Drumster's Den

Still There

Fri, 12 Sep 2008 00:00:00 +0530

Somewhere along those blessed roads, a lone traveler must be tearing through that calm blanket of darkness. Somewhere near the Ayers rock, life must have unraveled its great mystery. Someone must have ordered his last pint of beer at the Kulgera pub. Life must have changed for many, but for us it just stood still in those undying moments, still breathing the air of the Northern Territory. It was all that we left behind, all that we ever had.

Made by Men, Touched by God

Sun, 17 Aug 2008 00:00:00 +0530

Mumbai airport. Terminal 2. Gate 7. I'm finally here. It all started off as a drunken babble. Or it must have been something similar. The fact is it all happened so long back that I'll need another drink to delve into that part of my brain which acts as a dump yard of unwanted waste. It�s amazing how you can muster all the patience for things that you like to do.

These were the days of great unrest among us. Our lives were so entwined with the daily worries of stock markets and clients and deadlines that our youth was getting crushed in that great juggernaut. The worst part was we failed to realize. Maybe we still do not. But this journey was an attempt on our part to get back the lost days, to discover new lands, to feel like adventurers, to feel free again.

Onward to Sydney

By the time we grow old, probably a third of our time would have been spent at airports and transit lounges. Singapore airport turned to be another one of those so-called great airports of the world. I had a different opinion about it. But that could be because I hate all airports. The enormity and manufactured �beauty� didn�t really change my opinion about it. It turned out to be a tiring journey and it was morning by the time I reached Sydney.

I met Sid there and the excitement of the journey started brimming from that point onwards.

Preparations

We�d decided to spend the first day in Sydney preparing for our trip and the vehicle which would eventually take us around the great Australian Outback. The shopping list included a tent, stove for cooking the food while we are camping and certain essentials for the trip. It was a Saturday and our journey was to begin early on Sunday. Sid�s friend was ready to give us his �92 Mitsubishi Lancer (two-door) for the trip. We decided to accept that as it would save us a lot of money from the car rent (this would eventually turn out to be one of our worst decisions of recent times). We went and brought the car and parked it within the city so we could hit the road early Sunday morning.

Sydney to Katoomba (110 Kms)

Day one of the trip started off in a bad hangover from the previous night�s drinking. I was to drive us out of Sydney as Sid was not conversant with manual gears. The M4 motorway was a beauty and we reached Katoomba in no time. This was where the Blue Mountains were. They were called Blue Mountains because of the colour they assumed during the day. The hills of Katoomba offered a beautiful view of the Blue Mountains and it was the perfect way to start the trip.

Katoomba to Hay (500 Kms)

The night rolls away with a puff of wind among the vast, cold plains of the New South Wales winter. We drive through the thunder and rain, almost impeding us at every turn. The wipers move with a death rattle that could leave us in the lurch at any point of time. We�re singing songs along the way, oblivious to the rain outside, yet enjoying every minute of it, smoking cigarettes, talking about old times and all the things in life that won�t matter to us during the next 10 days. The road abruptly stops its sprint as it ends with a final sigh into a T-junction � gear shift, clutch, brake � the engine almost complains as we bring the car to a halt after taking a left towards Hay. The rain has finally let up and we decide to water the plants by emptying our bladders into nothingness. As I stepped out of the car, a sudden realization dawned upon me; that of being in the absolute wilderness and being free. No cell phones, no emails, no worries � just the open road and the car. All around me were the flattest plains of the great Australian continent. We drove the final 100 Kms in silence; probably both of us were contemplating our choices in life and the decisions we made. What we had given up in the past couple of years was our own self that was free; free of choices, free of decisions, free of the family. We were changed men. Maybe the whole purpose of this trip was to bring back that old self. Talk to our long lost alter egos that got killed in the hustle of daily life in the city. But here we were now, in a small town called Hay, just a few hundred Kms from the border of New South Wales. The night was heavy with sleep and moist with the fresh rains. We pulled over at a roadhouse and slept in the car. Our first night�s sleep, sound as hell.

