of what I am doing, and I like to have clearly defined tasks, objectives and milestones.
I either strive fanatically to succeed without even thinking about failing or give up and accept failure without even trying within the very first moment, when faced with a very tough task with a stringent deadline. Which one I choose to do, depends entirely on my mood and my confidence level at the instant when I hear about the challenge.
I feel highly privileged and greatly empowered when I compare myself to most others around myself. I feel thankful for being a part of a caring and family- for being blessed with a mother who has always done everything within her power and ability to ensure I and my brother become good human beings and successful professionals; a dad who constantly keeps nagging and complaining about everything but still keeps providing us with whatever we have ever required; and a brother, who despite the frequent quarrels, always prays that his brother attains the greatest successes. I feel privileged for the schooling I received and for the friends I have had. I feel privileged at being born with healthy body and mind; and for the ability to think and analyse. Despite knowing I’m highly privileged, I keep cribbing about a lot of things.
I believe and live in extremes. Everything is either Black or White for me, I don’t believe in shades of greys when it comes to life.
I can never forget any act of goodness rendered out to me, nor can I ever forgive any bad done to me. All good always continues to be repaid to whatever extent it can be, all bad is continually avenged and usually nothing is good enough to change my desire to avenge it.

Adorner

2007-03-28T02:55:00.000-07:00

This adorns the entrance of my room now.
Hail Adobe Photoshop. Hail Blogger.com.
HAIL CREATIVE FREEDOM!

Stoned!

2007-03-18T14:11:00.000-07:00

Hasn't happened in a long time now, thus it is althemore important for me to key this down in order to generate an audit trail. Here I am, sitting in from of my computer screen at 2.45 on the morning of March 19, 2007, STONED!

For the second night in a row, I don't know why or what, but I sit here thinking things over (oh man, I hate this feeling and the expression... "thinking things over"... you know what happens when that happens, don't you?). Trust me, it isn't a pretty sight.

All sorts of thoughts envelope my puny mind right now. Thoughts of friends who I have loved to be with and yet have lost and am losing every second right now, thoughts of family and how much I missed them about an year and a half back, thoughts of desperation, frustration and helplessness and how they shape me to be me, thoughts of what really is the gift that the modern day living and the corporate life has shared with us. Thoughts of what I have lost and what I have gained amongst all this. All these lead to one question at the end. Is life even worth the pain of living?

I guess it is happening yet again, it is all running in a loop, an infinite loop, a Deja Vu. And yet again, I am confused, blank and helpless, and that hurts! Stoned!

True Manifestation- The Essence of Being Me!

2007-02-21T11:00:00.000-08:00

Who will cry, when I die?

2007-02-21T08:45:00.000-08:00

What we call as life, presents an inherent uncertainty. It is a question we must stand up to each second, or actually the question that stands up in our face every second. It is this question that many cry, die and slog to answer each second, with facts with emotions, with experience and with actions, but most of all, at all times, with tranquillity. For some the uncertainty is the only living point, the beauty of life, the only reason why they should survive another second… to find what the next second has in store for. To me, it is something that I must try and annihilate. To me the life is a dream, sometimes pleasant, sometimes unreal and sometimes a nightmare. It is just as real as my mind wants to make it, or well, just as unreal as I see it!

I live by actions. I swear by my actions. If it weren’t for my actions, I wouldn’t know what I am all about. Thus, being as action-oriented, I am just as concerned when I am faced with an uncertainty as the Indian junta would be to see Mallika Shehrawat wearing a nun’s cloak.

