finally i feel numb

yes. i never thought this day too shall come to pass. it is as vyasa says in the mahabharata. time does indeed play numb. you have been gone for years. and finally, i do not even make an effort to dredge you up. it was as if you existed only in some past life. it feels like we hadn't even met. that i did not even know you, like two galaxies on opposite ends of the universe(if it can have ends that is). separated by speeding light that can never be able to reach on time to deliver my messages of redemption, from you, from the pain of your passing. it seems exactly like waking up from a dream, not even remembering the details, all fuzzy, only vaguely recollecting the terror, soon dismissed as just a dream (or nightmare, if you choose to call it that). it seems like time indeed has helped put light years between us. and that is the real tragedy, that i am not even sure those memories of you were real or not. maybe it wasn't because it was never meant to be. 

the year ends, and with it

goes another 365 days

of living without you.

how many more 365-day

years, and leap years,

should i endure

with just vague recollections

of you?

if not for you, i would be dead

you stole my thoughts

of suicide

with promises of hope

of a future that now lie 

shattered,

like so many clay cups

out to swallow

its drinkers

in one fell swoop,

to dust with them.

i gave you my life

in exchange

for all those memories

of dread.

transgression

yesterday,
you just crossed an invisible line
that i draw
to keep some people in
and exclude others.
now, it looks like
you are on your way out.
this is to say
goodbye
for the many wonderful moments
we shared.

meeting you after years

a part of me, or let's say, a substantial part

of me refuses to feel excited, happy, moved

to tears and blessed, at having met you.

why? do i not feel these things?

yes indeed i do, but i am afraid;

scared that you will vanish

like it once happened

even without us knowing.

so i steel my mind to feel just

the same. to refuse to let the heart 

soar in boundless joy.

after all, the price of unrestrained joy

is inevitable pain!

the ordinary citizen of mumbai

and other cities are dead by the hundreds. many of those who died will never make it to a news page or a tv channel or anywhere else. why? because they are your quintessential common men, nameless, faceless and nondescript average indian you will see at any railway station, or public space. they don't have names like hemant karkare, ashok kamte et al. they don't bust terrorists like the brave sandeep unnikrishnan did. so they don't get a facebook group to their names. in all probability, they would have died a vain death in a senseless battle fought by mindless people for silly causes. their loss is just restricted to their families and near and dear. some, may not even have families. you wouldn't know, would you, if the railway station tramp who picks scraps of leftovers to sustain himself, had a family? even if you did, you wouldn't care. because his name doesn't appear on any five-star hotel register. no chef, or hotel employee would care to save his life and spirit him away to safety. there is no safety for men like him, or the thousands of others who fill the city with their impossible dreams, who dream of taking care of their families despite recurring hardships. many of those killed would have lost their only earning member. no politician, bless his wisdom, would want to visit his jhuggi-jhopdi to offer condolences. that, my dear friends, is reserved for the high and the mighty, and the americans and the british and the israelis. so, your common man, r k laxman's patented broadside on indians' common object of comtempt, would relinquish into obscurity. he would just become part of the beautiful science called statistics. in all probability, his death may not be in vain after all if it serves to round off the number of those who have died. doesn't 300 dead seem much better than 259, statistcallty speaking?

thought of winding up

i have been thinking of winding up this blog. since i haven't been active, and been writing only intermittently, i thought "might as well". sort of like deleting your online footprint. suddenly, it seemed like i had the blogger's block, nothing whatsoever to confess, no poems to write, nothing to feel angry about or touched. i am not a compulsive blogger, just an occasional one and i don't know if i care enough for the world and its dispossesed to continue to write. and, i am a lazy person. too lazy to even pretend to thinking intellectual things. so, i might snuff out my online persona in  a while. for all those who have been reading my blog with disinterest, many thanks. and for those who never knew a blog by this name, it was well worth not knowing i must say!!!

Let me confess

I am a big fan of Ganguly's, not ever since he started playing his cricket, or when he was dropped to make a stunning comeback into the politics-ridden team, but somewhere during the intervening years after he became captain of the Indian side and put team above zonal quotas to forge a world-beating side. It was that quality, of being able to inspire completely inexperienced, but talented youngsters to perform, like Harbhajan did in 2001, and Yuvi and Kaif in England, for instance, which I think made India believe in winning. True, we won the world cup in 1983, but everybody is agreed on the fact that it was a fluke but for one man's abiding quest for glory. Not a belief that we could win. And, certainly, not because of great camaraderie--remember, Sunny and Kapil didn't eye to eye. Well, Saurav changed the face of Indian cricket, he stood by his team mates, at least those who had a hunger to win, those who showed true commitment to the sport and the nation that they represented. Today, that same man, who helped Dravid cement his place in the one-day side by accomodating him as a keeper, has been unceremoniously booted out of the test team, for just one series failure. It was a series where Laxman, Dravid and Tendulkar missed Mendis by miles. Only Ganguly didn't get foxed by him. If Ganguly has to be shown the door, then Tendulkar should have been kicked out ages ago, Dravid even before he started playing for India. Only Laxman still deserves to keep his place in the test team. Remember: the first test match against the Australians under Waugh, where things looked bleak for India, Ganguly scored a superb fighting century. If not for him, we would not have levelled that series. He denied Waugh his record-breaking test series victory. He broke his famed Ozzie pride. That is no mean achievement. 

it's been days since...