Lake Mungo National Park (700 Kms.)

We woke up early just in time for a large breakfast prepared by the jovial old lady of the roadhouse. Sid joked around with her when she brought us our breakfast plates in her bare hands and warned us that the plates were extremely hot. We freshened up and headed for the first major town along the way. Balranald.

Sid drove all the way to Balranald while I sat back smoking a few cigarettes and enjoyed the beautiful morning views. We had a bad tyre condition when we reached Balranald. To aggravate it further, some vital part required to detach the tyre was missing. It took us about an hour to get it fixed and cost us 25 dollars. We picked up a bottle of Jim Beam, supplies for the night to be spent at Mungo National Park and some firewood.

The drive to Mungo was through a dirt road. Took me a long time to get used to sloppiness of tyre grip on that surface and after a while I started enjoying the fact that car would just glide over the surface. The speed limit was 80. Hell. I take it past 120 with no steering response. We reached there just in time to catch the days last bit of light which helped us put up the tent.

By the time we started the fire (after several attempts and using various techniques like starter twigs, petrol, paper, etc.) it was dark and getting colder. Sid heated up the beans on our little gas stove and we gulped them down like hungry dogs. Soon we polished off a bottle of Jim Beam while standing around the fire-pot and talking about the old days, about the future, about how stupid we were at times, about how we missed another friend of ours at that point of time. It would be futile to even attempt to describe the sky that night. Sid was convinced that he could see atleast two galaxies from out there. Millions of stars gazed at us in amazement asking us where we were all our lives. It was as if we were born to see this day; as if all the stars in the sky had come out in one giant parade to adorn this vast continent, to honour the night and to look over the weary travellers, to cradle them in their beauty and make them feel at home. The night grew darker and we grew hungry after finishing of the entire bottle of Jim Beam. Sid cooked the chicken over the open fire and I felt it right then. We were living in the wild. Away from the burdensome civilization, living our own lives and we were truly free.

Mungo to Coober Pedy (1,400 Kms.) and the Kangaroo Incident

We looked like slick city boys every time we took a shower or shaved. Deep inside we just wanted to be adventurers but it�s so difficult to shake off that other self of yours!

First stop from Mungo National Park was Mildura which was in the state of Victoria. Sid slept all through as I drove at high-speeds of 160 kmph to reach Mildura as soon as possible. We had a couple of pints of Guinness at O�Malleys, a beautiful Irish pub. After having the usual lunch of burgers and fries we hit the road yet again.

This time we drove through beautiful wineries just out of Mildura and the road all the way up to Adelaide was cut straight out of God�s own photo album. The Barossa Valley and the other small wineries around were simply breath-taking. As we reached Adelaide the road started going uphill and around beautiful green pastures of various shades until all the roads came down-hill with a final sigh to reach the city of Adelaide. Cities have never excited me much. It was the raw and untamed outback that I was lusting after. I was to taste the power and ruggedness of the outback tonight.

Adelaide was the southernmost tip of our journey. After having dinner at Adelaide we started heading north. The road from here goes in the absolute north direction right up to the northern tip of Australia which is Darwin. Sid slept yet again as I drove from Adelaide to Port Wakefield and all the way to Port Augusta which was like an inflection point. Beyond this town lay the beautiful Australian outback. The sudden changes in the landscape (as Sid described it) really amazed us. It was like god had put a ruler out there and drawn a straight line across. We filled up on Gas at Port Augusta and also filled up our Jerry can for extra fuel since we were going to be driving through the night.

Just as we left Port Augusta and hit the Stuart Highway the air became colder and the night became calm and an almost eerie silence enveloped our car, almost travelling with us. Civilization, vegetation and lights soon thinned out as the road jerked itself into a straight line; straight as an arrow. We kept on driving through the night till we ran out of fuel. Sid was awake now and I needed his jerry-can skills. As we opened the door we were hit by a gust of chilling night air. No sound anywhere. No life. The winter wind breathing down on our necks and the sound of our quickened breath. Sid refuelled the car as I looked around and all I could see was darkness fallen like a blanket over the plains surrounding us. These plains would run for several thousand kilometres. And in the great Australian outback, the roads unfold like one continuous, giant carpet, made by man but touched by God.