Who will cry, when I die? Yes, all the intelligent people who’re reading my post, I know what the title is, but don’t you think it is quite an uncertainty I am living in considering how I am perturbed by uncertainties? I think it is, but hardly as huge a question as ‘how do I know who will’? I guess the only way to know is to die, but am I ready to execute the plan in order to annihilate the uncertainty? I am not afraid of dying, in fact, I often think about it in my everyday life. I think about it while I am driving, while I am working, while I am in a rock concert and while I am going off to sleep. I picture the truck approaching me on the other side of the road divider running over the divider and crashing into my little car. I picture the blood and my head being split into pieces; the artificial ceiling over my workstation falling straight onto me or the office with the people there charred to ashes; of blowing my own head with a shotgun just the way Kurt Cobain ostensibly did (due tributes to you Kurt, wish you a very Happy Belated Birthday for February the 20th); or well, as plain as sleeping and never waking up again… okhay, I guess not many readers of this post are as MINDfreaked as I am, so I should leave the gory details out! The point of all the above being, I feel like I’ll shit my pants when picturing all this, I don’t know how my family would know I am not alive anymore. I picture someone picking up my phone and looking for a number to call to inform, but amongst the 300 odd entries there, he finds himself just as lost as Abhishek Bacchan is on the screen.

Let’s face it. We are more apprehensive about not being remembered after we’re gone than being gone itself. Yes, I know being as MINDfreaked as I am, I am not a bad person, but is that good enough to ensure I have someone to cry when I die? I know I have friends who care; acquaintances who I know would shed a tear, if only to prove that they knew who MINDfreak was, even if it be merely through my virtual existence; and family, who I know would be deep in grief and mourning, but then, going at the rate I am going lately, is there a way to ensure they would still be there when the time is right and the fruits are all covered in blood or ashes? And yet, I don’t have a clue on how to change it.

Mr. Mitch Albom beautifully pens down in one of his pieces of writing, “once you learn how to die, you learn how to live”. Incredibly true, I say. To die gracefully, I would have to live graciously. I would be required to touch the lives of people I meet, positively. I would have to be inspired and to inspire. I would have to be the sunshine of someone’s life. Am I doing what I am expected to do? Is there a way to find out how many lives I have touched positively in all the seconds I that I have existed? I hope that number is a natural number, but even if it is, does that number exceed the number of people who’ll be happy to see me blow my very own skull? I guess, the only way to find out is to die! Let’s do it once, I say, but the very next moment I say, how do I change it then if the pictures are not as pretty as they are today till I get to the point where I see that person is frantically looking for a number to call?

I guess I am not ready to know as yet. I hope someday I will be. Maybe someday I’ll know without having to pull the trigger. Till that time arrives, I guess I would have to live with the uncertainty and the apprehensions. I hope that someday is someday soon.

Treasure Hunt

2006-09-17T07:55:00.000-07:00

It never fails to amaze me. I must have watched like a hundred movies and read [ok, this one is a meager, tiny and puny little number] one or two novels where this guy goes hunting for a treasure with a small team of his own, fighting a few bad men, being chased around by the police, unsupported by his family or friends, finding his way through the clues, riddles and old hideous places that would most certainly send a terrible shiver down my spine, and almost certainly, ends up with the treasure and a lovely looking, young and beautiful girl with a perfect figure, who's madly in love with him by his side, and a torch blazing with fire in his hand. You're right on target. It isn't the way these guys get through the clues to the treasure that amazes me. That they anyway should, they're historians. I mean, come to think of it, if I were to crack a clue something like,

new String(theOnlyCompletelyOOLanguage.charAt(0) + theBestUniversityForBusiness.charAt(0) + youSayThisWhenSome1PricksANeedle.charAt(0) + "Ouch".charAt(2) + robHalfordsSong.charAt(0)); ¹

how long do you think it would take me to deduce that I'm looking for a "SHOcK"? Shocked, are you? Don't be, it's easy coz I am a software engineer, and it should be easy for them coz they're historians.

Ok, enough demonstration. Let us get back to the part I am amazed about. It's the "ends up with the treasure" + "and a lovely looking, young and beautiful girl with a perfect figure, who's madly in love with him by his side" part. How the hell?

