Casper

haiku!

2009-11-04T08:28:00.000-08:00

URBAN HAIKU by Michael R Collings

Silence-- a strangled
Telephone has forgotten
that it should ring

Freeway overpass--
Blossoms in grafitti on
fog-wrapped June mornings

That's an earful

2008-07-05T00:51:00.000-07:00

Pedestrians pose for a picture in the ear of a large model of Eddie Murphy's head in Times Square in New York, Thursday, July 3, 2008. The large model head of the actor was being used to promote his new movie "Meet Dave". AP/PTI

I will meet you yet again

2008-06-15T23:10:00.000-07:00

Mein tainu pher milan gi (I will meet you yet again)

I will meet you yet again
How and where? I know not.
Perhaps I will become a
figment of your imagination
and maybe, spreading myself
in a mysterious line
on your canvas,
I will keep gazing at you.

Perhaps I will become a ray
of sunshine, to be
embraced by your colours.
I will paint myself on your canvas
I know not how and where –
but I will meet you for sure.

Maybe I will turn into a spring,
and rub the foaming
drops of water on your body,
and rest my coolness on
your burning chest.
I know nothing else
but that this life
will walk along with me.

When the body perishes,
all perishes;
but the threads of memory
are woven with enduring specks.
I will pick these particles,
weave the threads,
and I will meet you yet again.

—-Amrita Pritam.

Translated by Nirupama Dutt and published in The Little Magazine

Majestic Tiger

2008-05-13T23:34:00.001-07:00

A tiger cools off in a lake to beat the heat as mercury rises in Guwahati zoo. PTI Photo

Majestic Tiger

2008-05-13T23:34:00.000-07:00

A tiger cools off in a lake to beat the heat as mercury rises in Guwahati zoo. PTI Photo

A Midsummer's day's freak

2008-05-13T22:05:00.000-07:00

New Delhi: When I woke up it was a typical summer day. Bright sunny and warm. Around 8.40 there was a hint that it might rain as clouds had started accumulating and cutting off the harsh morning sun.

Within an hour, on my way to work, the sky was covered in a vast blanket of thick dark clouds, the pleasant and mild breeze turned stronger swaying the trees along the path. A terrible dust storm gripped the city and large droplets of rain start pattering on the windswhields.

Grins started showing on even the most sombre of faces with rear seat passengers on my charted bus behaving like teenagers. "Khan saheb hum wapas ghar jaa rahe he ya daftar ja rahe he?"

Gusts of wind swept dust off the road onto my face as I deboarded the bus and staggered across the wide road towards my office. The billowing wind threatened to sweep me off my feet. Hair streaking across my face and salwaar kameez flying, I swept into my office. Excited colleagues met me on my way upstairs and began dragging me again outside, but I declined.

Inside the office it was another world. Insulated walls and airconditioning not a hint of the chaos outside was felt inside. My excited demenour sent most collegues scampering to glimpse the scene outside.

:)

2008-05-09T22:00:00.000-07:00

WASHINGTON : A heavily armed member of the Secret Service Emergency Response Team watches as a mother duck and her ducklings cross the driveway at the White House as heavy rain storms blanketed the Washington area, Friday, May 9, 2008. AP/PTI

2008-05-09T21:58:00.000-07:00

MAY 10, 2008 - ROME : Czech Republic's Radek Stepanek reacts after defeating Switzerland's Roger Federer in a men's quarter-final match, at the Rome Master tennis tournament, in Rome, Friday, May 9, 2008. Stepanek won 7-6 (4), 7-6 (7). AP/PTI

Will do anything for H2O :)

2008-05-08T22:48:00.000-07:00

Gravity defying!

2008-01-04T21:32:00.000-08:00

College students cross a river using a rope during an adventure water sports competition organised by Barkatullah University in Bhopal on January 4, 2007. PTI Photo

Whoa!!!!

2008-01-02T21:51:00.000-08:00

Machine capable of revealing our most private thoughts

London, Jan 3 (PTI) Scientists have developed a machine which is capable of reading our mind and revealing our most private thoughts.
American researchers from Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh found that with the aid of a sophisticated scanner and computer programme, they were able to determine how the brain lights up when thinking about different subjects.

Using an advanced form of MRI scanner, they analysed how the brain reacted to ten drawings of tools and buildings. They then used a computer programme to work out whether a person was thinking about a tool or a building.

"We hope to progress to identifying the thoughts associated not just with pictures but also with words and eventually sentences," said Dr Svetlana Shinkareva, one of the researchers.

The device's possibilities can be extended and the team envisage a time when it will be used to conduct infallible lie detector tests, while the accurate interpretation of a person's intentions could allow police to arrest criminals before they break the law, as seen in the film Minority Report.

The researchers' analysis was found to be 97 per cent accurate. Despite being limited to picking up the thoughts behind just ten pictures, the researchers are confident that they will soon be able to identify entire sentences.

The study, published in the journal PLoS ONE, also showed that different people think about the same thing in the same way.

"This part of the study establishes, as never before, that there is a commonality in how different people's brains represent the same subject," the study, reported in the Daily Mail of Britain, said. PTI

2007-12-01T06:57:00.000-08:00

Nostalgia

2007-10-29T23:32:00.000-07:00

2007-08-17T07:39:00.000-07:00

Pablo Neruda on Love

2007-07-15T06:47:00.000-07:00

Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the
perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks,
the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten
your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to my vague memory of
you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
do me irreparable harm.
Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every
window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because
of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting
stars, falling objects.

Discovered Joe Hill and the Wobblies!

2007-05-01T11:55:00.000-07:00

Workers of the world, awaken!
Break your chains. demand your rights.
AII the wealth you make is taken
By exploiting parasites.
Shall you kneel in deep submission
From your cradles to your graves?
ls the height of your ambition
To be good and willing slaves?

read the poem here
Joe Hill

Among other mentionables
Whadda Ya Want To Break Your Back for the Boss For?

You can find here
The IWW Songbook
rest of the songs that are tough to find offline

Crony capitalism on Labour Day

2007-05-01T10:40:00.000-07:00

I am not a student of Economics, though studied Micro and Macro aspects of it as a compulsory part during undergraduation where dreary professors succeeded in chasing way whoever displayed even a remote interest in the subject. But, that gentle reader, may I assure you has not diminished your's truly's fascination for the subject.

Prime Minister Manmohan Singh inaugurating the new campus of the Institute for Studies in Industrial Development (ISID) today referred to a report in media that

Most of the billionaires among India's top business leaders operate in "oligopolistic" market and in sectors where the government had conferred special privileges on a few, Singh said "this sounds like crony (monopolistic) capitalism".

"Are we encouraging crony capitalism? Is this a necessary but transient phase in the development of modern capitalism? Are we doing enough to protect consumers and small businesses from the consequences of crony capitalism," Singh asked.

The Hindu Find the story here

Puzzled colleagues at work tossed the word back and forth faced with the task of translating into hindi the speech by the Prime Minister delivered in English. What is crony? What is crony capitalism?

"Are yaar ye PM bhi pata nahi kya kya bol dete he"

As they debated I googled a quick search and this is what came up
Wikipedia

You could find a detailed explanation by Greg Mankiw at
Crony Capitalism

Onward !

2007-05-01T00:13:00.000-07:00

J. K. Lombard

Not, my soul, what thou hast done,
But what thou now art doing;
Not the course which thou hast run.
But that which thou'rt pursuing;
Not the prize already won,
But that which thou art wooing;

Thy progression, not thy rest;
Striving, not attaining, —
Is the measure and the test
Of thy hope remaining.
Not in gain art thou so blest
As in conscious gaining.

If thou to the Past wilt go,
Of Experience learning,
Faults and follies it can show,
Wisdom dearly earning;
But the path once trodden, know,
Hath no more returning.

Let not thy good hope depart,
Sit not down bewailing;
Rouse thy strength anew, brave heart !
'Neath despair's assailing;
This will give thee fairer start, —
Knowledge of thy failing.

Yet shall every rampart wrong
In the dust be lying;
Soon thy foes, though proud and strong,
In defeat be flying;
Then shall a triumphant song
Take the place of sighing.

Life's Single Standard

2007-04-30T23:44:00.000-07:00

by Edgar Guest

There are a thousand ways to cheat and a thousand ways to sin;
There are ways uncounted to lose the game, but there's only one way to win;
And whether you live by the sweat of your brow or in luxury's garb you're dressed,
You shall stand at last, when your race is run, to be judged by the single test.

Some men lie by the things they make; some lie in the deeds they do;
And some play false for a woman's love, and some for a cheer or two;
Some rise to fame by the force of skill, grow great by the might of power,
Then wreck the temple they toiled to build, in a single, shameful hour.

The follies outnumber the virtues good; sin lures in a thousand ways;
But slow is the growth of man's character and patience must mark his days;
For only those victories shall count, when the work of life is done,
Which bear the stamp of an honest man, and by courage and faith were won.

There are a thousand ways to fail, but only one way to win !
Sham cannot cover the wrong you do nor wash out a single sin,
And never shall victory come to you, whatever of skill you do,
Save you've done your best in the work of life and unto your best were true.

2007-04-24T11:44:00.000-07:00

2007-04-24T11:41:00.000-07:00

2007-04-24T11:38:00.000-07:00

2007-04-24T11:28:00.000-07:00

Easter

2007-04-07T23:35:00.000-07:00

There is perhaps nothing more delightful that watching a young boy, maybe three-years old, trying to light candles in church.

"Come what may, I'm not gonna budge till all the candles are lighted" said the earnest look on the face that is seen only in children who fancy themselves as grown up.

Shooting impatient and confused glances at the fan above that kept extinguishing the candles that he had lighted with great patience the youngster struck to his voluntary task even as his mother chattered on oblivious to his doings.

And not befor long you had the entire deck shining with three rows of candles.

Happy Easter

Fries

2007-03-20T04:47:00.000-07:00

I hate french fries.
I hate the white coloumn concentric circles
I hate walking in the sun with somebody whom i have to do polite talk

There is much i hate
perhaps that is why most people hate me

Back Again

2007-02-04T01:14:00.000-08:00

If you ever visited a musuem you would have noticed how they have ample wide spaces around exhibits and pictures. Ever wondered why?

It's the distance silly :)

Distance gives you perspective and makes you notice and learn to admire the little details in the big picture.

That is why you have to take breaks from work and are given holidays. Point is I took a break from blogland and am back!

Happy New Year!

A painting that refuses to fade

2006-11-19T22:18:00.000-08:00

Leaving (Dedicated to Carla Guzzardo)

I wish it would rain tonight
as I drive down this highway
which rises over the neighborhood
like a shelf over my old dollhouse.
I still see her,
lingering over our dinner,
her glasses falling down her nose,
she pushing them up.
Strong in her faith that this time,
they will stay where they belong.

I see her smiling at me,
that smile that always managed
to make me follow suit
even when I had almost every reason not to.

I'm tired of watching that old moon
glide alongside my window
trying to cheer me up,
as if its presence
could somehow make up for
her absence.

A part of me will always be there,
sitting across from her
at that dinner table,
at all our shared tables.

The other part
willingly hugged her good-bye,
slipped on my shoes,
got in the driver's seat
and turned the key.

The engine roars in my ears
like a crowd at New Years eve.
joyous for another chance,
another page turned.

Still, my windshield is blurring
like an impressionist painting --
and every star stands uncovered in the sky.

-Carmen Rane Hudson

Love. Like. Lust. Learn.

2006-11-18T13:09:00.000-08:00

This year 75 percent of my friends either got engaged or tied the knot. This is for all of you.

The four pillars of a long lasting (and happy) relationship.

Love. The foundation of every relationship. It occurs when you care about someone. Interestingly, you can love someone without even liking them. Key words are compassion, trust, respect.