...i wrote or blogged, as you may call it...why? no particular reason really....just was preoccupied with other things..meanwhile a great many things have happened...my nephew continues to be a source of joy, my friends have drifted away, not all, but some...i have deleted some of those junk files from my head...cleared those cobwebs so to speak....made some new friends....watched some good movies, read quite a few good books...bought many....and have pretended to be a pseudo intellectual, as always!!! so, chao, till the next one....

two days to eclipse

partial solar eclipse on first august. what does it foretell??? to me it seems danger is ahead!!!1

had a blast

on my 30th bday.....feel older, greyer (not more grey cells, but more grey hair) and just a lil smug that i have become wiser (ahem!!!)....met up with a dear friend....we had a swell time.....

proud unca

it sure feels great to be the unca to a lovely baby nephew.....its fun to watch how his face goes through different contortions while asleep, and the faint smile lingering on his lips......babies sure bring joy!!!

waiting to see you

after that round of coffee and an autorickshaw ride to bliss, i am hoping it will be another round of coffee and interesting talk. i hope you are around for the rest of my life. i hope you will bring hope to this dreary life!

you are out

after five long years of trying to be nice to you, and not succeeding, partly because you are so snooty as to reject my simple attempts at conversation, harmless, how-do-you-do types, you are finally out of my life. and thank god for that. now i give up the ghost..the ghost of want that merges in stillness and in pain with images, memories of you. i have finito, kaput, that's it. today i am deleting your number from my phone, from memory. as of today you don't exist. go find your solace somewhere else. i am free. free of the ghoulish you, you who preyed on my wants and desires for longer than anybody at any point of time. so long and thanks for all the fish!

feel like studying

seems like everybody i know is rushing off to someplace abroad to study. i feel so under-read, under-studied, hmmm. would be nice to get away to study, anything actually.

We don't get what we want!

This is an oft repeated line, if you don't get what you want, enjoy what you get. to say that i believe in this statement would be utter falsehood. i don't think there is a single other aphorism that hits a raw nerve like this one does. come on, how do you settle for second best? everyone who aspires for quality must abhor this line. so too, everyone who has been cheated in love, denied a raise or got a lower-than-asked for raise, or shunned by friends for no reason or generally been resented his success, his rightful place in the success pantheon. i know we don't get what we want, and that it is more often than not. but to say we have to enjoy what we get is bunkum. if we don't get what we want, we accept it and move on, trying again, like Robert Bruce's famous spider, to get what we want at another time and place. to enjoy what you get is to believe you are only good enough to be second best!!!

ready to run away

what do you do if people, especially your near and dear ones, are behaving like louts? i mean, if they refuse to understand you or find out why you were angry with them. they don't realise that only people who care are angry. only that makes you express your anger. the fact that you are worried about bad things happening to your closest ones, makes you protective and angry. yes. if they do not understand this, then there is something seriously wrong with them them. plus, i get real pissed if someone doesn't pick up my call, and then offers lame excuses for not doing that. it shows just how callous you are in your relationship with me. that you are taking me, my feelings, my care for you for granted. and i hate being taken for granted. no one is so busy that he or she can't return the call, or sms. being busy is a poor excuse for being lazy and not being committed enough to a relationship. well, all i can say is, such people will only learn the hard way. like, if picking up that phone call is the difference between life and death for someone at the other end.

you make me hope, again

you stir the embers
of discontented want
fly-ash longing
as if they had
never been stilled
by the cold of
intervening years.
you make me want
love
hope that all will be well
at least this time around.
you speak of longing, losing
of honesty
of being vulnerable
of being just the way
you know how to be
when in love
you speak my language
or that smattering of it
that i had long given up
for dead
remnants from
a season of hope
long ago
that told barbaric
tales of longing and pain
suffused into a dim afterglow
after the memory.
you make me believe
that love, want and need
and companionship
are possible
and not just the stuff
of dreams
you agree the body does not lie
oh! you speak my long-dead
language
much better than i did,
than i dare do now.
you make me dare to dream,
albeit with a certain dread
you distill hope from nameless
fears
that have all but paralysed
me.
you make me trust
the ways of the heart
however wrenching
however sad
however scarred
it may lead me.
you fill my despair
with quiet spirit.
can i trust thee
to share my void?

run away please

i was so afraid
after last night
and the long, intense
conversation
and the wine
and the ambience
and the flat-shoed
waiter wearing a
funny cowboy hat
i am scared
i will lose you
to the mist
like all those other ones
before.
i am terrified
you will walk away
from the conversation
just like switching off
a TV set after
a decent, sweaty round
of tennis.
i am afraid to fall in love
with you
because i know
it is just more heartbreaks
maybe the nth
in a series that began
truly long ago
in a time somewhere
in a land, far far away
in an age so innocent.
tell me you won't run away
like all those previously
tell me that it is here to stay.
every time i am done with the pain
comes another one.
oh! tell me this isn't
like all those other ones.

zonked!!!

you steal up
to close my eyes
to the pain
that will inevitably
follow
your passing.
i leave quietly
helping you cross
the road
feeling zonked,
as if hit by
a doomed meteor.
i feel
like a dinosaur,
just before its last days.