Oh come on, think about it. Who the hell gave them the right to depict life as so damn simply purr-fect? [Yeah you nerd, don't feel so elated, I know how perfect is perfectly spelt. Purr-fect is just for that dramatic eff-ect]. Think about it. Nicholas Cage gets this lovely curator of he museum, Tom Hanks gets this gorgeous investigator [oh yeah, the gorgeous FRENCH investigator], and the best part is someone like Brandon Fraser has his stroke of luck with this Egyptologist, if you know what I mean! [Well yeah, the lucky S-O-A-B had his stroke of luck with the super HOT and SEXY, Ms. Devil, as well, but what the hell, he's still Brandon Fraser and nothing can change that]. And if that's not all, Lady Croft didn't die alone either, I am sure!

What is it with treasure hunters? Why can't we have a decent treasure hunt, where the guy struggles all his life for a chance to see the treasure, all alone, all by himself, strictly no women involved and finally when he does, the treasure all vanishes into thin air, or better still, the police catch hold of him by the collar, beat the s**t outta him and pull the trigger on him to have the treasure by themselves? Ok, let's try it another key. The rest remaining the same, leave him to die in a cave with no air or light, amidst the rodents that'll eat away all his flesh? Still too gory for you to handle? Let's try this one. He finds nothing at all and decides to go back to his regular job of getting his a** kicked by his boss at regular a software development organisation, who fires him for being absconding for a long time from the job, while his peers make fun of him all his life for believing in treasures! Oh come on, give us anything that is true or real. Awright, let it be unreal and magnificent, if that gratifies your imagination [but trust me, had I had it my way, he would rott in that stinky cave with rodents having a grand meal with his flesh]. Let him walk away with the treasure, but why does he have to do so with a "Oh so hot and sexy woman with a purr-fect figure who's madly in love with him, by his side"? This part of it is not only grossly unfair and realistic, it is so damn demeaning to the womenkind. [Awright you know me well, like I care about the womenkind and demeaning part, so let the truth be revealed. It makes me big time JEALOUS].

So fine, I am not some guy who runs around across the globe on a wild goose chase or take on guys with automatic guns in their hands with my bare hands [for that matter, I don't even fight mummies and scorpions kings with bows, arrows and swords, but that is only coz I think bows, arrows and swords are totally old-fashioned], but I do battle with arrays, connections and servers on a daily basis, and take on humungous monsters like my Project Managers, Team Leaders and bitchy peers that too without resorting to violence [ok, maybe resorting to some violence at times]. Isn't that good enough for women these days? Anyway, I don't see any Lara Crofts running around at my disgusting little office, so why should I be a Nicholas Cage with the Declaration of Independence?

Enough dude, there's gotta be some justice to my treasure hunt as well!
We need a Purr-fect solution to this menance!

¹ new String(theOnlyCompletelyOOLanguage.charAt(0) + theBestUniversityForBusiness.charAt(0) + youSayThisWhenSome1PricksANeedle.charAt(0) + "Ouch".charAt(2) + robHalfordsSong.charAt(0));

Just before you freak out, this is a standard Java code that yields an object of the type String which will return the value "SHOcK" when the toString() method is called on it. Let's see how.

theOnlyCompletelyOOLanguage is Smalltalk and charAt(0) is S. theBestUniversityForBusiness is Harvard and we know charAt(0) is H.
youSayThisWhenSome1PricksANeedle is Ouch, charAt(0) and charAt(2) are O and c respectively.
robHalfordsSong is Kill it, charAt(0), K.

So we get a "SHOcK".

So if you didn't freak out looking at the clue earlier, I am sure you now have. I so love doing this to people. ;)

Dreams Inc.

2006-08-14T02:29:00.000-07:00

Dreams are just plain weird. I bet there is none who can claim of not having a weird dream ever (unless ofcourse he/she is hell-bent on confuting every word I say. Trust me, there are loads of people who argue with me nor no better reason than to argue). Anyway, the idea behind this post is not to prove that people argue for the sake of arguing, but to perform a "post"- mortem dissection on one such weird morning dream I had recently. The best part about all such dreams is that they're not nightmares, yet you wake up startled almost immediately after all such dreams and are forced to think, 'What the hell did I just dream about', and then either go on to say, 'Come on, just a dream, dreams don't mean a thing', or like I am doing, perform a post-mortem on the same.