Like. To like someone means enjoying spending time with that person. Being friends. Key words are laughter, fun, interest.

Lust. Don't underestimate the importance of this one. Wanting to hold your partner, to kiss them, to make love. If the sizzle is gone, the relationship loses intensity. Finding each other attractive is vital for longevity.

Learn. Partners must inspire each other. Impress each other. Push each other to new places. Challenge and motivate your partner, learn from them, and teach them.
------------------------------------------

This is a TV series called GIA in 1998. I was searching for someting else and i found these memorable quotes
Believe me they are titled just that

Francesco: I know, I know. Life is so disappointing. Here you are. You have arrived. You are here. This is your moment. What do you have? You have pain. You have everything. What do you have? You have nothing. Everything is right, or everything is wrong. It's disappointing, it's confusing. This is life. What can we do?
Gia Carangi: People keep going away from me, that hurts.
Francesco: Work. You have a gift, use it. Life, life will be there later. When you have worked, and you have lived, and you know who you are, life is easy. Work. It's the only answer I know.
Gia Carangi: I should have been a rock star. But I can't sing.
Francesco: Work now. You'll live later, hm?
Gia Carangi: Hmm, hmm. You'd say anything to get that shot.
Francesco: Hmm, yeah. In this case I am saying the truth.

ONE DAY AT A TIME

2006-11-18T12:07:00.000-08:00

I'm only human, I'm just a woman.
Help me believe in what I could be
And all that I am.
Show me the stairway, I have to climb.
Lord for my sake, teach me to take
One day at a time.

Chorus:
One day at a time sweet Jesus
That's all I'm asking from you.
Just give me the strength
To do everyday what I have to do.
Yesterday's gone sweet Jesus
And tomorrow may never be mine.
Lord help me today, show me the way
One day at a time.

Do you remember, when you walked among men?
Well Jesus you know if you're looking below
It's worse now, than then.
Cheating and stealing, violence and crime
So for my sake, teach me to take
One day at a time.

(Marijohn Wilkins / Kris Kristofferson)

Cristy Lane

Tomorrow

2006-11-18T12:01:00.000-08:00

The sun'll come out
Tomorrow
Bet your bottom dollar
That tomorrow
There'll be sun

Just thinkin' about
Tomorrow
Clears away the cobwebs,
And the sorrow
'Til there's none

When I'm stuck with a day
That's gray,
And lonely,
I just stick out my chin
And grin,
And say,
Oh

The sun'll come out
Tomorrow
So ya gotta hang on
'Til tomorrow
Come what may

Tomorrow
Tomorrow
I love ya
Tomorrow

You're always
A day away

When I'm stuck with a day
That's gray,
And lonely,
I just stick out my chin,
and grin,
and say,
Oh

The sun'll come out
Tomorrow
So ya gotta hang on 'til
Tomorrow
Come what may

Tomorrow
Tomorrow
I love ya
Tomorrow

You're always
A day away

Tomorrow
Tomorrow
I love ya
Tomorrow

You're always
A day away

By the river

2006-11-18T11:52:00.000-08:00

By the river stood a tree.
A strong solid oak rooted deep.
One day it heard the cry of a wounded sparrow
that had clipped a wing in a vicious fight.
The predators of the night were circling below.
Looking for prey.
The solid oak reached down with a branch
scooping up his new found friend
carrying her into the safety of the sky.
For days they played.
Until the sparrow's wing healed.
And she tested flight and flew away.
Never to return?
The tree felt sadness.
And then betrayal.
And then incredible shame,
as it realized.
The little sparrow could give nothing
that it hadn't already given.
It was the tree
who was in debt.

Poetry of Confessions

2006-11-01T21:00:00.000-08:00

The reaction against established intellectual academic poetry in the fifties took another form in the US and from there travelled to England with Sylvia Plath.

Robert Lowell and Theodore Roethke headed a group of poets called the Confessional poets. They were reacting against the poetry of T. S Eliot, Ezra Pound and Dylan Thomas.

Lowell and Roethke, together with younger poets like Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath initiated a form of poetry which glorified the personal and the private and expressed their innermost secrets aloud for all to hear.

When Plath married Ted Hughes, an English poet and chose to make her home in the United Kingdom, the confessional movement no longer remained confine to the US.

Lowell first saw the horror, the boredom and the glory of Eliot's The Wasteland paralleled withing the mind. His Life Studies connects the meaningless and the hollowness of the outer world to the existing despair within

The Confessional poets had the desire to shock. They used unconventional themes, outspoken language and expressions of uncontained fury. The poet is forever seeking answers to questions that plague him on matters pertaining to his identity and situation in a larger scheme of things.

All this requires courage and it is courage that the confessional poets lay claim to the courage to come face to face with reality, no matter what the consequences, no matter how painful the experience.

Anne Sexton wrote an epigraph to To Bedlam and Part Way Back which is a quotation from a letter to Goethe from Schopenhauer.

"It is the courage to make a clean breast of it in the face of every question that makes a philosopher. He must be like Sophocles' Oedipus who, seeking enlightenment concerning his terrible fate, pursues his indefatigable inquiry, even when he divined that appalling horror awaits him in the answer. But most of us carry in our hearts the Jocasta who begs Oedipus for God's sake not to inquire further.

Sylvia Plath (10/27/1932-2/11/1963). Her father died when she was barely eight. She separated from her husband Ted Hughes. She first unsuccessfully attempted suicide at 21, the one of many and she finally succeeded at the age of 30, when she died on this day by if i am not wrong driving her volvo into the ocean.

The major part of poetry of Plath cries of helpless rage alternating with gloomy despair, its narcissistic concern with the individual self colouring all themes and subjects she chooses to write of.

Gregory Donovan, a VCU English professor, according to The Guardian says, "Poets don’t just come out of an overwhelming emotional experience.
"They come out of study and hard work. That's what made it possible to write such amazing poems later in life." :)

Meanwhile, this is an unpublished sonnet that Plath wrote in college while pondering themes in F Sott Fitzerland's novel The Great Gatsby
She wrote the phrase L'Ennuni (boredom) on her personal copy of the book alongside a passage in which Jay Gatsby's love interest Daisy Buchanan, complains that "I've been everywhere and seen everything and done everything."

You can find it here

http://www.blackbird.vcu.edu/v5n2/poetry/plath_s/ennui.htm

Discover an author

2006-10-31T09:57:00.000-08:00

Writing is often addictive, fun, hilarious, thereupatic and compulsory challenge that is a frustrating, hairsplitting, nervewracking, soul-stripping, enobling, enlightening, narcisstic, demanding ...

Writing regularly, more so!

Ask any person who has sometime written something in her life about it. What the reader may sometimes dismiss as simple, requires oftentimes immense struggle on the author's part. The storywriter will do everything possible, cook up all excuses not to write. The journey from anywhere to the writing desk is the longest and the toughest. But once there, nothing else matters. It is an all consuming passion, a religion that devours her, a thrilling adventure.

Oh perseverance! Thy end is a piece of literature.:)

When busy professionals who juggle back to back shifts round the clock, sqeeze sleep out of their eyes, write regularly for the sheer joy of writing. Ah! it's bliss, at least when she has a book in her hand.

Read the Outlook article on The Story Till Now in

I have a friend who is similarly qualified. (what was that? Did i just say similarly?:) Oh Well, Coming back, except for the carnatic music bit, which I am not sure, its all the exact same.

Same Age, Same city, Same Profession.

Chemical Engineer goes to Managment school and then turns banker. Writes a lot, (um yeah, though sporadicaly) especially short stories and hopes to metamorphise into an author soon.

BTW, I have already booked the first interview, if you must know. Now, it just a matter of time till agent David Godwin flies in to your city. Even though, it is right now floating on a riverload of water.:)

Meanwhile Ready that manuscript, cause You, my friend are the next Litstar on the horizon.

A full day

2006-10-09T11:19:00.000-07:00

Today I had a rare evening shift at work.

As I was driven back home some one half hour ahead of midnight, I caught myself entering a contemplative mood. It is difficult to fall into one of those moods when you have so much vibrant chatter and camradiere going on amongst fellow passengers.

I was doing something new at work and had in due process learnt of several things. As the Wine coloured Tata Qualis threaded its way across the not-so-crowded streets in the heart of New Delhi, I lost track of my colleagues' repartees while mentally doing a look-back at the day's events.

It was an eventful day, bustling with news.

The Democratic Republic of North Korea had confirmed that it had gone ahead and conducted a successful nuclear test, which it claimed would help in maintaining the peace and stability in the Korean peninsula and the surrrounding region.

In conducting this underground nuclear test, clandestinely in defiance of world bodies, the communist state had drawn severe condemnation from almost all nations.
This poverty stricken country had only last year been the second largest reciepient of food aid in the world survives on aid from China and South Korea but spends almost 25 per cent of its GNP on its military.

Then,
A Columbia University professor of political economy won Nobel Prize for Economics for his contributions to understanding the relationship between inflation and unemployment.

Until Edmund S Phelps, economists believed when labour gets scarce and unemployment comes down, prices must by necessity go up to reflect increasing wages. Phelps' introduced the less quantifiable factors of expectations and information. What happens to the Philips curve then?

Governments and central banks could no longer assume that employment and inflation goals were exclusive factors in determining tax, budget and monetary policies. The less quantifiable expectations of employers and workers were also important factors that had to be calculated in.

The 73-year-old author will receive the prize money of 1.37 million dollars has been written about as a man who has authored a great number of books and articles in which he explores how new ideas lead to growth and why they find such fertile soil in the US and less resonance elsewhere.

Somewhere on the internet I found out that the septugenerian economist professor had channelled his childhood fascination for numbers into a lifelong obsesion. He used to count all the cats in his neighbourhood in Chicago and also busy himself identifying all the automobiles on his street.

Never tell a child who wants to count cats that he his wasting time. Look at Phelps!

Postscript
I missed a couple of people today. People, whom I knew would share with equal or perhaps more zest my enthusiasm and eagerness to discuss all the happenings. Persons, who will never perhaps share the same cab with me.

My Life

2006-09-23T22:22:00.000-07:00

Somehow it got into my room.
I found it, and it was, naturally, trapped.
It was nothing more than a frightened animal.
Since than I raised it up.
I kept it for myself, kept it in my room,
kept it for its own good.
I named the animal, My Life.
I found food for it and fed it with my bare hands.
I let it into my bed, let it breathe in my sleep.
And the animal, in my love, my constant care,
grew up to be strong, and capable of many clever tricks.
One day, quite recently,
I was running my hand over the animal's side
and I came to understand
that it could very easily kill me.
I realized, further, that it would kill me.
This is why it exists, why I raised it.
Since then I have not known what to do.
I stopped feeding it,
only to find that its growth
has nothing to do with food.
I stopped cleaning it
and found that it cleans itself.
I stopped singing it to sleep
and found that it falls asleep faster without my song.
I don't know what to do.
I no longer make My Life do tricks.
I leave the animal alone
and, for now, it leaves me alone, too.
I have nothing to say, nothing to do.
Between My Life and me,
a silence is coming.
Together, we will not get through this.

By Joe Wenderoth
from It Is If I Speak, 2000
Wesleyan University Press, Middletown, CT

Fat Is Not a Fairy Tale

2006-09-23T22:09:00.000-07:00

I am thinking of a fairy tale,
Cinder Elephant,
Sleeping Tubby,
Snow Weight,
where the princess is not
anorexic, wasp-waisted,
flinging herself down the stairs.

I am thinking of a fairy tale,
Hansel and Great,
Repoundsel,
Bounty and the Beast,
where the beauty
has a pillowed breast,
and fingers plump as sausage.

I am thinking of a fairy tale
that is not yet written,
for a teller not yet born,
for a listener not yet conceived,
for a world not yet won,
where everything round is good:
the sun, wheels, cookies, and the princess.