buzzed on summer cyclist!!!

hell!!!
feeling strange since yesterday.
that's what intense conversations
and summer cyclists
can do your system
i mean, the mental well-being
of an unattached, single mallu
male who probably thinks
high talk is the most safe
and sure-fire way to turn himself
into an adrenaline-junkie.
what next?
endorphin transfers;-)))
and more philosophy
on the lives and loves
of schizophrenic entities
like us?
you tell me.
btw, is that red ink supposed
to signify danger
or exciting times ahead?
whatever,
bracing myself
for the tora-tora!!!

jaipur blasts

i think it is high time we the people stood up and said enough is enough. i think it is time, we got together and zeroed in on every terrorist, their infrastructure, their supporters and their handlers, whether here or abroad, and exterminated each one of them. show them no mercy. any outfit or set of people who target civilians, defenceless and innocent victims of terror, should be crushed. we should, like the israelis do every time, seek each one of them out, and dip them in acid or some such thing, and throw them to their sponsors, just to remind them that they will not get away with such stuff. we must actively seek, destroy, prevent and subjugate all such terror mongers wherever they exist. forget diplomatic niceties and cross-border concerns. hit them where it hurts and keep at it, until their will, their spirits are broken and they will never ever attempt something like this in future. i think it is high time we asked tough questions of our intelligence set up, our political establishment and self-serving leaders. i think it is high time we elected people who will deliver on the security front. and not people who stand by and mouth platitudes and give excuses for their failures.

it is easy to be judgemental

i just realised how we all get trapped into that prism of being judgemental about someone just because they don't fit into our scheme of things. i think life is far too complex, and a person's experiences so varied, that we commit a grave error in judgement when we judge others, without going deeper and understanding the reasons. i hope to take a more nuanced view of life and people's behaviour from now on!

you made me distrust the night

and all its shades,
from light black to charcoal black to dull grey to peeping crimson,
with its endless capability for
choking the mind
off feelings of you,
only to let it slip in
unfocused
as dreams that plague
sleep with deep dread.

just once

if i could, i wish,
you told me, just once
that it was not all a dream
that you loved me as well
as deeply and as selflessly
as i did you.
is it too late to
let hope die
a past-perfect death
in kalaeidoscopic versions of you?

you made my world go around you, once

things were simpler then.
all one had to do
was love with feckless certainty
mutate want into boundless pain
leave the longing behind to the care
of icy waves
and,
preserve you in a state
of nameless flux.
now, with clarity
comes doubt,
a certain wistfulness
and a stabbing void
that refuses to
relinquish its tiny hold
on notions of you.

for whom the bell tolls

i have realised
that it doesn't need
five years
and forced separation
to distill the want
into a palatable mix
of fading recollection,
and dull longing.
but,
it sure needs five,
and surely many more,
to still the pain
and the screeching
comfort of your touch
on a rain-starved
afternoon spent in
reckless abandon.

dreaming up intimacies

you are all i have,
shreds of a past life
lived more in memory, and
spent trudging
at the contours of your
want.
i have this one
pretense to intimacy,
you tugging at my
shirt sleeve
just before we crossed
a road to nowhere.

this stretch is lonely

i fear this stretch
pushing thirty
with fewer years to go
and dying grey cells,
waning libido,
greying hair, and
a tummy to boot
i fear this lonely
stretch of the road.
another two decades
to go,
before i put in my papers
and seek eternal rest.
for all ye seekers of the flame,
this is the last reminder.

blinking in the distance

you disappear
ever so faintly
like a star
at the first sign of dawn
sometimes
i wish
the night
stayed on
for a mite longer
to prolong that
glimpse of you
a little longer

had a lovely time today!!!

met up with some friends, and had a heart to heart chat about life, love and everything else. feels good!!!!

two things that tell me the world sucks

one, the Austrian father who confined and repeatedly violated his daughter for 24 years and fathered seven kids thru her, and two, that Condoleeza Rice has the temerity to suggest that improved diets in India nd China may also be one reason for the worsening food crisis. these two recent news items convince me that both at the micro as well as at the macro level, we are heading towards the dark ages, with no end in sight. seems the concept of the kali yuga is not so far fetched after all!!!

to be...

do we need the money, or someone's patient ear or someone to love? what drives us? what is the veil behind our lusts, or greed, dreams and unvarnished quest for fame? whom do we want to be? why aren't we going with the flow? why do we blog and fall in love, or never out of it, even after years? who cares for us, and us them, and why? do we need to figure out these things or just bob around, like a leaf coursing through a stream? life is like a leaf drifting serenely along a seemingly myriad course. to be is to put pen to paper, and wait for the comments;-)

honesty turns me on

having lived for all of 30 years, i feel wise and conceited enough to say with some degree of stereotypical certainty that most women are dishonest. they routinely lie about their real intentions, motives, beliefs, emotions etc. so, it is quite rare to come across a woman, or for the sake of statistical etiquette, a few women, who are honest and who believe in saying what's on their mind. i found one such friend yesterday, rather i rediscovered her yesterday after all these years. of course, our conversation is not for public scrutiny, but suffice it to say she was articulate about her feelings, and extremely honest about conveying them too. that makes her join my small but significant list of women friends who are kind, compassionate, intelligent and of course, honest. this is so refreshing from the usual clutter of rabble rousers who mistake honesty for shrill speech, or intelligence for scorn and kindness for being not feminist enough. my small band, in single digits now, has my unconditional positive regard and respect, not to mention love and affection. may this tribe increase with age, and convince me to shed my misogynistic view of the opposite sex.