Let's get down to penning down (or keying down) the virtual facts.
Scenario: Ostensibly, a farewell for a dear friend of mine, who has recently taken the reigns of his life in his own hands and has flown away to one of the best universities in the world. We shall refer to him as "Chimpu".

Venue: This one I am sure about. My late grandmother's place. When the dream began, we were sitting in her room and on her bed. The best part about this is, my uncle no longer owns that piece of housing.

Cast (in the order of appearance, naa, just kidding. Actually all those I remember): MINDfreak, Chimpu, MINDfreak's younger bro, Chimpu's younger bro, MINDfreak's late grandmother, his maternal uncles and aunts, (this is interesting) maternal uncle's college friends, maternal aunt's parents and so on. Loads of people. Note. My own parents are missing.

Weirdest of all weirds: This one is tough considering what I've already described and what I am going to, but I guess this should be given the esteemed title. Drinking cola from a shaving brush!

Enough beating around the bush, let's cut to the chase. So there I am, at the farewell party of Chimpu, for some reason at my late grandma's place, for some reason, not with my friends but with my maternal aunts and uncles (and even my maternal uncle's college mates), for some reason, the whole setting doesn't even look like a farewell, it looks like a wedding day! And finally for some reason, I am drinking cola from my shaving brush [trust me, it can't get any gross, anyway don't ask me how can one drink cola from a shaving brush, I don't know the technicalities involved. I guess just imagine the brush is a mug full of cola and sip from it. I know, gross. I'll get back to it in a little while]. Something that did look in place for the scenario was the acoustic guitar, and for a change in the right hands. I have always associated Chimpu with a guitar, he does justice to what seems like a hollow piece of wood with metallic strings on it to many [and ofcourse, the guy whose farewell it was].

The analysis part. What the hell, dreams are just plain weird and that's the end of it. On second thoughts though, no it isn't the end. Let's see. I miss Chimpu and regret the fact that I didn't have a chance to bid a proper farewell for him. My granny should have been there in the dream for the very same reason [can say that a little more confidently now than I could back when I dreamt the dream, coz the very next morning I woke up just as startled after dreaming about yet another very close friend of mine, whom I lost to cancer, again before I could bid her a proper farewell. It's gotta be connected]. By the way, this is the first time I have dreamt of the deceased. The only thing common between the three of these, they've all had a deep, everlasting impact on me and on what I am today. They've shaped me, moulded me and brought me to be the today in my life, and well ofcourse, all of them are distant today. The surroundings, as I said, reminded me of a typical Indian wedding and yet I was there, which is history in itself coz I hate Indian weddings. On connecting the dots to see the Mickey in the picture, I can see a relation. This wedding is no ordinary wedding, it's my uncle's wedding. The only wedding I can distinctly remember having a BLAST at. A kind of joy that I have always experienced in the company of Chimpu and the guitar in his hand. Now, what's my uncle's wedding be without my own parents, where are they? They are missing, and missing for a reason, a good reason. I worked at Pune for about 8 months, and I call them 8 disastrous months. Disastrous coz I hated the city, the job and all that coz I missed my own city, my parents and my friends and all the guitaring fun way too much. The only people to turn to were my maternal uncle and aunt, yes the same uncle and aunt whose wedding I am attending with Chimpu and his guitar here right now. I lived with them, in their very house and they were next to parents then. No wonder my parents aren't here in my dream and similarly no other friends of mine are. The dream, maybe, wanted to tell me my state of mind. It wanted to say I was scared of being alone, lonely and without friends again. Maybe it told me to tell how important all those people are, everyday, so that when I need to bid them a farewell, I always have bid them a "proper" one! Or probably, wanted to say that Chimpu would be as I was at Pune, only lonelier and most distant. Hope he handles it better than I did.