By Jane Yolen
from Such a Pretty Face May 2000
Meisha-Merlin Publishing, Inc

2006-09-20T13:13:00.000-07:00

I Love the new look blog, but have to find a way around the tags that are showing! Hafta hafta hafta fix the fix.

2006-08-29T13:10:00.000-07:00

Why?
One of the toughest questions to answer.
Several weeks ago I got a call from a friend who
accidently discovered my now-no-longer-a-secret identity as a
blogger.
When the customary "how do you do's" were exchanged
and done away with I did the unpardonable. Asked him Why?
This friend had recently quit his job that was
positively a source of envy to many. He had a great profile
and if he continued in that job his career graph would
certainly not have witnessed a horizontal or downward
trajectory. The only way to go was up up and away.
So Why? I asked, did he commit the unimaginable
foolishness of throwing it off? His answer stumped me as it
did his boss, so he claims.
Boss: Why are you doing this?
Friend: You see why is difficult to answer.
B: Why?
F: There are at least 150 ways I can answer that but
wont. Why did I take up Journalism as a career and not be a mathematician or rather a musician or rather be a non-violanist and practice on my fiddle. Why did I choose your organisation and not others?
why?....why?....why?....why?....why?....why?....why?....why?..
At the end of the conversation, F told me his boss was so flustred that he told him to wind up the conversation since he thought it was not headed anywhere. "At this rate we can go on having this talk and not reach a solution!"
Boss finally let my friend go, I suspect gladly too.
He didnt want to shoulder the burden of so many whys!

Then there is this... Why?

Patiala, Aug 13 (PTI) Nearly 50 female foetuses were
recovered from a covered pit in the backyard of the private
hospital, located on Patiala-Patran road.
The incident came to light when Pooja, a midwife at the
hospital who was fired recently, approached the Health
Department alleging scores of female foetuses had been aborted
and dumped in hospital's backyard.
Singh, a retired armyman, and Kaur were arrested on
charges of running an illegal female foeticide racket.
Singh, after being remanded to judicial custody, told
reporters that all allegations against them were baseless.
Accusing Pooja of trying to blackmail him, he alleged she
had been pressing him to hand over the plot at the back of the
hospital to her or pay her Rs two lakh.
When he refused she connived with some officials to
frame him and his wife, he alleged.
Singh claimed to be a registered medical practitioner in
Haryana but got his registration transferred to Punjab three
years back when he started the hospital.

Allegations? Someone had been doing the abortions and
dumping the foetuses in the backyard or the well as another
report pointed out. Why?
An act of remorse or of greed. Even though the answer
to that is quite obvious, thousands of questions still remain
unanswered.
What makes man and woman think irrationally? In the
court of law the accused often take tries to shield under
the plea of temporary insanity.
For those few fleeting seconds the difference between
man and animal ceases. Man becomes his own slave, one that is
compelled to carry out base and sensless acts for which he
cannot even be sufficiently remorseful.
Man becomes insane enough to rape his daughter, kill
his unborn child, gouge the eyes of his child to satiate the
appetite of his god.

2006-08-06T08:58:00.000-07:00

Zen and the art of goodbyes

It seems I have finally mastered the art of saying goodbye without tears. For long I have battled this. I still cannot let go of people, partly the reason why you will find a reluctant tag in send-off parties.
The people who mean much to me, who are very dear, I hate to let them go. Howover obnoxious they might find me.
Much effort I put in but always ended up with red and watery eyes, blabbing away when the time came for departure. I just couldnt help it, couldn't succesfully mask the sadness.
And it came with its unwanted attendent problems, sympathy, concern and worst of all pity.
And now I managed to master it! Part of growing up.:-)
The trick is to focus on the happier moments, to think of icreams for instanse, let your mind wander and not let it rest on the leaving bit, talk nonsense and smile a lot. Believe me you, it works.
And saves a lot of explanations and talking and most of all unwanted attention.
And it does work.
I am the queen of stoicism.

Ps: Hm I realise i have done something wrong witht he blog. How come I cant see any of the headings in the gleaming green? Whats a post without a headline?

2006-08-06T08:28:00.000-07:00

Cannery Row

Susan Shillinglaw has in her introduction to Cannery Row said that Steinbeck's tough yet charming portrait of people on the margin of society, dependant on one another for both physical and emotional survival.
Published in 1945, CR focuses on the acceptance of life as it is: both the exuberance of community and the loneliness of the individual. Steinbeck draws on his memories of the real inhabitants of Monerey, California and interweaves the stories of Doc, Henri, Mack and his boys and the other characters in this world where only the fittest survive., to create a novel that is at once one of his most humorous and most poignant works.She tells of S's "scientific detachment, empathy toward the lonely and the depressed..... and, at the darkest level... the terror of isolation and nothingness."

Frequently shy and essentially modest, S sought buffers to confront the world and Ricketts was one of the many in his life who held that station. The writer could be as ebullient as he could be retiring, could be both storyteller and listener, intellectual and emotional bond, so that his friend becomes, in fiction the voice of the author.

Doc is essentially a lonely man, yet he befriends everyone.

Steinbeck's intetion is to see life in its broadest definitions as it exists in this one place, Cannery Row.

"The world of man is now mainly fit for satire,....."

Cannery Row is born out of loss of self, of his California home, of the friend who sustained him, and of certainty in a meaningless world.

Steinbeck's art luxuriates in mimetic representation. He insistently blurs the border between art and life.

S in this text that self consciously re creates his sources with painstaking fidelity ad thus heightens the reader's awareness process by which language changes the "thing" into the pattern of the novel

A book without a tight plot, a without a clear resolution, not a book working towards a clear ending or purpose. Bulk of the novel focuses on life as it is.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

This is the introduction in the author's own words.

Cannery Row in Moterey in California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone , a habit, a nostalgia a dream.
Cannery Row is the gathered and the scattered, tin and iron and rust and splintered wood, chipped pavement and weedy lots and junk heaps, sardine canneries of corrugated iron, honkly tonks, restaurants and whore houses, and little crowded groceries and laboratories and flophouses. Its inhabitants are, as the man once said, "whores,pimps, gamblers, and sons of bitches," by this he meant Everybody. Had the man looked through another peephole he might have said,"saints and angels and matyrs and holy men," and he would have meant the same thing.
In the morning when the sardine fleet has made a catch, the purse seiners waddle heavily into thebay blowing their whistles. The deep laden boats pull in against the coast where the canneries dip their tails into the bay. The figure is advisedly chosen, for it the canneies dipped their mouths into the bay the cannned sardines which emerge from the other end would be metaphorically, at least , even more horrifying. Then cannery whistles scream and all over the town men and women scramble into their clothes and come running down to the Row to go to work. Then shining cars bring the upper classes done, superintendents, accounted, owners who discover into offices. Then from the town pour Wops and Chinamen and Polaks, men and women in trousers and rubber coats and oilcloth aprons. They come running to clean and cut and pack and cook and can the fish. The whole street rumbles and groans and screams and rattleswhile the silver of rivers of fish pour in out of boats and the boats rise higher and higher in the water until the last fish is cleaned and cut and cooked and canned and then the whistles scream again and dipping smelly, tired Wops and Chinamen and Polaks, menand women, straggle out and droop the ways up the hill into the town and Cannery Row becomes itself again-quiet and magical. Its normal life returns. The bums who retired in disgust under the black cypress tree come out and sit on rusty pipes in the vacant lot. The girls form h eDora's emerge for a bit of sun if there is any. Doc strolls from the Western Biological Laboratory and crossed the street to Lee Chong's for grocery for two quarts of beer. Henri the painter noses like an Airedale throughout the junk in the grass -grown lot for some part or piece of wood or metal he needs fort eh boat he is building. Then the darkness deges in and the strrtlight in fron tof Dora's -the lamp which makes perpetual moonlight in Cannery Row. Callers arrive at Western Biological to see Deoc, and he crosses the street to Lee Chong's for five quarts of beer.
How can the poem and the stink and the grating noise-the quality of light, the tone, the habit dn the dream-be set dow live? When you collect marine animals there are certain flat worms so delicate that they are almost impossible to capture whole, for they break and tatter under the touch. They must let them ooze and crawl of their own will onto a knife blade and then lift hem gently into your bottle of sea water. And perhaps that might be the way to write this book-to open the page and to let the stories crawl in by themselves.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
This chapter is one of the best.

The Word is a symbol and a delight which sucks up men and scened , trees, plants, factories and Pekinese. Then the Thing becomes the Word and back to Thing again, but warped and woven into a fantastic pattern. The Word sucks up Cannery Row, digests it and spews it out and the Row has taken the shimmer of the green world and the sky-reflecting seas. Lee chong is more thatn a Chinese grocer. He must be. Perhaps he is evil balanced and held suspended by good-an Asiatic planet held to its orbit by the pull of Lao Tze and held away by Lao Tze by the centrifugality of abacus and cash register-Lee Chong suspended, spinning, whirling among groceries and ghosts. A hard man with a can of beans- a soft man with the bones of his grandfather. For Lee Chong dug into the grave on China Point and found the yellow bones the skull with gay ropy hair still sticking to it. And Lee carefully packed the bones, the femurs, and tiabis really straight, skull in the middle , with pelvis and clavicle surrounding it and ribs curving on either side. Then Lee Chang sent his boxed and brittle grandfather over the western sea to lie at last in ground made holy by his ancestors.
Mack and the boys, too, spinning in their orbits. They are the Virtues, the Graces, the beauties of the hurried mangled craziness of Monterey and the cosmic Monterey where men in fear and hunger destroy their stomachs in the fight to secure certain food, where men hungering for love destroy everything lovable about them. Mack and Boys are the Beauties, the Virtues and the Graces. In the world ruled by tigers with ulcers, rutted by stictured bulls, scavenged by blind jackals Mark and the boys dine delicately with the Tigers, fondle the fantic heifers, and wrap up the crumbs to feed the sea gulls of Cannery Row. What can it profit a man to gain the whole world and to come to his property with a gastric ulcer, a blown prostate and bifocals?Mack and the boys avoid the trap, walk around the poison, step over the noose while a generation of trapped,, poisoned, and trussed-up men scream at them and call them no-goods, come to bad ends, blot-on-the town-thieves, rascals, bums. Our Father who art in nature, who has given the gift of survival to the coyote, the common brown rat, the English sparrow, the house fly and the moth, must have a great and overwhelming love for no-goods and blots-on-the town and bums,, and Mack and the boys. Virtues and graces and laziness and zest. Our Father who art in nature.

(I think this description of the Chinaman encapsulates best what loneliness is,,,,,,and how terrible a thing it is,,,,,,, )
Down the hill, past the Palace Flophouse, down the chicken walk and through the vacant lot came and old Chinaman. He wore an ancient flat straw hat, blue jeans, both coat and trousers, an heavy shoes of which one sole was loose so that it slapped the ground when he walked. I his hand he carried a covered wicker basket. His face was lean and brown and corded as jerky and his old eyes were brown, even the whites were brown and deep set so that they looked out of the holes. He came by just at dusk and crossed the street and went through the opening between WEstern Biological and the Hedionodo Cannery. Then he crossed the little beach and disappeared among the piles and steel posts which support the piers. No one saw him again until dawn.