Through a Glass Darkly

This to my mind is a better movie than Wild Strawberries. It is complex, edgy and filled with nervous energy. Ingmar Bergman seems to have gone one up over Strawberries.
Plus, has any one of you seen Dario Argento's movies? I saw Phenomena last night, essentially a murder mystery, but very different from the usual. It could even be classified as horror, although it doesn't have supernatural elements in it. I was scared.

wild strawberries

phew!!! what a movie!!!

sometimes

like today, you just want it all to end. just like the Columbia. just debris. sometimes, like today, you just want to sit still and get struck by lightning. sometimes (sigh) you just want to sink into a black hole, sucked in leaving not a trace.

take me to a place

where i can eavesdrop on the conversation of stars, where comets promise destruction and meteors, of fondest wishes.

with each passing year

you remind me of Pink Floyd
and their immortal lines
'there is no pain
you are receding'

Reunion

We met after almost 14 years. School chums. Many couldn't make it as it was a week-day. But for the ones that did, it was emotional and fileld with nostalgia, peppered with much good humour. Now, we plan to make that a monthly affair. There are no better friends than those from school!

amazing boss

well, let me put that on record. i have an amazing boss. and, believe me, bosses generally are slimy, and uncouth and always trying to go one up over you, right or wrong? but this guy, he is my editor, is very chilled out. even when i tell him what's wrong with certain things at the workplace, or just tell him point blank that i don't want to do work that i dislike doing. i think that quality, of being receptive to criticism, is rare. and, it should be respected. well, the best thing about this guy is he is so reasonable. if it is even remotely reasonable he will do it. last year, i fell sick, and for two whole months i couldn't get up to go to office. what did i do? just worked from home, with half my mental and physical faculties intact. just last month i told him i wanted to start writing again, and only stuff that i want to write, stuff that i believe will make a good story. he said cool, do it. for one who is so accustomed to seeing slimy people populate offices everywhere, he is a welcome break. and no, he doesn't know i blog. so, this is not some ingenious way to curry favour!

to hell with shmucks

to al the shmucks in the world, just buzz off!!! don't even try to be slimy, because i can see thru that sliminess....just BUZZ OFF!!!

nobody tells me what to do

it is common courtesy to ask beforehand if i am interested in doing something for the company. nobody has the right to thrust it down my throat, especially since i am not your regular employee and i want to do stories that i am convinced about, not something that should be done like fillers. so, just don't try to stuff your incompetence down my throat.

Dith Pran (1942-2008)

Dith Pran is dead. For all you movie buffs and genocide haters, Pran was the epitome of courage and tenacity. See The Killing Fields, a marvelously moving and beautiful movie of Khmer Rouge's brutal experiments to turn Cambodia into an agricultural nation. Here's the link to his obit in the New York times.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/31/nyregion/31dith.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin

fab weather

in the city where i have lived all my life, the weather is amazing right now. it may be past spring elsewhere, but here it has been raining every evening, bringing nostalgia back into summer's doorstep...and, since the electricity department is kind enough to switch off power even if there is a distant storm, some late evening are positively vibrant, spent ruminating on past lives under dim emergency lamps....of course, i pity the kids who have to cram up for their exams, but well, one can't have everything in life, can one?

all the president's men

must watch!!! pls do at the earliest!!

that amazing feeling!

there is no better feeling than that which comes from a job well done. it's good to see my story in print. that too, a story i was passionate about writing. if you want to check it out, just click on the link.

five years in May

felt like a dream
while you were there,
three months in all;
now that you are gone
the years have
etched fine wrinkles
into memory.

a bit upset

that someone i befriended on a social networking site has been trying to cope all by herself over a recent break-up. what is the ideal way to soothe her feelings? is it by reassuring her you are there for her, or is it by just giving her enough space to come to terms with it herself? commento!!!!

mortal thoughts

this is one movie in which i absolutely liked bruce willis for his quirky portrayal of a junkie husband who beats up his wife and takes money from her for his dope....of course, he gets kileld half way thru the movie, but he is a stand out...you despise him.....just watch Kamal Hasan's Virumaandi, and yu will see how the narrative structure has been lifted from this movie....of course, demi moore looks fab!!!

saw bonnie & clyde

quite a beautiful movie. faye and warren actually made a good on-screen couple.

Bhagavatam

That's what I am reading now. Very subtle and extremely difficult to fathom. Try it folks.

what do you do...

...when someone is upset? offer to listen and give yu r phone time and chat time? especially if that someone is living somewhere else? or maybe throw a flower on facebook? at the end of the day we have to learn to cope by ourselves i guess!!!

unseen movies

on my desktop. wild strawberries, birth of a nation etc etc compete for my viewing pleasure. but nope, they just stay frozen on my hard disk. this internet and blogging has deprived me of simple pleasures. time to go to a net rehab centre to detox my system of chats, blogs, mails, social networks, and, of course, checking my credit card balance.

why changing the position...