They're all related, I just have to join the dots. Explains a lot, except the shaving brush part. Ok, well if I can relate all that to see the Mickey in the picture, let's see if our Mickey's shaving for the Minnie in picture. I distinctly remember filling up a glass of cola and ten walking to the basin to brush my teeth. Just then I realize I have already brushed, so walk back and finish my cola, only this time round I am drinking from a shaving brush [Wow, something I haven't used since shaving foams came in]! No, it doesn't. :) Minnie's missing from the picture, maybe Mickey's dating someone else these days. Anyway, I always thought it was high time Mickey should have dumped Minnie and moved on, he's been dating the same woman [or mouse] ever since I was a kid!

Well, dreams are just plain weird, or well they are telling me things that I just ain't ready to accept and acknowledge at the moment. What do you think?

For You, Coz You're Special!

2006-08-10T01:17:00.000-07:00

You know who you are! You know what you mean!

Why waste this space then?

Keep Walking

2006-08-03T01:24:00.000-07:00

With all due respect, Sir Issac Newton missed a corollary while he got down to documenting his theory about the laws of motion. [Honestly, had I written he missed on deducing something that I managed to this morning in the very opening line of this post it would be blasphemy, so I would like to believe that he probably wasn’t following CMMi Level 5¹ standards while documenting as I do, and hence missed out on the corollary].

Driving to the office this morning, I did something that I do everyday. I took a small detour from the main road, and through a small slip stretch [MCD did not intend that stretch to be a slip stretch, I am sure, but then who cares?] I bypassed two traffic signals thereby saving valuable time in the morning office rush, though having to drive a puny distance more than I would have otherwise. It then dawned upon me. It was not the time I saved that made me do the same every morning, it was something else. [Naa, there aren’t any good looking women on the slip detour I take]. Another detour, on this occasion, from philosophy into the logic of the abovementioned clearly said that if I happened to see a ‘Green’ on the two traffic signals, or even if that wasn’t the case, even if I just do not have to stop at the signals for the entire duration the signals show ‘Red’, which in all probability would be the case, I would make it through in less time than I do using the detour owing to the high speed I can manage on the main road. It was the feeling of being in constant motion that made me do that every morning more than anything else, and applying thought into it, I realized that was the root to my life. The root to the life of most people in fact. Hence the corollary to the first law of motion.

1^st Law: “Every body continues to stay in the [inertial] state of rest or constant motion along a straight line, unless acted upon by an external force”.
Corollary (more like a post-script to personal mail): “Every body prefers the inertial state of motion [kinetic inertia] to the inertial state of rest [static inertia]”.

On a more serious note, what is that one thing that gives us the sense of well-being? I’ve heard people answer this in a million different ways and I have answered the same in atleast a thousand different ways myself. I’ve heard and said things ranging from and between financial security, a supportive family, a satisfying job, a good health and so on, but looking at the larger sense of it all, [atleast to me in today’s context] the sense of constant motion is well-being, or being well, whatever way we might want to put it. Financial security translates to moving money; money that comes in, is well accepted, and graciously moves out as well brining in materialistic pleasures. A satisfying job is a sense of being positively or upwardly mobile, though the layers of the organization, of expertise and knowledge and ofcourse, from a Nokia 3310 to a Nokia N-series! A supportive family, satisfying peers or great friends all translate to a easily maneuverable [as a friend correctly coined the term] emotional appetite, something that can be easily gratified once it is redistributed or moved to alternative sources [read people] once the original gratifying sources of the same cease to exist or are depleted. And well, good health is blood flowing constantly throughout the vast network of veins and arteries, oxygen flowing freely wherever required, electrical signals being sent like lightening through the nerves, muscles and joints moving as and when you want them to, wastes being excreted out fine [yes, both constipation and loose-motions take you far from the sense of well-being], and most importantly, a free mind that can transcend all physical boundaries and limitations faster than a conflagration. So you see, well-being is being in constant motion, nothing beyond it, nothing short of it!