Once again we headed towards Coober Pedy and this is when we switched the driving seat a couple of times amongst us until I finally suggested we pullover on the side of the road and sleep. We must have been sleeping for about half an hour when a truck driver stopped and asked if we were okay. I lost my sleep at this point and without saying anything I just started driving with one objective in mind � to reach Coober Pedy. This night was a recipe for disaster. I must have been driving at 140 Kmph when a huge 6-feet tall Kangaroo went across the road. Since it had already gone across I decided not to slow down but as fate would have it, the Kangaroo saw us and just turned back and timed it so perfectly that I had no times to brake and we ran into it. The Kangaroo died and the complete kerb-side of the car was badly damaged. It was a borrowed car with no insurance cover. Sid suggested we drive on slowly till Coober Pedy since, luckily, the car engine was still running fine. We finally reached around 4:30 in the morning and got a 3 hour sleep at a roadhouse.

Mike and Wally (Almost a dead-end)

We woke up with red and swollen eyes. It was a sunny day but not cheerful at all. Our first stop was Bull�s Garage where we were told that the only way out was to sell off the car in Coober Pedy and get a flight back to Sydney. Our hopes of making it to Ayer�s Rock almost came crashing down on us. Second stop was Dusty�s Mechanical Works. Same story, same response. Dejected we decided to stay over in Coober Pedy for that night and think about what to do through the course of the day. We went to The Underground Motel and met Mike there who was very helpful and he too mourned for our car. But he suggested we take the car to one of his friends, Wally. Wally looked at the car and promised us that he would do something about it if we left it with him for the day.

We spent the day catching on some sleep and whiling our time in the little mining town. Sid was on the phone constantly trying to snap things back into place. We got ourselves a few beers and saw some TV. As promised, Wally brought us our car first thing next morning and it was temporarily fixed and Wally promised we could drag it for another few thousand kilometres. This immediately lifted our hopes and we were all packed and set to hit the road again. Battered and bruised but never say die had become our motto then.

The Road to Uluru (750 Kms)

The last few grains of sand drain away in the hourglass; no one turns it for decades.

Life probably stood still in the northern territory for decades. Dead animals lay all over the road showing signs of humans having driven there. The soil turns red as if in anger, smouldering at these unwanted guests. Kulgera was the first stop; probably the last before Uluru. We'd decided to make it to Uluru by sundown so that we wouldn't have to drive in the dark with one headlight. A couple pints of Carlton Draught and we were good to go. Once again the bar left a lasting impression on us; a place as small as Kulgera and bang in the middle of nowhere, yet they conjure up a beautiful pub like this. Life seemed to fade away into gentle slumber in these towns. The worries and hustle of daily life seemed to be a thing of no consequence here. Our aim in each town - find the nearest pub for a pint of beer. Why is it that people you meet on the road leave a lasting impression and you never forget them? I still remember that girl who was bartending in West Wyalong. That drunk who was listening intently to our story while vigorously nodding. It was then that I realised my biggest folly. It was never the places that define its people. It was the people who made these places worthwhile. Without them all the natural beauty of these places was of no consequence. We asked the bartender for some information about the next stop where we could refuel our car. The next stop was Ehrldunda, where we refuelled and drove on.

The road to Uluru goes west from Stuart Highway. At Ehrldunda you take a left turn off the Stuart Highway and it goes straight to Uluru and to Kata-Tjuta National Park. The same road also continues onto the border of the ever elusive and dangerous Western Australia; the Western Australia of the deserts that adorn the land and bring out its barren beauty. We were cautioned several times about the road we were taking as it was full of animals, not only Kangaroos but also bulls and rabbits and koalas. The road just swerved around the flat plains to negotiate dry rivers and lakes. I drove on at 130, soon 140. We had to be there by sun down. Soon it became a mad race between us and the sun. Every bend where the elevation in the road blocked the sun, was like a victory lap for us. The evening sun shone right into my eyes as I tore through the outback. In the end we made it safely to Yulara and just in time (with a couple of scares when I had to just slam the brakes right in).