It has been happening for years but one got used to it..... only one brave and beautiful boy of ten named Andy from Salinas ever crossed the old Chinaman. .....And then one evening Andy braced himself and marched behind the old man singing in a shrill falsetto," Ching Chong Chinaman sitting on a tail-Long came a white man and chopped off his tail."
The old man stopped and turned . Andy stopped. The deep brown eyes looked at Andy and the thin corded lips moved, what happened then Andy was never able to either explain or to forget. for the eyes spread out until there was no Chinaman. And then it was one eye-one huge brown eye as big as a church door. Andy looked throughout the shiny transparent brown door and through it he saw a lonely countryside, flat for miles but ending against row of fantastic mountains shape like cows' and dogs' heads and tents and mushrooms. There was low coarse grass on the plain and here ad a little mound. And a small animal like a wood chuck sat on each mound. And the loneliness-the desolate cold aloneness of the landscape made Andy whimper because there wasn't anybody at all in the world and he was left. Andy shut his eyes so he wouldn't have to see it any more and when he opened them, he was in Cannery Row and the old Chinaman was just flap-flapping between Western Biological and the Hedionodo Cannery . Andy was the only boy who ever did that and he never did that again.

(And the novel ends with these lines from Doc....(which I have found difficult to understand)

Even now
I mind the coming and talking of wise men from towers
Where they had thought away their youth. And, I listening,
Found not the salt of the whispers of my girl,
murmur of confused colors, as we lay near sleep;
Little wise words and little witty words,
Wanton as water, honied with eagerness.
Even now,
I mind that I loved cypress and roses, clear,
The great blue mountains and the small gray hills.
The sounding of the sea. Up a day
I saw strange eyes and hands like butterflies;
For me at morning larks flew from the thyme
And children came to bathe in little streams.
Even now,
I know that I have savoured the hot taste of life
Lifting green cups and gold at the great feast.
Just for a small and a forgotten time
I have had full in my eyes from off my girl
The whitest pouring of eternal light-

2006-07-24T12:25:00.000-07:00

I can understand The big Khan and of course Kajol. Agreed for Roshan junior an exception can be made, the man can dance. But Priyanka chopra?? Yes she is sexy, and has a smile, but a doll? Read on.....

Dolls immortalising Bollywood's leading stars Shahrukh Khan, Kajol, Hrithik Roshan and Priyanka Chopra will be sold in the UK from August 1 under the brand name 'Bollywood Legends'.

The first four 'Legends' - Shahrukh, Hrithik, Kajol and Priyanka - have all been immortalised for their fans with the stars themselves having been involved throughout the process of creating their dolls, the manufacturers of the dolls claimed on Monday.

Leading toy manufacturer and distributor Spin Master Toys UK have joined forces with entrepreneur Shameen Jivraj to launch the first-ever Bollywood dolls.

Shameen came up with the concept four years ago, and more recently approached Spin Master Toys UK to handle the UK distribution of the dolls.

The driving force behind 'Bollywood Legends', Shameen, brings a wealth of toy industry experience with her, having headed the 'Shiny Doll' development team as well as many other well-known children's brands such as 'Star Wars' 'Playdoh' and 'Teletubbies'.

She said: "I became intrigued by Bollywood a little while ago and was drawn into the movies with their mix of fun, fashion, music and dance. It's such a magical and emotive arena and I wanted to create something that would allow the audiences to be able to take some of that magic home to treasure and enjoy in a unique and new way."

The 12-inch dolls have been meticulously crafted, with attention paid to every detail, from their outfits and their expressions down to Shahrukh Khan's famously curved eyebrows.

2006-07-24T12:14:00.000-07:00

A ticket to home and back
The past few weeks have been good. After ages I went home, soaked in all the rain -played goofey, -chatted like there was no tommorrow with sis.
It was six days of bliss with no deadlines to meet, no surly bosses breathing down your neck, no timechecks and above all not having to worry what to cook for the next meal.
I gorged on Mom's fantastic cooking. Steaming fish curry and rice, her speciality, prawns, lovely iddiappams, idlies and dosas, avulose poddi, banana chips, umm..mmmm... heavenly.
When I left Delhi I had meant to update the blog daily but the joyful tumble and jumble of life, that is definitely not routine, prevented me from putting pen to paper... er... that should have been finger to keys. :)
That, however, does not in any manner whatsover indicate that I have not been reading all your blogs. The brand new broadband Internet connection back home has ensured that my daily fix was taken care of. With such high connectivity, it has been an absolute delight to rummage through my Annexe.
If you noticed I have added several thingies on the blog. Some I have just borrowed from Tony's template. (Hey, that reminds me I have been tagged and i have to customarily respond.)
I had ample lazy time on my hands, yes home is a really sleepy place where 24 hours sometimes seems like 30. I decided this was a good enough time to redo the blog.
I had this brilliant creative urge to completely overhaul the design and give it a funky radical look. (for the imaginative lot it wont be hard to picture me with a determined look on my face, sleeves rolled up, pencil behind the ear....I love this bit...)
Ahem,,, enough theatrics,,,,, Point is I tried to change something and ended up almost losing everything i had written.
I had this really nice sketch of a girl standing in a balcony that protuded onto a beach. The idea was to capture the image of the churning waves with just a hint of the setting sun. But the result was far from mesmerising.
Am putting on hold temporarily all such experimentations till I grow a little less technologically challenged.

Meanwhile Bombay was attacked. Last time I was home the London subway blasts tooks place and now this. It left me pondering, Do terrorists follow some sort of a timetable? July seems good for them.
As the number of casualites of the seven blasts in Mumbai's local trains kept rising, I called up friends with a certain unease. All safe and sound, One was away in Pune, missed taking the train. Another was struck in office,, so on and so forth most just missed the blasts by a whisker.
Outpourings of grief blinked from the telly and the Internet. But for those who lost the sorrow was imeasurable, more so because it was unexpected and because their loved ones did not deserve die such a death.
Check out what V has to say. I think it is simply superb.

The day after I returned there were fireworks in blogland. Some intelligent bureaucrat had decided to block some websites becaus he and his like thinking colleagues had concluded that it was the best way to cut off the communication lines of the terrorists. It was believed that blogs were some sort of new methord to keep in touch. Idetnifying and blocking specific websites was a challege that was yet to be overcome. So what does Big Brother do? Shut down almost all the blog servers.
I had no problem accessing mine, but most bloggers managed to go around the problem and try alternate servers like pkblogs etc. Unanimous shoe of strength by bloggers who cried themselves hoars about freedom of expression and righ tto information finally forced teh government to backtrack and almost everybody had their blogs back. Phew!
The horror, the horror without a blog!

I have learned

2006-06-28T08:07:00.000-07:00

I've learned -
that you cannot make someone love you.
All you can do is be someone who can be loved.
The rest is up to them.

I've learned -
that no matter how much I care, some people just don't care back.

I've learned -
that it takes years to build up trust, and only seconds to destroy it.

I've learned -
that it's not what you have in your life but who you have in your life that counts.

I've learned -
that you can get by on charm for about fifteen minutes. After that, you'd better know something.

I've learned -
that you shouldn't compare yourself to the best others can do.

I've learned -
that you can do something in an instant that will give you heartache for life.

I've learned -
that it's taking me a long time to become the person I want to be.

I've learned -
that you should always leave loved ones with loving words. It may be the last time you see them..

I've learned -
that you can keep going long after you can't.

I've learned -
that we are responsible for what we do, no matter how we feel.

I've learned -
that either you control your attitude or it controls you.

I've learned -
that regardless of how hot and steamy a relationship is at first, the passion fades and there had better be something else to take its place.

I've learned -
that heroes are the people who do what has to be done when it needs to be done, regardless of the consequences.

I've learned -
that money is a lousy way of keeping score..

I've learned -
that my best friend and I can do anything or nothing and have the best time.

I've learned -
that sometimes the people you expect to kick you when you're down will be the ones to help you get back up.

I've learned -
that sometimes when I'm angry I have the right to be angry, but that doesn't give me the right to be cruel.

I've learned -
that true friendship continues to grow, even over the longest distance. Same goes for true love.

I've learned -
that just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have.

I've learned -
that maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you've had and what you've learned from them and less to do with how many birthdays you've celebrated.

I've learned -
that you should never tell a child their dreams are unlikely or outlandish. Few things are more humiliating, and what a tragedy it would be if they believed it.

I've learned -
that your family won't always be there for you. It may seem funny, but people you aren't related to can take care of you and love you and teach you to trust people again. Families aren't biological.

I've learned -
that no matter how good a friend is, they're going to hurt you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that.

I've learned -
that it isn't always enough to be forgiven by others. Sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself.

I've learned -
that no matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn't stop for your grief.

I've learned -
that our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but we are responsible for who we become.

I've learned -
that just because two people argue, it doesn't mean they don't love each other. And just because they don't argue, it doesn't mean they do.

I've learned -
that we don't have to change friends if we understand that friends change.

I've learned -
that you shouldn't be so eager to find out a secret. It could change your life forever.

I've learned -
that two people can look at the exact same thing and see something totally different.

I've learned -
that no matter how you try to protect your children, they will eventually get hurt and you will hurt in the process.

I've learned -
that your life can be changed in a matter of hours by people who don't even know you.

I've learned -
that even when you think you have no more to give, when a friend cries out to you, you will find the strength to help.

I've learned -
that credentials on the wall do not make you a decent human being.

I've learned -
that the people you care about most in life are taken from you too soon.

I've learned -
that it's hard to determine where to draw the line between being nice and not hurting people's feelings and standing up for what you believe.

Author Unknown

Scrabble

2006-06-28T07:58:00.000-07:00

This has got to be one of the cleverest E-mails I've received in awhile. Someone out there either has too much spare time or is deadly at Scrabble. (wait till you see the last one)!

DORMITORY: When you rearrange the letters: DIRTY ROOM
PRESBYTERIAN: When you rearrange the letters: BEST IN PRAYER
ASTRONOMER: When you rearrange the letters: MOON STARER
DESPERATION: When you rearrange the letters: A ROPE ENDS IT
THE EYES: When you rearrange the letters: THEY SEE
GEORGE BUSH: When you rearrange the letters: HE BUGS GORE
THE MORSE CODE: When you rearrange the letters: HERE COME DOTS
SLOT MACHINES: When you rearrange the letters: CASH LOST IN ME
ANIMOSITY: When you rearrange the letters: IS NO AMITY
ELECTION RESULTS:When you rearrange the letters: LIES - LET'S RECOUNT
MOTHER-IN-LAW: When you rearrange the letters: WOMAN HITLER
SNOOZE ALARMS: When you rearrange the letters: ALAS! NO MORE Z 'S
A DECIMAL POINT: When you rearrange the letters: IM A DOT IN PLACE
THE EARTHQUAKES:When you rearrange the letters: THAT QUEER SHAKE

ATTITUDE DETERMINES ATTITUDE

2006-06-28T07:51:00.000-07:00

I woke up early today, excited over all I get to do before the clock strikes midnight.

I have responsibilities to fulfill today.

I am important. My job is to choose what kind of day I am going to have.

Today I can complain because the weather is rainy or I can be thankful that the grass is getting watered for free.

Today I can feel sad that I don't have more money or I can be glad that my finances encourage me to plan my purchases wisely and guide me away from waste.

Today I can grumble about my health or I can rejoice that I am alive.

Today I can lament over all that my parents didn't give me when I was growing up or I can feel grateful that they allowed me to be born.

Today I can cry because roses have thorns or I can celebrate that thorns have roses.

Today I can mourn my lack of friends or I can excitedly embark upon a quest to discover new relationships.

Today I can whine because I have to go to work or I can shout for joy because I have a job to do.

Today I can complain because I have to go to school or eagerly open my mind and fill it with rich new tidbits of knowledge.

Today I can murmur dejectedly because I have to do housework or I can feel honored because the Lord has provided shelter for my mind, body and soul.

Today stretches ahead of me, waiting to be shaped. And here I am, the sculptor who gets to do the shaping.

What today will be like is up to me. I get to choose what kind of day I will have!

Have a Great Day ... Unless you have other plans.