Strangely though, but this reminds me of the time I used to study Biology in high school. The laboratories and those reptiles to be studied; the smell of formalin that soaked the excessively twisted, turned and bent scales on the bodies in tightly bound jars; the udders and the fangs.

EEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKSSSSSSSSSSS………… Still gives me the shivers.

Though those poor things were in no shape, forget about not being in the mood, to take a leap at me, still I felt they were staring with their eyes widely fixated at me saying, “If it wasn’t for this static state of mine and the formalin I am totally drunk on right now, I would have told you Buster, who’s studying whom”!

Alas, I guess my fixation on the whole kinetic inertia thing is making me digress totally from the point. Allow me to wind up and say it right.

“Keep Walking”

[This is in public interest. Please note that Johnnie walked, you better not drive when you’re with Johnnie].

¹CMMi stands for Capability Maturity Model- Integrated, and level 5 is the highest rating. This is an accreditation awarded by SEI to an organization after auditing their quality process and most software engineers would sure associate a WHOLE lot of documentation with it.

Oooohh.... I Feel Good!

2006-07-18T00:50:00.000-07:00

Regretfully, this post and the last one [the one that was titled "Of Death, Disgust, Desolation, Desperation and Discreetness"] have outlived their validity, thus posting texts corresponding to the same is no longer required.

Run Like HELL... Away From HELL... To HELL

2006-07-15T07:21:00.000-07:00

Hail FLOYD.

Run, Run, Run, Run, Run, Run, Run, Run,
Run, Run, Run, Run, Run, Run, Run, Run.
You better make your face up in
Your favorite disguise.
With your button down lips and your
Roller blind eyes.
With your empty smile
And your hungry heart.
Feel the bile rising from your guilty past.
With your nerves in tatters
When the cockleshell shatters
And the hammers batter
Down the door.
You'd better run.

Run, Run, Run, Run, Run, Run, Run, Run,
Run, Run, Run, Run, Run, Run, Run, Run.
You better run all day
And run all night.
Keep your dirty feelings
Deep inside.
And if you're taking your girlfriend
Out tonight
You'd better park the car
Well out of sight.
Cause if they catch you in the back seat
Trying to pick her locks,
They're gonna send you back to mother
In a cardboard box.
You better run.

I better run!
Run like HELL... Away From HELL... To HELL!

[Split] L/E/V/E/L

2006-07-15T06:15:00.000-07:00

A reflection of the present, a window to the future, the [split] L/E/V/E/L.

The numbers explain it all. Pretty sinister, yeah life is!

Just One of Those Days!

2006-06-27T08:55:00.000-07:00

I don't know why, but I guess since it is my own blog and anyway, none reads it or leaves his/her comments on it, so I thought why not was the more important question here. So hence here it is.

This one needs a mention. June 27, 2006... The day today, was yet another one of those days... just one of those days when I went back and realized the age old fact...

Present: Confused; Future: Blank; The Past: HURTS!

I Can See, I'm going BLIND!

2006-05-29T00:05:00.000-07:00

Received an extract in a mail this morning. Edited it a little and added my own views, am postin it here. If we still turn a blind eye to this, we'll only see ourselves going BLIND!

A WINDOW TO THE FUTURE

The Sun is rising as usual in the east. I'm standing here outside the school, waiting for my 10 yr kid. He studies in class 2. This year he could manage an admission at the school. For the last 5 yrs, admissions were closed for the general category students. The school bell rings. I can see a lot of happy children coming out of the gate, I wait half an hour for my kid and he comes at last after other children. General students are not allowed to cross the gate unless other OBC/SC/ST students have crossed the gates. OBC/SC/ST fathers drive away their children in classy cars. Alas, I have to walk my kid back home through a 5 km stretch. I lost my car some years back when the government came up with a rule that general category people have to deposit a tax equalling the cost of their cars. Failing once again at the cost of the reservations, I had to sell the car. As far as buses are concerned, the seats in buses are reserved for OBC/SC/ST. After walking a long 5 kms in scorching heat, I finally reached home. It was Wednesday... shit, no electricity. Every Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Saturday is power cut in the houses of General category population, so that SC/ST/OBC can be uplifted by providing them with every opportunity and in that consideration electricity is an important factor.