...of your bed may not change your fortunes. i have this obsession, to rearrange my room's furniture, hoping the next chaos will get me closer to nirvana, whatever that means. (it is much more likely i would pass this Nirvana guy on the street without even nodding my head), but i never fail to be optimistic when it comes to feng shui, vastu shastra et al, their abilities to drastically change my fortunes in a jiffy. today was one such day. after much back breaking effort, the bed just came back to its rightful place, all beacuse i couldn't get the two tables that cramp my room for space, to disappear. this would have meant dematerialising my computer and wishing away all those unread magazines. well, to be sure, nothing ever happens that way. so i am left with the same huge bed, cot rather, and more tables than i need to blog from. so, folks, if you need help in packing and moving, just drop in a line. i may not be able to change your fortunes, but i sure can help with moving house!

discovering layers to someone

you may come across as brash, actually like you have a "devil may care" attitude;-))) but let's put it this way, there are layers and layers to people that don't unpeel in office settings. which is good and bad in a way. you lose out on knowing someone much more deeply than you could. well, that's why somebody invented blogging. so, here's to blogs and what it can to unite people. and as for getting to know somebody much better, there is always a time to start. for me, i think it is now.

touching base with old friends

many had been long lost, actually shrapnels from dim memories of school life. now, many of them are returning to claim mindspace and that feels good. school friendships always are special, no matter how many friends you make later on. there is this unalloyed joy at speaking to them, meeting them. and when some of them actually upload old photographs, it is so reminiscent of an age when nothing seemed to be real outside of school life. and at the same time, all those small petty enmities that consumed class hours seem so microscopic now. vanishing in time to take its place as just so many memories to add that list.

hoppin mad

don't know how, but some people are absolutely spineless, and others are downright slimy. i think it is just not enough if you have a voice, you have to use it to fight, against injustice and plain old skulduggery. if someone is trying to go one up over you, then i expect people in power to stand up for me, not agree with those b******* about anything. increasingly, i figure, the world is becoming more slimy, but with a polite facade to it. join me to outwit all those slimy ones.

void

it is this unexplained feeling of loneliness. of wanting to pass on when you are fifty. of having loved and lost and repeating that endless cycle without learning why. of acceptance and betrayal and small hurts and that feeling of not having done anything worthwhile. it is sitting staring at a 15 inch monitor and typing inanities while you should be sleeping. it is accepting a friend back into your life hoping they will stay, now that they have come back. it is hoping the one you love the most picks up your call or returns it. and it is this wonky feeling of not being trusted. it is this emotional black hole, from where nothing escapes, not even what you once felt for someone. it is timeless, and probably a message from the stars that we are, all of us, insignificant. it is probably all that, or just something that defies explanation. it is a void, and you know what i am talking about.

collected love

like carefully preserved match box covers
between pages of a notebook.
only, the notebook has yellowed
with time's passing
and all you
collected loves
have dropped off
along the way.

when we held hands

on a bus journey back from a movie. i don't remember what we spoke about, but yes, we held hands. like two dying souls before their last leap. why does that haunt? is it because you don't care to be with me anymore? or, is it because some people are never meant to come back? what is the purpose of having met, then? why is it that this causes so much heartache? i remember another day, when you refused to attend a concert, beacuse i was busy with class. and we managed to catch it finally. i don't understand. why did we hold hands if only to let go?

leaf, drowning

to want is to live
the life of a leaf
through raging water

a frnd is back

for two years i thought i lost you. and now technology has brougt us back together. hope it stays.

ides of March

March is the cruellest month, if you ask me, not April, as Shakespeare wrote. for one, its 31 days seem longer than any other 31-day month of the year. then, there is this irrepresible feeling that something bad is about to take place. then the usual break-ups, fights for no reason, wonkiness, blue days and red days and red herring days. on top of it, it is also a month when i have consistently managed to lose a friend, all these years. March, march on please!

feelin wonky

some days are like this. you get up hoping to change the wold, but end up with a wonky feelin by the end of it. well, maybe it was because somebody said, "i don't know you well enough". how much knowing is enough knowing? you either trust someone or you don't. of course, that is being black and white, but degrees of trust are wonky. like degrees of separation. have you people come across others who are hesitant to say what they feel like, offering some such lame excuse or the other?

what stops me from thinking?

sometimes, thinking, about your work, or life or the next big blockbuster book that youare going to write seems so difficult. i just wish i didn't have to think. just to keep things simple and uncomplicated. but without thinking, as Descartes would agree, we are nothing. That i swhat the West would want us to believe. But if you read the Bhagavad Gita carefully, it places more emphasis on action. do, it says. without thinking of the rewards that will accrue, or the pitfalls. this is harder. the West may have won this round. it is far easier to think, anticipating all the goodies at the end of the rainbow than just do. which explains why i haven't written a single word of my story for my magazine all these days, preferring to think about how to write it. all the while i have lost the doability quotient to the thinkability one. at what point does the thinking stop being something that we do to something that we think, in purely abstract terms? if you agree that thinking is a form of doing, but without the sweat to show for it, then obviously i have not been wasting time as my guilty mind is wont to accuse me of every now and then. but then, if the thinking doesn't lead to tangible results (ha, here lies my aha moment) then what is the use of thinking? now i know. thinking, as a form of doing, should also be freed of the results conundrum. only then will thought and action flow into a seamless fluidity worthy of any Zen precept. aha!