Two Nights at Yulara and the elusive Ayer�s Rock

We were almost broke by the time we reached Yulara. Hell, not just broke but also in debt for the broken car. We only had enough money to buy petrol and food that would take us back to Sydney. Sid mourned the fact that all those Europeans would be staying at the plush hotels within the resort while we had to make do in a tent on the campgrounds (which cost us a bomb). After buying a couple of things from the Supermarket the only natural thing to do was to go to the pub. It was called the Outback Pioneer Pub. It was beautiful. There were people from all over the world: Germans, Americans, French, Italians and Indians. All were here to see the rock and breathe in the pure and spiritual air from the heart of Uluru. The man who played the guitar and sang Dire Straits was a perfect addition to the whole ambience. We had a few beers and started heading back as the crowd thinned out.

The night wrapped us like an iced blanket out for revenge. The temperature had dropped to -1˚ C. Shivering and shaking we walked the long walk back to the tent. Sid was constantly on the phone with the �girl of his dreams�. I called him a pansy and made him feel guilty about being on the phone. It�s hard to make him feel guilty, but I was really surprised to find that I was succeeding.

Next morning was when we headed to the Ayer�s Rock. Our great aim was to climb it. The local Anangu tribe requests all visitors to refrain from climbing the rock as it has some kind of a spiritual significance for them. But the urban visitors that we were, we do not pay heed to their advice. Several people had died while attempting to climb the rock. But we took it on a challenge and started climbing. We drove 4,000 kms for the Ayer�s Rock but we couldn't do it. We were weak. Or maybe we were still weighed down by a thousand worries of the real world. This isn't real, none of this. And on the climb up, I could feel the Anangu whisper to me and I could feel the tribe giving us gentle admonitions. It�s their tradition, their heritage and their spirit. We dared to soil it with our gutless goals. And we couldn't go further than halfway. On the way back I felt I conversed with them. And I asked them, where did you come from? Where did you disappear? Did the worldly pleasures not suit you? Why did you give it all up? Why can't I give it all up? I didn't expect any answers- maybe I was talking to myself. All I could feel was the massive and intimidating Ayer�s rock push me down; back into my own world; into my own life of misery.

And in the Land of Anangu, under the Ayer�s Rock, we shall taste true freedom, all our vices will bleed in the courts of the dead and truly free is what our souls shall be. Our past lives will be wrenched free from our hearts by that vast untamed outback and life's beginning will shine bright over that timid, amorous sunset.

Stoned

Sun, 6 Jul 2008 00:00:00 +0530

That evening I sat and I wrote and I wrote and a million different ideas would pour into my head. Thoughts about why someone never thought of these ideas. They would be discoveries and inventions never attempted. They were ideas of radical thoughts that would alter the way the humanity lives and thinks about its progeny. They were about love and how the loss of it makes you impassioned. These thoughts kept on gushing at me like the waves of the crimson tide. They washed me with their warmth and healed me with their speed. And then suddenly as the tide subsided I was jolted back to reality and the waves felt like those of the most roguish sea and the thoughts were pulled back with as immense a force as the world cannot reckon with. You become stone headed, mindless, closed and restrained with chains, oh so strong.

Then I thought about the intoxicant and how it leads us all back into the real world as against the popular notion. I would behave differently with people even after I am on a high; people with whom I have different relationships and different realities. And I realized that the "intoxicant" wasn�t working to intoxicate you, but it was life - the one big strange miracle of the gods - that was the intoxicant; always pulling you away from the reality.

We felt life rushing by as we walked faster and faster through it. The walk with her today felt like the best walk I ever had with her � silent and calm; it wasn�t this good even in those few months when we were lovers. That�s the irony of life; the best things happen to you when they are already gone.