Author Unknown

Shararat at Dilli Haat

2006-06-26T12:07:00.000-07:00

Sipping lichi juice,
diluted over and over
with water fetched by the waiter boy
We sit and talk;
Of him and her, he and he, she and him
and then of them.
Small talk on office politics,
Of time spent and unspent,
Of forgotten dreams and cherished desires,
We sit and talk;
On the cobbled pavement
across a table of cement, rooted to the earth.
Of loudness and the necessity to project
an exterior of brash,
A futile life.
We sit and talk;
You tell me how you want
To drop everything and go sit in a corner,
You tell me of the story of how you found him
or rather of how he found you.
I dont tell you of how I found and lost him
I do not tell you of how I lost
Another him.
But I tell you I want to fly,
I tell you that I dislike the circus of life.
Savouring the last drops of my drink
(Your empty bottle has been staring at me for long)
We sit and talk;
Move on to another table
For a plate of bhelpuri and sabudana.
And then we walk around the horseshoe
that is built over a gutter.
Curious knickknacks, bangles and trinkets,
Skirts that would billow if the wind was strong
Wallets and earthern pots.
We amble along,
Two kindred souls I would like to think,
Sometimes stopping to pick up and scrutinise,
oftentimes just pure admiration
Of the sketches and the fake Ravi Verma paintings
The kolapuri chappals
You stop to confer about the colour of a salwar kameez
Finally aquamarine blue over the conventional red is bought.
I just walk around
Pick up things to immediately put it back away,
Quest for quality, the habit of forever seeking the best.
Finally we have lavender shararat*(mishief)

*shararat -the new lavender coloured ice lolly from Mother
Diary. Price Rs 5/-

What would HE like to eat?

2006-06-25T11:46:00.000-07:00

Would God prefer butter toast? or vermicilli? or stuffed bittergourd and orange juice? or fish curry with rice?
Why do people vie with one another to feed sweets to the gods? What if they don't have a sweet tooth? Sweets, fruits and milk - form a huge chunk of all offerings.
Bechare bhagwan ji subh unko kitna meetha khilayenge? a bewildered senior at work questioned.
Yes, come to think of it all offerings comprise
sweetmeats and sugary stuff. What if he has diabetes or high
BP? my senior continued.
Its tough being baghwan in this subcontinent.
But I particularly like the TV commercial for a popular health drink where children mutter a quick apology before they proceed to polish off the glasses and containers of milk they trugded up a hill as offering to an idol under a tree.
There isn't any specific reason for this post (I do like to think that other posts serve a specific purpose-Ego trip:)) but just that a couple of days ago I paid a visit to the Gurudwara Bangla Sahib. And along with the tasty prasadam I also found a beach in Delhi.
After several weeks of the sun beating down in all its harshness, the capital got some relief with a sprinkle of premonsoon showers.
Surrounded by a carressing breeze, the weather was perfect for a walk and so two friends and me decided to drop in at the nearest bookstore. But then one informed that since it was time for the prasad to be distributed at the gurudwara why don't we go there first?
Within no time I found myself depositing my shoes and entering the sanctom sanctoram. Not acquainted with customs I cautiously followed everybody, careful to cover my head with a duppata.
Inside the gurudwara there is a small pond filled with fishes, around which the devout take a parikrama. The evening was young, the sun reflected on the water that was rippling in the breeze created an impression of waves on the sea. (Perhaps I was trying too hard to recreate the beach) But I swear that it was the first thought that struck me when i saw the lake/pond/ Hey Beach.
I felt the same sense of peace, the same euphoria and the same tinge of pain that I associate with the beach.
After that we stood in line for a share of the halwa being served. It was amazing, absolutely-out-of-this world.
The bookstore was closed so we took a stroll on the old Janpath road, filled with the usual clothes and knick knack accessories.
Mother dairy icecreams and then Bhutta!
It's another story that I couldn't eat the corn. Darned teeth. I went around for two days with my jaws feeling like lead. Signs of old age :-).

R. Kelly -

2006-06-08T20:05:00.000-07:00

I Believe I Can Fly

I used to think that I could not go on
And life was nothing but an awful song
But now I know the meaning of true love
I'm leaning on the everlasting arms
If I can see it, then I can do it
If I just believe it, there's nothing to it

Bridge:
If I can see it, then I can be it
If I just believe it, there's nothing to it

Chorus:
I believe I can fly
I believe I can touch the sky
I think about it every night and day
Spread my wings and fly away
I believe I can sore
I see me runnin through that open door
I believe I can fly
I believe I can fly
I believe I can fly

See I was on the verge of breakin down
Sometimes silence can seem so loud
There are miracles in life I must achieve
But first I know it starts inside of me

{Chorus}

Cause I believe in me

{Bridge}

{Chorus}

If I just spread my wings
I can fly
I can fly, I can fly
If I just spread my wings
I can fly, woo
Check it out
Hmm.. fly fly fly

2006-06-05T10:13:00.000-07:00

Lord, I am tired.

To be, or not to be: that is the question

2006-06-04T08:42:00.000-07:00

This or that. Right or Wrong. True or False.
Decisions, decisions, decisions.
When the mind is lulled into a cocoon, it is hard to decide, unless something comes around and gives it a hard knock, a wake up call, a deciding moment.
You have to either get on the bus or not. The tube gears up to leave and gets to supersonic speed level within half a minute. Unlike an ordinary train, the Metro gathers pace at the speed of light and there isn't time to decide whether to board or not. Falter and you might just be dead. Caught and pulverised by the high-tech bogies.
Today I missed two buses in a row. The first, cause I let it pass, the second cause I wrongly gauged the amount of time it would halt at my stop. Split second decison.
That was my wake up call, reflexes gone slow. Time to get up and get going, time to start getting into shape again. Start jogging again. Sometimes I am tempted to sleep, to close my eyes and be a child again. To make a pillow out of the first to greet me with a kind word. To trust, with a fierce self centredness oblivious to the wants of the other. To accept it as a permit to intrude into their space.
Fairytales can do that to you. Lull you in their sugary syrupy warm delicious embrace. Oblivious to the real world. Day must follow night, the lullaby has to end. Sleep must give up to wakefullness.
But is life kind? Could it offer you another chance after the sleep. By the sleep to say we end The heartache and the thousand natural shocks. To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come?
Yes, but then there is also the decision.
To be or not to be.
To die: to sleep; No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks/ That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come/ When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: there's the respect/ That makes calamity of so long life; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office and the spurns/ That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make/ With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn/ No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have/ Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment/ With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remember'd.

The country from where no traveller returns, disappears like a ghost. Quite tempting, to leave the sweat and the grime and the dirt and fly away.
But promises stare at me from the walls of my room. whitewashed over and over, the pages of the diary remind me of dreams, plans, music, friends.
There are still miles and miles to go before the sleep, miles to go and promises to keep to myself and many. Promises that were burried under layers of solitude and shutting out people.
Stories to be told, journeys to be travelled, and homes to be built. Can't sleep now. Not yet!
Decision to stay.
This. True. Right.
----------------------------

Everybody is made of boxes. yes. Some people have neat ordered ones with even little labels attached. Intrusion of one into the other causes a great deal of conflict and discomfort.
For some others it is a jumble. Euphemism for mess. Unorganised and spilling into one another. The boxes are so locked into one another like a lego playkit that it is impossible to detach one from the other.
Try and the mess multiplies. Life, Work, Love, Relationships, Religion, Death.... all entwined in one big bundle. Seeping into one another.
It comes as a package and one box cannot be handed over individually. Cannot be scrutinised independantly. One falls and the entire edifice comes crashing down just like a pack of cards.
For the second lot of people, the boxes are them. One gooey, big blob. All who come into contact with these "boxes" people are bound to get stuck in the glue. Dont shake hands with them cause your hands get sticky. Touch them and its like chewing gum. Ew! Sticky.
Oftentimes these 'box' people cut a sorry figure. Invade personal spaces and have to be surgically cut off from those they have invaded.
Hints of "the gum tastes like rubber" do not serve the purpose. Remember the 'boxes' are all stuck together.
Change is painful, surgery is nervewrecking. Moral of the lesson, never let the boxes mingle. The bubble of the sugary gum is gonna burst and stick the boxes together. Scares off a lot of people.
Neat boxes, labelled with clinical precison. It should be, Always.

Favourite poem

2006-06-03T00:18:00.000-07:00

This is by far one of my favourite poem , check out his unique style, or no style approach to an ordinary everyday tale, anwhere in the world. WOW!

anyone lived in a pretty how town
by E. E. Cummings

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

Pablo Neruda

2006-06-03T00:16:00.000-07:00

On Despair

The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.

Deserted like the wharves at dawn.
It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one!

Cold flower heads are raining over my heart.
Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.

In you the wars and the flights accumulated.
From you the wings of the song birds rose.

You swallowed everything, like distance.
Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank!

It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss.
The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse.

Pilot’s dread, fury of a blind diver,
turbulent drunkenness of love, in you everything sank!

In the childhood of mist my soul, winged and wounded.
Lost discoverer, in you everything sank!

You girdled sorrow, you clung to desire,
sadness stunned you, in you everything sank!

I made the wall of shadow draw back,
beyond desire and act, I walked on.

Oh flesh, my own flesh, woman whom I loved and lost,
I summon you in the moist hour, I raise my song to you.

Like a jar you housed the infinite tenderness,
and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.

There was the black solitude of the islands,
and there, woman of love, your arms took me in.

There were thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit.
There were grief and the ruins, and you were the miracle.

Ah woman, I do not know how you could contain me
in the earth of your soul, in the cross of your arms!

How terrible and brief was my desire of you!
How difficult and drunken, how tensed and avid.

Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs,
still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds.

Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs,
oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies.

Oh the mad coupling of hope and force
in which we merged and despaired.

And the tenderness, light as water and as flour.
And the word scarcely begun on the lips.

This was my destiny and in it was the voyage of my longing,
and in it my longing fell, in you everything sank!

Oh pit of debris, everything fell into you,
what sorrow did you not express, in what sorrow are you not drowned!

From billow to billow you still called and sang.
Standing like a sailor in the prow of a vessel.

You still flowered in songs, you still broke in currents.
Oh pit of debris, open and bitter well.

Pale blind diver, luckless slinger,
lost discoverer, in you everything sank!

It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour
which the night fastens to all the timetables.

The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore.
Cold stars heave up, black birds migrate.

Deserted like the wharves at dawn.
Only the tremulous shadow twists in my hands.

Oh farther than everything. Oh farther than everything.

It is the hour of departure. Oh abandoned one.