talking to strangers

facebook is such fun if you become friends with absolute strangers. i am amazed how people just let go of all masks once the relationship is long distance. at least for that, this online world we all escpae to is such fun.

holding a grudge is such a waste of time

it just saps you of much-needed energy to do other productive stuff. plus, you miss out on all the good things people do. may be i can do a little more of letting go. hopefully!

missed a friend's bday!!

for the first time in nearly 15 years i missed my best friend's bday. and guess what, he called up. that's what true friends are like. great friends are like. i am honoured to have such a friend. there can be no other lucky guy.

where have you gone?

like the dewdrop
at the first hint of sunshine?
it is just not the same
without memories
of you around.

spaces

i seek you in the spaces
between want and longing.
now, these spaces are all i possess.

empty

what do you do after you have read the Fortunes, the BWs and assorted magazines? what do you do after watching movies? what do you do after logging in to mail, orkut and facebook? somewhere i presume there must be a void......

Andrei & Ivan

Drip. Drip. Drip…

The camera zooms in. To the shivering horror. Ivan’s face is grimy, with eyes that have lost their sense of time, ordering the Sergeant to inform HQ that he has crossed the line.

And all the time, like a recurring sound motif, the dripping water assaults the viewer’s senses. Grating at our understanding of War. Challenging us to stay aware. In the end, it is the water that leads Ivan back to his territory and death. No military school for him. Just a leaf’s existence behind Nazi lines, scout to Russia’s resistance.

Sun and sand dissolve into bleak montages of tepid rivers, a bell is used to pound our attention to the still-born angst of Ivan’s Childhood, as Andrei Arsenevich Tarkovsky weaves his camera between light and dark, shadow and sound, close-ups and profile shots to create magic in the movie that made the world sit up and take notice of the poetic film-maker par excellence.

Set in the tumultuous times of the Second World War, as the Nazis are gaining on the Motherland, as families such as Ivan’s are getting shot, as villages are being burnt to rubble, the film is war at its hurting best. Especially because it is seen through the eyes of the 12-year-old Ivan and his army protectors, who take turns to push him away from the front, into school. But school is not for Vanya, who has crossed the dreaded river, swimming into friendly zone to alert his handlers of Nazi positions across the line — using berries, roots, stones and twigs to determine columns and garrisons. And go back, he insists he must, to save other families such as his. That is his destiny. That is the end of him. He resurfaces only as a statistic post the war. Hung to death, we are told by the victorious soldier sifting through the scattered documents.

This is Tarkovsky striking at the root of all human conflicts, his narrative punching holes into every argument for war and its glorification. What a contrast to say, mainstream Hollywood fare like Saving Private Ryan.

This 1962 film was Tarkovsky’s first feature length film and the viewer gets a glimpse of what is to come in his later works, works that are visually brilliant and shorn of random symbology.

Like the surrealistic Solaris. Tarkovsky’s sublime interpretation of humanity’s struggle to retain its humanism in a world that deifies science and its achievements. How the director manages to marry two of mankind’s essential concerns in a sci-fi story that, by itself, is capable of asking some of the most troubling questions of our time, is where his brilliance lies. And why he is widely regarded as one of the most poetic film-makers of the last century. Adapted from Stanislaw Lem’s science fiction novel by the same name, it is probably Tarkovsky’s most visually enthralling film with its magnificent wide-angle outdoor shots, juxtaposed with shots of the confined spaces that make up the space station where most of the action takes place.

Beginning with a breathtaking shot of a leaf coursing through a rivulet in utter silence, and taking us on a journey from the nature that we see to the alien nature that we can only experience as manifestations of our own deepest longings, Tarkovsky’s camera pans, pirouettes and literally gobbles up the screen like a Shakespearean monologue. Till we are yanked into the minds of the scientists who have come to face their own fears that the planet throws up — one of them commits suicide, two are near schizophrenic, and the protagonist, psychologist Kris Kelvin, falls in love all over again with his long-dead wife, resurrected by the Entity.

It is a movie that defies categorization into any genre, although it is part sci-fi, consuming our thirst for understanding the human capacity to love in a canvas so vast that two hours and 49 minutes just dissolve into the mist of the froth bubble that is the planet core. For every one who wants to delve into Tarkovsky’s film-maker mind, this is a must-see. And for comparison, try and catch Hollywood’s take on Solaris, directed by Steven Soderbergh and featuring George Clooney in the lead role, on cable.

Tarkovsky’s kitty includes such gems as Andrei Rublev, Stalker, The Mirror and Nostalgia, shot in Italy, where he spent his last years escaping Soviet harassment.

Bend it like London!

Spit-filled subways. Red double-deckers that waited just long enough for us, before retiring gracefully a month later. An intemperate tabloid vendor who didn’t like the colour of our skin, maybe! And, Big Ben by the River Thames, lit up, helping grumpy Londoners keep their date with heady evening pints.

The capital of the Empire on which the Sun barely managed to set, rushed us about with brutal royalty, quaint cabs and cobble-stoned pavements — stopping only in front of red phone booths that reminded of Wole Soyinka’s “Telephone Conversation.”