It is 10:00 pm and still no electricity at home. It is very hot inside the four walls of my minimal home, so I dare to step out towards park with my wife and kid. I seat myself with my family on a secluded bench in garden. Hardly 5 minutes pass and a guard comes to us. He asks me the caste you belong to. I say with some hesitation .. G..General. He asks me to pay a fine of Rs.200 and to get out of the park. My Fault...The bench I was sitting on was meant for again the SC/ST/OBC. For their upliftment, their peace of mind is an essential thing, so our concerned government came with this decision to reserve benches for them. Kudos to them.

It is early in the morning ...the newspaper wala just knocked the door. I took the newspaper and started reading. Independence Day today. I never used to forget this day some 20 yrs back. My kid hardly knows what 15th August means in our country, because I never told him any stories of greatness of our country or anything related to country. I don't feel like telling him about the failures after freedom. On front page of the newspaper, in a corner their is a news about a OBC member getting 6 months imprisonment in "BAL SUDHAR GRAHA" after a juvenile court decision for raping and murdering a six year old girl. Yes, the rules have been amended; this was the 5 years back. The culprit was a 25 year old OBC and age relaxation was provided for the trial of crime. So he was taken to juvenile court, since there is an age relaxation for OBC/SC/ST.

11 am. Someone gave me the BAD news about demise of one of my neighbour and friend Mr. Mehta. I went to his house for offering condolences the next day; his body was lying there still rotting in the heat. I asked his son about the cremation. His son told me, many reserved category people had died the previous day so we are not getting an entry to the cremation grounds. This rule is the latest from our “oh so caring” government; the seats in cremation grounds will be reserved for SC/ST/OBC for their upliftment. Finally next day Mehta ji was cremated. I could see the sun setting through the Flames burning a liberated body, liberated from caste and creed (read liberated from the government and the politics). I was surprised to see the sun still setting in the west, unaffected by the politics.

It was about 9 pm, I was about to sleep tired from all I had to witness when my son came to me with innocence in his eyes and inquisitively asked me the question: "Papa, what is reservation?" I asked me where he heard that. He suddenly burst in tears, but I could decipher the words through his sobs "Mujhe bhi reservation chahiye". How do I convince him that reservation is not another toy in the market that I can buy for him? He kept crying that night, claiming many of his classmates have a reservation. To appease him, the next morning I told him “I'll buy you reservation for your next Birthday”. HOPE he understands the bloody concept soon.

I can only hope.

WE CAN ONLY HOPE NOW!

Mere Super-Cooled Thoughts!

2006-04-30T11:39:00.000-07:00

Glass is an awesome discovery. One of the finest by man, I'd say. I wonder who could have imagined that we would have something as beautiful, as useful, and yet as deceptive from mere sand grains. See-through, ensuring you can see the other side just as clearly as this side, only beautified by the reflected and refracted lights, at the same time reflecting faces and movements behind you, always deceiving you which side is which, but both just as real and just as shiny, making it hard to decide which side one wants to be on, and just as you try crossing the line, it stands tall and firm in your face as a barrier, as if popping up to ask you, "Hey, where to"?

The glass is our life. The other side is the future, always as uncertain as the faces and the movements on the other side, and the lights behind you, the past, just as glorious as it was. You stand there chasing, you don't know what- the lights of the future or the faces in the past! What's real, what's not-none knows. It's just you and the glass-you looking at your reflection in the glass, dim but real for sure-coz you're real-and the glass questioning you, "Hey, where to"?

It's just me and the glass-a barrier, the window to the future, the reflection of me and yet as temporal and simple as mere sand grains!