Children and goldfish

2006-05-31T01:52:00.000-07:00

When one is kid and somebody promises to take you the beach or buy you an icecream or simply tell you a bedtime story, believe me, the joy of anticipation is inexplicable.
Every moment of a child's life is filled with an absorbing eagerness, a kind of glee and a smug comforting thought. The young ones have so few expectations, whose fulfillment seems so possible, intimidating perhaps, big maybe, but definitely not impossible.
And, Oh boy! If somebody promises them something then it is considered done. They would spend hours talking about it to all and sundry, picking the thought apart into myriad pieces, showing off.
It is a 'Promise.' don't you know? Some even spit and shake hands over the treaty. Some use blood to seal the treaty.
Somebody has promised so they are not worried about the magnitude of the task or the logistics. They do not care if it is raining outside and thus the trip to the library, awaited for a week has to be made. After all the Tintin comicbook has to be returned and the Nancy Drew case file mystery has to be borrowed. And the Famous Five's exploits to be shared with the other kids.
As they turn older, they realise promises are made to be broken. Promises are made to avoid confronting tantrums, they are made to ensure a false sense of security and to cover up the big strong adult's inadequacies. Promises are made to escape and build a false world for kids, who are taught that everything is hunky dory in the world outside. It is still rosy out there cause the adult is giving them the rose coloured spectacles which he has himself cast away.
Promises are made perhaps to shield kids of the hurt and the disappointment that is due when they realise the moon is not a plaything and cannot be brought into their bedrooms. But, the kid knew that already because Chandamama had told her so. The adult weaves beautiful, fantastic tales and confuses the kid who then starts believing. Starts believing that the moon can be captured and made her toy forever. Fantasy is shortlived, stories are meant to end and the young heart keeps wondering what happened. Why the promise when the moon had told her it was not to be?
End of innocence? Bang!
You wake up one day and realise the day is not so fine. You are no longer a kid. You are supposed to realise that adults do not always say the truth. you are supposed to make decisions for yourselves as well as for others. You cannot behave on impulse and are supposed to be responsible for your conduct and emotions. You have to call a call a spade by some other name. Look Pa the emperor is not wearing any clothes is not admissible at all.
You have to mask your feelings and absolutely cannot tell somebody the truth about your emotions. Dress up and call the spade, a tool, a digging implement, a sophisticated gardening gadget-but never a spade. Euphemisms! some call it diplomacy. But I would say it is becoming an adult. And fair enough, the adult would certainly be laughed at and ostracised or executed for daring to burst the Emperor's bubble isn't it?.
*****************************************************

If you have had the chance to observe toddlers you would have noticed that almost every one of them has learnt t o walk by falling. not a single child I have known, possibly with the exception of my sister has ever walked without first crawling , walking on their knees and falling over. (Sis just stood up and started walking. Bright kiddo she has been all through.) It is called Life. She teaches you in her own painful way that there are no shortcuts, no other way. you want to run learn how to walk first. You want to walk? fall first. Get hit then move on.
You have a dream? Get on the tracks of life. Get moving. Slow and steady dies a silent death. don't you know?
What happens then if the tracks are not moving? Sit by the wayside and wait? What happens when you put on blinkers, refusing to see the reality. refusing to see that most people do not want what you have to give. They don't want your dreams. Or worse still they take it, toss it around in their hands, scutinise it, appreciate it and promise encouragement and then they toss it back at you. Painful, definitely. Muddied and dirty and bloody painful.
But nature has been devised to hurt only so much. and there is only so much pain a human is capable of taking. And excess can either kill him or turn him into a monster. Frankeinstien becomes numb and turns his anger on his creator, blaming Him for his misery and his life.
The fundamental belief in humans the trusting endearing quality of a child to blindly trust. Put out its hand, touch the other's face, hands, heart...
Great Expectations is another thing.
Trust tells you that it is wrong to expect, that the one you blindly trust even with your life will never let you down. Never Ever. Even when you think you are not doing great, they tell you to hang in there. They tell you Dont worry its gonna be alright.
You dont expect, but they do so anyway. And a small longing is born, longing for the comfort to be with you always for ever. They show you to look at it from a different angle and hey it works! The problem is solved. They tell you that the boss is paid to be disappointed. When the boss yells at you and tells you how much of a disappointment you have been to him, they tell you, Don't you know? "He is paid to be endure being 'disappointed.'" Your world with its multitude of cares is just like a miniscule cloud that is blown away with a puff.
The feeling is incredible. The needle on the giant barometer measuring emotions takes a full swing. From Great disappointment to Great exhilaration, akin to eating chocolate icecream.
*************************************
I n the Kodaikanal, which I am told is out of this world, there is this very special plant that bears the Kurinji flowers. It is special cause it blooms only once in 12 years. Spread across the Kodai hills,visitors jostle to get a glimpse of this rare flower. Some romantic fools attempt to take the plant with them, hoping to capture , in vain its exotic beauty. Selfish to make it their own.
Little do they realise the flower withers away quickly and does not grow elsewhere.
Nature nudging again. Somethings have to be enjoyed just like that. You cannot expect more or less. As long as you remember the golden dictum of 'No expectations,' everything is fine, you are happy, everybody is happy. Its all fun and partying. But Memory trips up, it is not so careful and there are bound to be slip ups and heartaches.
What can it do but melt in the face of a beautiful dream, that is too good to be true. Even Cinderella had to leave at the stroke of midnight. Time was on lease there.
**************************
Just a few words, amazing isn't it. I would love to do that to somebody. Lift them from the deepest well of despondency and show them the light of joy and laughter. I call it Magic, the magical land of words and language. Without the power of expression one cannot have conveyed anything long-distance. A call can make a deal of a difference in somebody's life, the voice can make or break somebody's heart. And the written word, it is so much more profound. How rapidly it seeks you out and places you on a pedestal. Etches the rewards of merit and hardwork. Also, it sweeps the rug from under your feet. Brands you a failure. Stamps you as a has been, could do better. Gives you the message somebody has been trying unsuccessfully convey through unreturned phone calls and curt messages. don't want you in my life can not have been said better than through writing. Ah, finally it has registered! and who else to thank but language.
*****************************
A small black briefcase.
Filled with putty, the one that is used to make clay models. Numerous rolls of Xmas streamers, buntings and decorations, a cut out multicoloured butterfly paper mask, a plastic Santa Claus, a lot of toys, some of them broken, mangled and disfigured beyond recognition but favourites so cannot be discarded. Small postcard greetings, cards from classmates and friends. A diary with a steel cover, a harmonica, numerous loose sheets with colourful sketches, a few paintings, dried up rose, crayons, sketch pens, pencils, stationery. Nothing of monentary value, nothing expensive. Each item more precious than the world's greatest treasures, because it was placed there with a lot of care and hopes and dreams. It was the seed for many surprise gifts for friends and family, future creations. A small miniscule teeny-weeny bit of the heart in every object of the bag.
Ever heard of white ants? silverfish?
Realised what loss is. Knew what sorrow was. Felt the whole small universe had crashed. Never felt the same emotion again until was not accepted into the dream place. Felt the same sinking feeling again. The crushing pain returned after someone decided 'No thank you I dont want you, I have issues to deal with alone first.' . And then finally, Yesterday it was yesterday repeated.
************************
Have never gone fishing. (Sheez i dont know swimming, what will i do if i fall into the water?)
But sure read a lot about it. (No water there) and saw a great deal of movies.
I wonder what is a nice catch? A whale? or a trout?
Now let me think, can love be sold in the market? I have to find out whether share market issues scrips of that commodity, and who are all its distributors. Difficult though. Could it be loaned? Will it suffice to buy a Skoda? Maybe not. It is too less for that.
How much is that Doggie in the window? the one with the waggely tail. I dont want a bunny or a goldfish cause you cant take goldfish for walks in..... say, Lodhi Gardens! You cant kiss or hold a goldfish either.
Twelve kids will grow up listening to the news and tales of stock market fluctuations. They can get enough drama adventure and lessons of real life from these markets. Not for them fairytales. After all everything in life has a price. And there is nothing called priceless.Who needs dreams. They are for losers anyway. Love? a mere second hand emotion. who needs a heart when a heart can be broken.
Fishes are better. Put them in aquariums, eat them, and sell the good catch! No worries!

***************************
Finito
***************************

In blunderland

2006-05-25T19:23:00.000-07:00

How many ways can a person blunder?
The answer, my friend is blowing in the wind, the answer is blowing in the wind.

The ghost meets a cat

2006-05-05T19:47:00.000-07:00

I thought I would write about my trip to mad but beautiful bangalore. But other things kept getting priority. I will, though write soon. The memories are already fading away.
Meanwhile, I made a new friend.
For children its easy to just walk up and say Hi. Some dont even do that. they spend a couple of minutes together and are friends for life. Adults have this elaborate ritual sort of dance, probing, questioning, asking, nodding, frowning, an then tentatively extend a hand to say hello, that too half heartedly.
I feel like a child again.
No pretensions, no expectations, just the joy of unbridled banter.

Angel

2006-04-25T11:00:00.000-07:00

Gaurdian Angel from heaven so bright
Watching beside me to hold me aright
Fold thy wings around me
Oh! gaurd me with love
Softly sing songs to me of heaven above

Beautiful angel My guardian so mild
Tenderly guide me for I am thy child

Where is the tornado?

2006-04-21T05:48:00.000-07:00

Tornado, whirling whoosing sweeping up everything in its wake.
LEaving behind a trail of destruction.
Relationships neglected.. no time to call
Love lost,
Weight gained,
Beauty disfigured,
Eyesight strained,
Reading discarded,
Tele... eh come again what is it?
Movies,,, what?? which place do you live in? Utopia?
Sunsets abandoned,
Jogging just a dream, waking up at 5 am now ..you have to be kidding
Sleep,,, Meet the living miracle who sleeps for 4 hours
Food.. ??? cant remember when i last had a decent meal in peace
The 'Work' tornado has hit me
I need a life here.
You work bloody hard for a pittance and are at the receiving
by bald bosses who are clueless about their jobs!!

Am Leaving forever!

2006-04-21T05:30:00.000-07:00

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go
I'm standin' here outside your door
I hate to wake you up to say goodbye

But the dawn is breakin', it's early morn
The taxi's waitin', he's blowin' his horn
Already I'm so lonesome I could die

So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you'll wait for me
Hold me like you'll never let me go

'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane
I don't know when I'll be back again
Oh, babe, I hate to go

I'm ...

There's so many times I've let you down
So many times I've played around
I'll tell you now, they don't mean a thing

Every place I go, I think of you
Every song I sing, I sing for you....

Instant Karma

2006-03-16T08:36:00.000-08:00

Instant food has been my Saviour this past week.
Pulliyogare (rice flavoured with tamarind juice and spiced with groundnut) Upma, Idlies ( yeah they turned out to be oversized and undercooked) Vada,,, Yo!
I have gone bananas, literally! (I am posing a stiff competition from to the monkey population of Delhi)

Missing: Tango with Charlie.

2006-03-13T10:42:00.000-08:00

...A dear friend who is still dear but with whom I barely speak. No we have not fought. Far from it.
I genuinely appreciated the friendship and it was a sounding board where I hammered out myraid thoughts and opinions.
Perhaps the liberties I took were many, perhaps I didnt communicate enough and communicate proper, perhaps too many things going on in my life. Perhaps I was selfish.
Over the last cup of coffee and sandwiches I said I felt like a stone, had no emotions left. Perhaps I was a coward not to take a chance. Perhaps I was unjust.
Missing
... The phone calls;
Missing
... The coffee, always a welcome break;
Missing
... Gossiping over work and worship;
Missing
... the joint venture walkathon random and planned- Gandhi to Israel- Musuem to movie.
Missing
... stories about the exploits of children that Friend taught; one little boy Arpit that I strongly suspect was the result of Friend's overactive imagination.
Missing
... the debate over literature, the common expression for the overarching love for words and books.
Missing
... Filter Coffee and 'thair sadam.' Masala dosa, vada and upuma.
Missing
... The tips about haircare and the benefits of mud in your hair therapy!
Missing
... Bonhomie
Travelling together in silence is painful. Chatterbox, charming, idealistic Friend has a music companion now. There is no explanations.
How do I tell Friend that my intention was not to hurt. How do I convince that Friend means a lot to me? How do I make Friend see through my eyes?
Self centered? Cruel? Am I to you?
Can I turn back time? Can I reclaim that period? My soul weeps as I sport that smile.
Where do you go oh my Friend? Where do you go?
I need you to know that my sparesly populated world held nay still holds you in a special place. A very happy birthday.

When a women loves a man

2006-03-11T10:56:00.000-08:00

by David Lehman

When she says margarita she means daiquiri.
When she says quixotic she means mercurial.
And when she says, "I'll never speak to you again,"
she means, "Put your arms around me from behind
as I stand disconsolate at the window."

He's supposed to know that.

When a man loves a woman he is in New York and she is in Virginia
or he is in Boston, writing, and she is in New York, reading,
or she is wearing a sweater and sunglasses in Balboa Park and he
is raking leaves in Ithaca
or he is driving to East Hampton and she is standing disconsolate
at the window overlooking the bay
where a regatta of many-colored sails is going on
while he is stuck in traffic on the Long Island Expressway.