7/7 was just a Jungian archetype now, it seemed, until we met furtive glances that forecast it was probably the city’s first of many-to-come festering wounds. Not to forget tough-looking air hostesses, famed for their British matter-of-fact politeness, sandwiched into their training manual demeanour.

London in November was unusually sunny, not a spot of rain, and definitely no late evening crabby fog to sheath your morbidity in. Just perfect for a slice of history!

And history began at the waterfront, with the Thames shimmering in the yet-to-be-night soft lights — with democracy drifting past, bathed in almost sepia tones, behind a thin film of mist. The boat that cut through the start-up cold was a picture of gaiety, forgetting for a moment the Kings and Queens who had let go of the sceptre to usher in the commoners. And Big Ben striking at each of those passing hours, nay centuries, and its craggy face always impassive as yet another Knight was beheaded. The uneasy republic barely coexisting with the Empire. Slipping in and out under London Bridge, with its peaceful orange glow, blissfully amnesiac about the blood on its sidewalks.

Morning brought in coffee and eclectic conversation, interspersed with the old English habit. But the daily had stories of gore, of death by asphyxiation and Blair’s battles in the Commons. Stepping out, with windows for sight screens, stone edifices everywhere helped retain both the warmth and the chill of the stiff, upper-lipped English. The great London fire having destroyed whatever wooden balustrades there were at its heart. A king’s command ensured Englishmen would henceforth swear by stone. And thus was the famed Street and others by its side, rebuilt.

Or so the condescending tour guide told us, all the while admiring an Aston Martin that had snuggled up alongside the bumpy London thoroughfare that snaked past sundry fashion boutiques, and the Mayor’s hall.

The capital of a nation that, by turns, revered its footballers and loathed their coaches, seemed a touch lazy on the senses, that supine November day of the azure blue sky filled with memento hunters from the former colony. Eagerly walking the spotless sidewalks, with just a blur of faces for company, some with laced hats, and gloved hands that had seen, perhaps, the cold, meatless days after the War. In retrospect, it seemed just like a scene out of 84, Charing Cross, minus the conversation and the damp, cavernous bookstore that Anthony Hopkins made it his own. To us, from a land that still keeps its Imperialist transplants in its railway platforms, old Victorian houses and Post Offices, it seemed just like home — a cleaner, more orderly place that one visits during a summer spent escaping the grind.

Everywhere, the quiet bustle of feet as commuters jumped over cobble-stoned pavements, hurried through traffic lights and slipped in and out of city stores like stage sets straight out of the Opera. Like Phantoms, in a place known to be cold to friends and slightly less than freezing to its many acquaintances. London, by turns was dazzling, insipid and clammy, just like the Webber play, snatching its lady love before love could distract her into submission. Except, when it turned on its charms at the Change of Guard. Performed like a Beethoven fugue, all precision and muted to begin with, but unleashing its crescendo in a spark of feet that lent a speck of art to a military march.

The feet that conquered diverse lands, could also dance to the tunes of a lady, it seemed.

clockwork want

you strip time of its minutes,
even as i dredge your face up
from memory

one day i noticed...

...you were gone. it was not gradual, but more like, i wake up and find you are no longer a part of me. as if the invading sea had swallowed us up, memories and all. and before i could rush in to claim at least the last vestiges of you, the sea itself had disappeared. now, where do i go looking for you seashell?

i miss you

or, at least someone like you

am free to write

that just came as a godsend. when editor saar told me i could write for the mag, i was thrilled. this gives me some space for jotting down thoughts that relate to the other India. yipppeee!!!

two things on my wishlist

a really high-end digital camera that allows me to break into traveller mag, and a bullet 350 cc to travel the world clicking away at innocent bystanders and craggy hills;-)))) does anyone have a hundred thousand bucks to spare???

world wide worry

this www came much before the web i guess. everyone i see, hear about or know of even vaguely has surfed this way. to all of them, just remember the 80s smash pop hit, dont worry, be happy!!!

five years in July

time steps back into the
yesterdays like a quiet cat
on soft legs,
and i sit,
drawing the night up close
like a blanket
to hide memories of you.

Running From Hell

The seeping cold invaded us slowly. We were sipping on kulfis, a chocolate-flavoured poor man's version of softy, only harder and colder with every bite, and more drippy after the favoured first few bites. She was staring at the lights. She was always staring at something. Some ice-cream vendor blocked the majestic view of India Gate, through the beginnings of a smoggy, chilly night. We had not spoken for about half an hour, when the scathing argument had petered out into a gravelly, troubled silence, like the interlude between one ambush and the next. She looked quite beautiful, flaming hair, set in curls, tied at the top loosely. I was sititng cross-legged on the pavement, trying to marshal more arguments to convince her. None seemed adequate to the task...

want to write a novel

reading Outlook's cover story has rekindled a desire to write a novel, even a novella like heart of darkness, pithy but for all time. will start by serialising the same thru this blog.

what do you do if....