Walking along the afternoon roads when you are high on marijuana, you do not narrow your eyes to impede the light filtering through and reaching your soul, but it comes to you as a savior; as a messiah of joy and it gladdens your soul. But when walking in the real world you narrow your eyes to restrain the light because you don�t want the joys and the happiness; you want to be miserable and feel the depression ripping your life apart.

Finagle

Fri, 4 Jul 2008 00:00:00 +0530

And that�s how you keep going on; through fever, illness, bad health; tired, battered and bruised but still trying to stand tall looking your best. And half the life passes away in this endeavor. But what�s left of you then? Nothing but pieces of your past lying along the way; and losing sight of them as you amble along. Scattered hopes and unfinished battles in this stroll through the graveyard until you finally knock at the doors to be let in. And when you walk through that door you realize that it's right where you began as a child with an empty page.
******************
A lone biker tears off as if in the greatest hurry in the world. The trucks pass by the joint in great lines leaving all the heat and longing behind. Where are they all heading? Truly they must have some destination; some purpose; some aim in life? I stood there without any purpose or hope. The cigarette made the wait and the journey bearable. The winds blew as a harbinger to the impending monsoon which had blessed the towns around. It always makes me sad when I see people hurrying with their luggage for their vacation or their travels. It makes me sad because I'm trapped in a life I don't like. The life I never chose but came to me as a disease that wouldn't cure. It makes me long for the day when I�ll be in their shoes packing off my luggage to a place far away. I walked back to my bus with a last sigh as the driver blew the horn indicating that the journey had to be resumed.
******************
The only thing that doesn't change between places or between people is the distance that separates them.

On that Sweltering May Afternoon

Wed, 14 May 2008 00:00:00 +0530

On a sweltering May noon I stood there waiting for my bus to Pune. There passes by a man in his late sixties, old and haggard. He was carrying a satchel which was tattered at its ends as if waiting to be finally put to rest. I was enjoying the weekend�s first cigarette trying to beat the heat under the shadow of a dilapidated general store. The man stops by, looks at me, his eyes peering through his thick glasses as if trying to recognize the face of a long lost son. Then suddenly wrinkles appeared on his face with the onset of a frown. He said in an ancient reproachful voice, "Its better you give up. You are too young and there are a lot of things you have to do." All I could muster was, "Thank you for your kind advice sir." And he just shook his head and walked on as if he got the same old answer. As if he had found many sons on his foot journey and none of them gave him an answer he desired.

****************
I don't like wishes. They have a nature to put a definite shape to desires you don't want complete control over, but you would like them to take a shape on their own. On the other hand, hope, is something I believe in. It subsumes a lot many desires in their very own form. Uncertain like life, with its own course, but you grappling with the steering at all times, unsure of what�s going to happen, but knowing the general direction.

****************
The evening slowly dissipated into the night with the wind making gentle admonitions to the lowly shrubs. The wind still brings with it faint memories of her. I could still hear her voice in faint whispers through the dying nights, almost sacred of losing what we had between us. Her eyes grim with the reality and boring straight into mine, almost hurting. She held onto me like I was her last hope. This was the city where I'd thought that life would stop being that whore and become my own. All it brought back then was pain.

Wed, 9 Apr 2008 00:00:00 +0530

We sped through the fields of cables and electricity. Two souls standing on the bridge, watching the day live its dying moments. I stood at the edge of the speeding train watching the world go by as another week ended its cruelty. Life is like the tracks on which this damn thing on wheels runs. 12:52 says the indicator; we are 14 goddamn minutes late. Boisterous laughter and drunken songs from within the coach. Same old place where we boarded the train for 4 years. It means not a fucking thing now. Whoever said nostalgia lasts a lifetime must be fucking wrong. All that lasts is anger and prejudice and all the things that people want you to forget. The laughter soon gets lost in the dust along the floor, crushed under several oblivious feet. Silent corridors and dead memories.

Calm black skies. Wedding lights glittering below as if begging the heavens, to bless them, the ones who have been accursed all their lives. And there are no answers. Only the empty skies, looking down on them, condescending, mocking.