When a woman loves a man it is one ten in the morning
she is asleep he is watching the ball scores and eating pretzels
drinking lemonade
and two hours later he wakes up and staggers into bed
where she remains asleep and very warm.

When she says tomorrow she means in three or four weeks.
When she says, "We're talking about me now,"
he stops talking. Her best friend comes over and says,
"Did somebody die?"

When a woman loves a man, they have gone
to swim naked in the stream
on a glorious July day
with the sound of the waterfall like a chuckle
of water rushing over smooth rocks,
and there is nothing alien in the universe.

Ripe apples fall about them.
What else can they do but eat?

When he says, "Ours is a transitional era,"
"that's very original of you," she replies,
dry as the martini he is sipping.

They fight all the time
It's fun
What do I owe you?
Let's start with an apology
Ok, I'm sorry, you dickhead.
A sign is held up saying "Laughter."
It's a silent picture.
"I've been fucked without a kiss," she says,
"and you can quote me on that,"
which sounds great in an English accent.

One year they broke up seven times and threatened to do it
another nine times.

When a woman loves a man, she wants him to meet her at the
airport in a foreign country with a jeep.
When a man loves a woman he's there. He doesn't complain that
she's two hours late
and there's nothing in the refrigerator.

When a woman loves a man, she wants to stay awake.
She's like a child crying
at nightfall because she didn't want the day to end.

When a man loves a woman, he watches her sleep, thinking:
as midnight to the moon is sleep to the beloved.
A thousand fireflies wink at him.
The frogs sound like the string section
of the orchestra warming up.
The stars dangle down like earrings the shape of grapes.

From Columbia: A Journal of Literature and Art. Copyright © 1996 by David Lehman. All rights reserved. Reprinted by permission of the author.

Lunch !

2006-02-21T12:30:00.000-08:00

No!~ if you think my lunch resembled this, then you are dead wrong. Well not dead, perhaps oe quarter living.:)
Papaya curry, Pappadams, curd, rice, pickle can be quite a delight. All this in half an hour including kneading and making almost perfect chappatis. My culinary ego is on a high now. And, I made thick creamy awesomly delcious custard too!
Who says I can't cook?

Random thoughts on a Tuesday morning

2006-02-20T21:31:00.000-08:00

A world uncherished.
The future a question mark.
Eternal longings; Perennial searching
Ever seeking attention; A date with Death.
Constant striving to reach the stars; Unfulfilled dreams
Is there meaning to it all; Enid Blyto was kissed goodbye
Seeking, searching, eluding; Divine intercession; Faith unbound;
Unbridled enthusiasm Stolen moments; Lost childhood;Innocence slaughtered
Ties broken; Everlasting friendships; the world a broken rose-coloured glass
No future; no hope, none to turn towards; nobody to flee from; a torent of emotions
A repisotroy of courage; A herculean task; Meaningless rewards? A gift of language.
Stunted growth; Stifled dreams; choked ambitions; Bleak: Dismal: distraught
Preying; The dance of Death; Living in fear; Fettered Lifestyle.
Few fragments of raw courage; Loneliness; Despair; Drudgery;
Agony, Listlessness; Fear of Death;
Meaningless Life. Painted faces;
The Pantomime theatre
continues on and
on..

Sunset and Death

2006-02-20T12:25:00.000-08:00

For many the sight of the setting sun is commonplace. Not for me, though. It has been years since I have seen the phenomenon.
All around the year I am engaged in my lowly-paid job that demands my presence either inside a concrete building whose windows are removed away from the working area. :(
Today, as I stepped out of my house for work, I saw one of the most amazing sights. On the horizon of a delicious orange sky was the huge ball of fire, probably four times the size of a football.
I stood two minutes gazing up at the dazzling display of beauty. Wistful!
But, the joy was shortlived.
I kept humming a tune in my head, as the 'Blueline' bus crawled along the road and stopped at one of the numerous (exactly eight) stops that punctuates the journey to office.
I saw a man dressed in immaculate white shirt sprouting blood from his nose and mouth. A small crowd of frantically gesticulating people had gathered around him. This is the first time that I have seen a real person in an accident.
The blood seemed real not like the red sauce like prop used to depict blood on TV.! Gosh! It was sickening.
The bus moved on and the passengers, all of them, sat in a hushed silence that was pregnant with emotion. Talk about happiness. As ephemeral as the daily newspaper. The casualties are different but the stories similar.
Wo/Man dies after being run over by a truch whose driver
was "allegedly" under the influence of alcohol.
Wo/Man seriously injured in hit and run incident.
Wo/Man dies as s/he is hit by a motorcyclist who had
jumped a redlight.
Life goes on with beautiful sunsets a mere memory for

I am so very lazy!

2006-02-16T22:59:00.000-08:00

Blues

I am lazy, the laziest
girl in the world. I sleep during
the day when I want to, 'til
my face is creased and swollen,
'til my lips are dry and hot. I
eat as I please: cookies and milk
after lunch, butter and sour cream
on my baked potato, foods that
slothful people eat, that turn
yellow and opaque beneath the skin.
Sometimes come dinnertime Sunday
I am still in my nightgown, the one
with the lace trim listing because
I have not mended it. Many days
I do not exercise, only
consider it, then rub my curdy
belly and lie down. Even
my poems are lazy. I use
syllabics instead of iambs,
prefer slant to the gong of full rhyme,
write briefly while others go
for pages. And yesterday,
for example, I did not work at all!
I got in my car and I drove
to factory outlet stores, purchased
stockings and panties and socks
with my father's money.

To think, in childhood I missed only
one day of school per year. I went
to ballet class four days a week
at four-forty-five and on
Saturdays, beginning always
with plie, ending with curtsy.
To think, I knew only industry,
the industry of my race
and of immigrants, the radio
tuned always to the station
that said, Line up your summer
job months in advance. Work hard
and do not shame your family,
who worked hard to give you what you have.
There is no sin but sloth. Burn
to a wick and keep moving.

I avoided sleep for years,
up at night replaying
evening news stories about
nearby jailbreaks, fat people
who ate fried chicken and woke up
dead. In sleep I am looking
for poems in the shape of open
V's of birds flying in formation,
or open arms saying, I forgive you, all

Elizabeth Alexander

Charmed on V Day

2006-02-14T09:07:00.000-08:00

Delhi on Feb 14 was agog with excitement and it would be understating it to say love was in the air. There was no way I could hope to catch a movie on telly or listening to FM without being innundated with syrupy sugary mushy sticky... eeky outpurings. Come to think of it even the news channels provided no solace. V DAY coverage was done with great deal of gung-ho.
You have the choice of TV with Pretty Woman, Dirty Dancing and When Harry met Sally. No luck with the faithful radio either, it has been invaded too.
By now I am sinking in despair and am seriously contemplating getting medical help. Seriously there must be something wrong with me. My crime? Oh well I dont have that "special someone" I can't remember that "tingling sensation of the first kiss when you felt on top of the world as well as depressed both at the same time"
"You must experience that feeling of unconditional love, raves the supposedly know all psychatrist on the FM channel. Did i say something about medical help? Well I take it back right away.
Frankly, believe me I have nothing against the day. I fact I am a sucker for romance and simply adore the Romeo-Juliet --Laila-Majnu stories.
But the situation can get a lot depressing if you are expected to make a public display of your Valentine who would shower you with roses, chocolates and gifts. Perhaps you might call it a case of sour grapes. Yours truly is still single and currently not in any romantic relationship. (Did I hear an Aha!)
It is surprising aint it that Murphy with his law always manages to upset your plans. I was content to come to work as usual and labour away doing cosmetic surgeries, chisseling, pruning, remodelling stuff about other people. A colleague bullied me into exchganging my off with her and thus was stuck at home with nothing to do and nowhere to go.
The answer to my prayers was a witch! I got invited to spend an evening with a witch at a local popular book store here.
Well, she would keep at least a million broom's length away from the V word. No such luck! the witch was called by a popular bookstore to chant greek chants for the V day crowd and disperse love to them!
Stupid Cupid!
But I had fun. Was amused to see a lot of anxious people gheraoing the witch for answers to their love life. Donning a pale grey gown the witch with her crystals and rose bowls , athena and whatsay not recounted intresting tidbits about female power.
At the end of it all me too got a parchment (a quarter sheet of an A4 size recycled paper) in which she had drawn somesort of charm which promises to "help me get my soul mate" :)
So the sun has finally set on the D Day. And I am still alive. And, I got a parchment. Should i say Yipeee!!

Happy Birthday! the ghost turns a year younger!

2005-11-21T20:05:00.000-08:00

Birthdays have never been so depressing!

When I was a kid I longed for this day year after year.Looked forward to it teh moment the celebrations got over. Not anymore,
Wish I could do that now.!!!
Waah!!!! I turned a year older today.
Tried nice Chinese restaurant today with Mallu. Fried rice with some exotic sounding Chinese Dish, yummy but had to rush cause I had to report to work.
Yes I WORKED ON MY BIRTHDAY!!!
CAll me hopeless now!
and isnt it sad when people who matter to you forget.
All the people in the world but those who mattered called me today!

Ps I share my birhtday with Goldie Hawn as well as Voltaire.

The mess of Love

2005-11-16T09:32:00.000-08:00

The Mess of Love

We've made a great mess of love
Since we made an ideal of it.
The moment I swear to love a woman, a certain woman, all my life
That moment I begin to hate her.

The moment I even say to a woman: I love you! ---
My love dies down considerably.

The moment love is an understood thing between us, we are sure of it,
It's a cold egg, it isn't love any more.

Love is like a flower, it must flower and fade;
If it doesn't fade, it is not a flower,
It's either an artificial rag blossom, or an immortelle, for the cemetery.

The moment the mind interferes with love, or the will fixes on it,
Or the personality assumes it as an attribute, or the ego takes possession of it,
It is not love any more, it's just a mess.
And we've made a great mess of love, mind-perverted, will-perverted, ego-perverted love.

--- © 1929 D. H. Lawrence

Suicide

2005-11-04T19:38:00.000-08:00

Shemin put this up on the mail:- time for thought?

I was reading something about suicide bombers, and I thought i will share some of the quotes in some of the articles i read...

shemin

Edwin Shneidman, a clinical psychologist who is a leading authority on suicide, and who is sometimes called the Father of modern Suicidology, has described the ten characteristics of suicide in his book "Definition of Suicide" (1985).