....you have a broadband account that limits downloads to 1 GB per month. and if you have a P2P software like limewire with its dazzling reach to good music? well, you just wait till the last day of the month with some 400 mb still uncovered in your account, and then go on a downloading frenzy. oh, how i wish unlimited broadband was cheaper that it is now!

my neighbourhood dvd store!!!

well, any local dvd store that stocks wild strawberries and the odd tarkovsky, apart from luis brunuel, passolini, kurosawa and fellini ought to be good. to get to watch these movies for 25 bucks is simply superb. i am all for piracy, if, as anurag kashyap says, it can get to you the best and the banned to your living room, who the hell cares if the big studios don't get their share of dvd revenue. as for all these offbeat directors, they would only be happy that their movies are accesible to definitely-less-than-intellectual types like me, with definite aspirations to be at least a pseudo intellectual!

amazing internet

the internet may be all things to all people, but to me, perhaps the most amazing and practical feature has been its usefulness in transferring money across cities and banks. imagine, at the click of a few buttons, money just zips across the globe to the intended recepient. while critics may argue that it is a risky proposition, for ordinary folk like you and me it is a godsend. it just makes everything so simple.

Discovered Limewire

Oh this is a beauty. Limewire is a P2P file sharing software that lets you swap music and download songs and other stuff from peers across the network. and what a joy!!! been downloading pink floyd by the dozen. in fact, i think it is easier to use than bittorrent, the other well-known P2P software. let's hope i get hold of some good western classical stuff too. for all ye who wnat to know how to download and use this, just go to the link above and download limewire. it is free. you may need to download the latest java runtime environment if you don't have it already. check it out

finally the ozzies are sweating

but in adelaide, no score is big enough for the team batting second. and many teams batting third have been bundled out for less than 200 runs. it will be fun to see how it pans out. till then, it is some just thrashing for arrogant punter and his boys.

Rambo, a disappointment

more gory than other Rambo movies, treads on shaky political territory, with an evangelical bent of mind, this must be sly's worst rambo movie. i thought rocky balboa was better, even for a sequel. i think my fav will be first blood, that was gripping.

padmarajan's movies

is there anybody reading this who has the entire set? pls pls pass it on, i will copy those and return them safely!!!!!

Sachin gets away with anything!!!

Imagine, this guy has been terrible form for over three years. one can't remember a single instance (ok, the Chennai test and the sharjah one-dayer against the Ozzies are exceptions) when he has won a mathc for the country. and he is given a long rope, all because his name happens to be sachin tendulkar. Poor Ganguly clawed his way intot he team, got over 1200 runs in one calendar year at an average of 44, he got a double hundred and steered the team out trouble many times, and yeta, he gets dropped from the ODI side. what luck!!! or should i say, the honest, straight-forward, call-a-spade-a-shovel Gangulys of the world are always at the receiving end no matter what they do.

dowry

watched a malayalam movie "stridhanam". It means dowry. somewhat simplistic, and towards the end a straight-out-of-Austen moral fable, but quite convincing nevertheless.

mahabharata

a tale of love, lust, forbidden trysts, test-tube babies, atomic weapons, celibacy, power, bravery, women's empowerment and everything else. truly it is said that "what is contained herein may be found elsewhere, but what is not here cannot be found anywhere else." Ramesh Menon has made it easy read. maybe not as stirring as Ashok Banker's Ramayana, but effective. but then, maybe it is the story, which is supposedly seven times as long as the Iliad and Odyssey combined. Why look for Greek treasures when you can find it here?

From the Holy Mountain

It's part travelogue, part history, part journalism and part autobiography, while it pretends to be travel writing. a very good book, probably better in narrative scope than his City of Djinns. William Dalrymple hooks up every little piece into one big mosaic.

astrology for you!!!

what is it about astrology or a belief in it that gets everyone or some people riled??? well, isnt't it a belief system like countless others, i asked. and then, this somebody just changed topics. apparently, the weather was more interesting!

Mad at the Ozzies

Agreed Dravid's decision was a close call, and Ganguly's fell prey to an earlier agreeement between captains of both teams, but if eight decisions out of nine are fixed in their favour, and if the racism allegation was intended to demoralise us, then these low tactics have worked, and worked admirably. Now the Ozzies are the undisputed kings of test cricket, the record books will prove that. But, when the history of the game is written, at least by fair-minded chaps, then this Sydney test will go down as singularly lacking in ethics. It is ok to rile the batsmen or the bowler, but not okay to shift the blame for alleged racist taunts entirely to one side. remember, two teams played and the most sledge-abled team won. it also brought the gentlemen's game into disrepute. this was winning at all costs. even the mighty west indians played their cricket hard, and they had a better team through the 60s, 70s and 80s than the ozzies have had in the last decade or so, but they were known to play fair. That is one word the ozzies have deleted from their lexicon. What else can you expect of descendants of ex-convicts?

colours of life

this blog is like cocaine, yu can never get enough of it if yu are hooked. a near one month lay-off from blogging has given me definite withdrawal symptoms. now, as they say, i am back. was just reading a friend's blog. she has a way with words. would make a good writer, if she persists. so what have i been doing these last few days? well, went visiting relatives, did nothing, just that staring into space thing, and felt good doing that. watched silly stuff on television and kept everyone on edge with my insane actions. that felt better. no internet, no blogs, no nothing, just hogging and sleeping at 9 o clock. haven't seen a movie in ages, now got to catch up on simple pleasures. the new year is a year well begun!!!! i hope it has been the same for ye all!!!