Wed, 19 Mar 2008 00:00:00 +0530

Isn't it every man to himself in life? This question baffles me everytime when people start advising. Its like a movie that you see, but by some weird twist of fate, the world doesn't want you to see it. Isn't life about going through all these things? Or is it just a bunch of things that people tell you to see?

I'm confused, devoid of all professional and personal ambitions. And I know, that people like me, whatever we do, are always going to be the ones that will remain restless in life. Even though we crave for success, we are not ready to compel ourselves to a life of misery and subject ourselves to the advice of others who think they have seen all in life. Yet they say that the choice is completely yours. I disagree.

Beauty

Thu, 21 Feb 2008 00:00:00 +0530

Who said life isn't beautiful? Its as beautiful as a dying dream with the well conjured scenes and hopes left behind in its wake. Life is as tranquil as the flight of a feather detached from the body of that bird, once full of life. Life is somewhere between the spaces of that drunken night and the morning after. Life is between the spaces of that broken dream and a new start. Life is between the spaces of that girl's heart who never loved you. Life is between the spaces of that jump out of the window and the landing thereafter. The beautiful silence. Life is a mirage of abandoned dreams and unfinished battles. Whoever said life was beautiful, must be out of his damn mind.

Spent Winters

Tue, 5 Feb 2008 00:00:00 +0530

Winter for me is a season of lost innocence. Of days when words didn't hold with them the weight of the world. Then, before I knew it, time stood still, sweet smoke blowing through my nostrils, the world receding lazily into oblivion and strange visions threatening to take over my mind. I was born again and the world seemed new. My darling girl was still at my side, her eyes - delirious, making love to the smoke and watching me with tenderness. Time had stopped reeling somewhere in between and we were just two souls sitting in a deserted field with dreams of utopia.

To this day I travel lonesome on a road I never took, but still running. Inebriation gripping my soul but thoughts of another lifetime, so distant even my mind plays tricks on that log of life. Trapped inside.

Far Away

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 00:00:00 +0530

Empty rooms. Plush hotels. Loneliness. Carpets stained with memories and rushes of the thousands of lives that have lived here. The air heavy with the smoke of countless cigarettes that were lit here, only to count the passing minutes. The silent nights not as dark as the darkness that fills your soul. Every minute takes you further away from home, yet, threatening to bring the journey to an abrupt end. Stifling luxuries and trifles not needed. Books that take you far away into a world you desire, the one you can never have.

Tired walks down the deserted evening roads. Cigarette smoke makes love to the fog and the chilly winds make your face go numb. The road to take at the crossroads seems like the easiest choice you had ever made. Alien country, nothing to call your own, yet, this minute, it embraces you like the warmth of a mother's arms while estranging you the next.

Aimless Wanderers

Wed, 2 Jan 2008 00:00:00 +0530

Aimless wanderers, born out of restlessness, is who we are. Traveling through cities and countries, neither caring nor knowing why. Endless plains of human life far flung into oblivion by the smirk of the passing jets. And never does it end, this restlessness. A part of every country lost in the madness of this mind, tangled with renewed hopes of a simpler future. Crimson skies gaping wide open at hundreds of civilizations, converging at the horizon with angry waves. With neither hope nor purpose the wanderers amble on.

More Incoherent Thoughts

Mon, 24 Dec 2007 00:00:00 +0530

This evening the world seems as distant as the fading horizon on a lazy shimmering sea. I don't think i know the people anymore. I don't think i know my friends any more. There are no more songs to capture my imagination, no more vessels can take me to that horizon. Is this where it all ends? Or has it only begun? Questions such as these plague my weary mind and the train chugs on to the destination i can barely call home. The thought of those walls suffocates me and life seems like a prostitute waiting for a customer, ready to finish the job and move on to the next.

********
More incoherent thoughts. I wonder if the beauty of a poetry lies in its incoherence. Words form a trapdoor in an inebriated mind and spill out in a beauty of disorder. The dark folds of this endless night engulf it in shrouds of mystery. These words will never be spoken again. Interpretation is just a facade for your own thoughts.