1. The common stimulus in suicide is "unendurable psychological pain".

2. The common stress in suicide is "frustrated psychological needs".

3. The common purpose of suicide is "to seek a solution".

4. The common goal of suicide is "cessation of consciousness".

5. The common emotion in suicide is "hopelessness- helplessness".

6. The common internal attitude toward suicide is "ambivalence".

7. The common cognitive state in suicide is "constriction".

8. The common interpersonal act in suicide is "communication of intention".

9. The common action in suicide is "egression" (a way out).

10. The common consistency in suicide is with "life-long coping patterns".

"Suicide, I have learned is not a bizarre and incomprehensible act of self destruction. Rather, suicidal people use a particular logic, style of thinking that brings them to the conclusion that death is the only solution to their problems. This style can be readily seen, and there are steps we can take to stop suicide, if we know where to look" -- Dr. Shneidman states in his article "At The Point Of No Return" in Psychology Today (1987, p.56)

"There are many pointless deaths but never a needless suicide" -- Shneidman (1985)

Bang!,,,, bang!,,,,,,,bang! Delhi under attack

2005-10-30T01:03:00.000-08:00

For once procrastination turned into a blessing!
Mum keeps telling me time and time again not to put off things. A stich in time save nine, Do today what you would put off till tomorrow ....repeated refrains from all quarters beg , entreat and threaten , hoping to cure my habit of putting off things.
But not yesterday.
Home alone , and tired of survivng on maggi, bread, upma and other delicious but instant food , I promised myself a homecooked dinner and was readying to walk across to the local market to buy some veggies.
Hello
"ARe you ok?"
Apart from a lazy temprament,everything else seems ok
"Which world do you live in. Switch on the TV immediately. There has been a series of bomb blasts. Several people injured and dead. Where are you? Get back immediately. There is a red alert on in Delhi."
PCR vanswith flashing lights race down the otherwise quite neighbourhood, fire brigades and ambulances follow in tow. The lazy Saturday evening atmosphere is shaken up. Neighbours start filtering out, forming huddles, gesticulating, talking whispering.
Friends, colleagues, nodding term acquaintainces, a frien who had stoppd talking to me, four months ago,All call up.
I have NEVERfelt so important in my life.
Every pore of my journo body wanted to be where the scene of action was. Forget the story! Somebody was already taking care of that. What happened ?
Nothing doing, You get back inside right now.!!
Yes! I scurried inside. but I can sulk can't I?
My phone keeps ringing. I reassure them all. With a prayer on my lips, I finally crash at 12 pm.
Untill Sunday when I get to see TV footage and the pictures in the newspaper.
The grief, terror, helplessness, vulnerability. The wounded, the panic-stricken, they definetly do not deserve this!

Subway Sightings

2005-10-28T22:18:00.000-07:00

They were a pretty pair.
The man in offwhite kurta pyjamas and a cane to support
himself. Beside him his wife, bespectacled, wearing an old
saree, somewhat dusty held on to his free arm. Lending support
or just leaning onto him, you could'nt make out.
The duo, visibly tired, shuffled in the subway inching
their steps aided by the siderail. Where were they headed?
Crossing them, one failed to notice the details but they made
certain to scrutinise the ogler in me.
"Hey girl? whats your problem ?" Four pairs of eyes
questioned with a stare.
Do they have children who are married? Do they have
grandchildren of whom they are proud? Why were they travelling
alone? questions spinning in my mind.
One look and "Dignity" was stamped over them in big bold
letters. Age may perhaps have slowed them down but not bent
them.
At the end of my walk I turned around to catch one last
glimpse and they were still ambling along.
Why do i write about them? Dont ask me.
As I race to catch my bus to morning work. I come across
numerous individuals. All stories in themselves, Some in the
subway and others on the sidewalks.
For over a year now, the second stop from mine, a young
girl-a student at a polytechnic here waited for her bus in the
company of a young boy.
Apart from her blue salwar kameez uniform there was
nothing to indicate her identity. The pair, obviously head
over heels in love were a permanant fixture. She would stand
and beside her he would sit on the silver rail and talk and
laugh. On days that I did not see them, I would grow anxious.
Oftentimes, I'd see only the boy, craning his neck when my
buis stopped to see if "she" was on it. She apparently took a
bus to this stop and than I presume they would go together to
their respective destinations.
She was pretty but waiting behind her was her friend,
sister, classmate... somebody in a similar salwar kameez.
Perhaps accompanying the duo. Always alone, always proud and
always making a wry mocking face at the duo. Perhaps, she did
not approve of the pair, perhaps she was annoyed...
But as my bus navigated the curvaceous and beautiful
flyover I readied to have a glimpse of the pair. They were my
timecheck too. I'll miss them if I was late.
But suddenly one day they were gone. I looked again the
next day and the next and the next. Even now, i involuntarily
turn and look as my bus speeds past the stop. No luck. The
other girl still arrives at as usual settling down with the
same smirk or smugness to her expression.
Where are they? I long to ask the girl. But lack of time or
rather the more obvious risk of being brushed off deter me.
Where are they? I sure miss them.

Sarvana Bhawan trip

2005-09-29T05:05:00.000-07:00

Why is parting such sweet sorrow?
As Ella Fitzgerald sang, every time we say goodbye, we die a little. This is, of course, better than dying altogether, which may explain why there is sweetness even in sorrow. Juliet's lament about her separation from her very new acquaintance was enhanced by the thought that it would be temporary: that she would see Romeo again. In song and story, life goes on, even if something is missing.
Real life, however, offers no such certainties. In a here-today, gone-tomorrow world, there is a certain satisfaction in having existed at all. The exuberant joy of being is tempered by the wistful knowledge that nothing is forever. The Romans had a phrase for it: ave atque vale, hail and farewell. Psychological literature is rich in studies of separation anxiety, grief and loss. There is a denial phase to grief in which the bereaved believe that the lost one will come back. Then after a while, this denial gives way to anger, fear, guilt and depression. Loss of energy, fatigue, headaches and chest pains may occur before the inevitable adjustment.
Parting, neuropsychologists say, is a stretching of emotional bonds: the sorrow is tinged with the sweetness of the memories.So wrote Tim Radford on the Gaurdian's blog.

Today AN, TT and me three of us went and supped at Sharvana Bhawan, sarvana is how I say it and the memories came flooding by. Torrent of memories blanked away,,, the beach , salty air, mallippoo (jasmine) fragrance, friendships formed for life...., the giant waves, starry nights jarred with blaring songs, peanuts and tumblers of sugary sweet coffee,,, roaring waves, the air pervaded with the smell of fish, obnoxious yes but not if you ventured further, teh grains of sand brushing against your feet and the waves gliding up to kiss them, sometimes hiting on a rare shell , the horses and most of all samll children who ran with the wind.
Where are you all?"The wise DP ", The intelligent SS," The humorous J" The wittyR" The motorcrazyKT, the eccentric KS, the bearded J, kid of the block MG, Jim Courier fan AB, The didi K, Coimbatore guy A, the PJ King RS, PJ Queen SM, the idli eater N, The friend of all BP,,,, where are you all?I miss you, The film director, J, The crazy as hell SR, the intellectual JT, Friendly AT, The senior M and the old man D

Words

2005-09-01T01:02:00.000-07:00

My hand itches to write, to speak my heart out
Trace my line of thought and transforme them into magic
Magical words that transport one into teh depth and heights of imagination
Soaring into space and beyond
My eyes well up with tears and heart turns heavy as I seek.....

The loyal taperecorder plays on....
Boys from the Backstreet fiil the room with words

Words and words are all i have to take your heart away..
Talk in everlasting words

Round, fat, small, cursive, fat, italised, big screaming hoardings
Black type that run onto your fingers after doing the Impact
Whitner smudges the blue ink, scores over a wrongly written word
Words that remind of
Love, being together, sibling fights, friends who uded to write, friends who never write,
and then
periods of no words, complete silence, deafening silence,
Excrucialting, worless, soundless world...

My heart longs for words,
Strength i draw,
Courage-gather,
Wisdom-obtain, happines-paint, Love-obtain, Faith-express, Joy-float
With them I
fly, float, touch , tread, monitor, chronicle, rant, rave, fight, howl, yell, inform, appoint, delegate, scoff, scorn, crib, praise, grin, laugh, cry, rhyme, prophesy....

How is it that when i love you so much,
You fail me,
Perhaps am not devoted enough,
Perhaps, I do not worship you enough,
Perhaps, you feel neglected,,,
Perhaps....

Heart dont be faint,
All is not lost, yet

With practice,
With perseverance,
devotion,
love
hard work

I shall conquer.....

Wear Sunscreen

2005-07-09T08:22:00.000-07:00

by Mary Schmich

Wear sunscreen.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.

2005-07-09T08:20:00.000-07:00

You're a sporty tom boy. That's not a bad thing.
You're friendly, competitive, athletic, and you
love to have fun. You attract a lot of guy
friends and make many girls jealous. Don't pay
attention to them. A lot of boys might think
you are aggressive and might be intimidated.
Don't worry, show them the other side of you
that makes people so attracted to your fun
personality. You also are a profectionist. You
have to be good at everything. But please don't
stress yourself out. You're just fine the way
you are.

What kind of girl are you? (with pix!)
brought to you by Quizilla

2005-07-09T08:14:00.000-07:00

The Keys to Your Heart

You are attracted to those who are unbridled, untrammeled, and free.

In love, you feel the most alive when your lover is creative and never lets you feel bored.

You'd like to your lover to think you are loyal and faithful... that you'll never change.

You would be forced to break up with someone who was emotional, moody, and difficult to please.

Your ideal relationship is comforting. You crave a relationship where you always feel warmth and love.

Your risk of cheating is zero. You care about society and morality. You would never break a commitment.

You think of marriage pessimistically. You don't think happy marriages exist anymore.

In this moment, you think of love as something you thirst for. You'll do anything for love, but you won't fall for it easily.

What Are The Keys To Your Heart?

Things I love!!

2005-04-29T00:31:00.000-07:00

What?
Good writing, Humorous people ,Great smiles, Icecream, Rum chocolate :)
Adorable children
The beach, Great handwriting, Country music
the morning
Whom?
My sister
Steffi Graf, Roger Federer, Pete Sampras, Andrea Agassi, Prakas Amritraj, Sania Mirza
Mel Gibson, Pierce Brosnan, Julia Roberts, Kajol, Jay, Prof Oommen

things i hate

2005-01-29T02:39:00.000-08:00

Dependancy
obsessive love
having to say nice things when i am in a foul mood
waking up late
not getting my morning cuppa tea or coffee
hypocrisy
pretentiousness
loud people
not living up to your word
unfairness
Tsunami
poverty
loneliness
the rough frizzly hair which i have

existence

2005-01-15T08:09:00.000-08:00

What is the point of existence?

Theodore Roosevalt:)

2005-01-14T07:22:00.000-08:00

My friend gave this to me when i was sad and feeling particularly blue.

It's notthe critic who counts,
Nor the man who points out how the strng man stumbled,
Or where the doer of deeds could have done them better
The credit belongs to the man, who is actually in the arena,
whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood;
who strives valiantly,
who errs and comes short again and again;
who knows great enthusiasms, great directions;
who spends himself in a worthy cause,
who at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement,
and who at the worst if he fails,
at least fails while daring greatly,
so that his place shall never be with those timid souls
who know neither victory nor defeat

By Theodore Roosevalt

Did my friend consider me a timid soul or was he referring to himself as great
That is a question to be answered:)

The finger

2005-01-12T22:12:00.000-08:00

" The moving finger writes
And having writ moves on
And all your piety and wit
cannot lure it back to cancel half a line
nor all your tears erase a word of it."

Wow!
All your piety and all your wit.
Hm... what about the spoken word then?

Tsunami

2005-01-11T01:02:00.000-08:00

I was just wondering why God brough about so much of death and destruction. It seemed to me that in one swipe of His hand he had so cruelly swept away thousands of precious lives and rendered them homeless while taking away those precious to them.
Often times i used to frequent the beach and my ever active imagination would work overtime and wonder about the consequences if the mighty waves swept up the beach right into the homes situated so close to the sea.
and on that Bleak Dark Sunday of Dec 26, i saw the horror and terror of that thought transforming into reality before my eyes on the TV screen
I felt pain anguish and heartache at the wailing images of people. children torn away from parents, the dead turning up bloated several miles away and absolute panic everywhere.
Man had been rendered immobile. All his riches and money, name and fame did not come to help him in the face of nature's fury?
and i turned to God questioning him. Why did you do this? Did you just blink and there was chaos?
Why the poor fishermen? and the innocent children?
Can they walk on the sands again in the carefree blissful manner of yesterday?
One fisherman found his mother's body after two weeks. He removed his lungi and draped it over th e body. No tears , no red eyes no emotion, just a sad and helpless recognition of the fact that she is gone.
I wept and continue to weep today.
Imagine the horror of waking up and finding that you are the only one amongst your family alive. Everybody else is gone!