Tagged - 7 Weird Things

Mon, 24 Dec 2007 00:00:00 +0530

Okay, normally this is something that I absolutely ignore, but I was tagged by Aurora Sky and I'm taking it up this time. I have to give 7 weird/ random things about me. So then here goes:

1. My music taste - I only listen to anything that is classified under rock/metal and I listen to Ghazals. (Does anyone find that weird? A lot of my friends do.)

2. I am shit scared of ghosts and ghost movies. But if someone talks about a haunted place, I would be the first person to go and explore that place.

3. I got busted on a beach in Goa trying to roll a joint like an ass - one and half year back.

4. I used to listen to sick pop music (backstreet boys, boyzone, etc.) till standard 11. After that my music taste changed overnight.

5. Once in school, I had scored higher marks than what was calculated on my paper. I never bothered to tell the teacher cause I didnt care. I got scolded very badly for not saying that I have got higher marks. (I was totally confused, honestly)

6. I had asked a girl out for the first time when I was 21, cause I had heard she had a crush on me. I was shivering while we ate in silence.

7. I want my death to come as a sky-dive without a parachute.

I dont think I know of 7 people who still continue to blog. I will pass the option of tagging 7 people.

The day wears on....

Mon, 17 Dec 2007 00:00:00 +0530

The day wears on and that gentle hope for a new tomorrow feels like a malignant tumor that threatens your very existence. It hardens your soul and the tears run dry. The emotions that created life, were simply distorted, till they gave in with a final sigh. The word hope now feels like the most political and manipulated word i have ever heard. Hope was butchered back in those days and its been years since then. There are only events and ends that you live for, over which you have no control.

Humiliate the reason and distort the soul

Tue, 21 Aug 2007 00:00:00 +0530

You return home tired and your mind plays tricks on you. Once again you slip into thoughts that take you nowhere. Its like quicksand. You think and you fall deeper into thoughts. Thoughts that lead you to other thoughts and the train of thoughts goes on.

You are living in a void. A world that has been created for you. Everyday you carry out your routine like you are an integral part of a never ending algorithm. You feign respect for people you absolutely loathe. Its not out of manners that you do it. But you are scared. Scared of the consequences. You are scared of going against the "convention". You think that better sense should prevail. But who decides what is good? And hence the comparison of what is better is something that has been fed to you over and over again, since time immemorial.

You are living your life like a robot. Your actions and your thoughts have been molded by an excellent potter. You do what your master - the potter - tells you to do. And who is your master? It is not a single entity. He is rather an entity that has been created by people over the years. By men who have had power. By men who wanted to impose upon the world what they thought was right. By men who wanted to gain control over people's actions and their minds. Serfdom never ended. People were made to believe that it had ended. You are the serf working for your "master".

You are given an occasional freedom to keep you happy. To keep you from rebelling. Somewhere along the way you lose sight of what you always wanted to do. You get trained along the pre-defined lines. Defined by "those" men. Your "master" decides your fate and you accept it. You are like grains of sand, passing through the hourglass waiting, patiently, for it to turn and guide you back.

You say there is no point complaining about things when you are not willing to do anything about them. You want to do something to break these chains, but you are burdened by responsibilities. But then, who creates these responsibilities? Aren't they simply chains created by love? You have created this world for yourself, you want to give back to people what you have taken from them. It's only your pride and nothing more, that compels you to think this way. Life is a sum-total of all the good and the bad things that you have done. But who decides whats good or bad? You believe that you decide the difference between good and bad, but then is it not social conditioning that alters your perspective? Maybe all these thoughts are just a product of your conditioned mind. Maybe you are trained to protest once in a while to maintain the servile sanity. The world needs to balance itself. Through all these thoughts maybe you are only acting as a counter-weight.

Once again you remember that you are just the grain of sand, destined to pass through the hourglass. You will only think, but not act. You will only breathe but not live. You shall sing but not "the song". And in your lifetime the only regrets will be simple things such as these. When you are lying on your death-bed, your "master" will leave you stranded, wondering, about how you devoted your life to "him", about how you could have done what you were born for.

And every night your head is muddled with thoughts such as these. Your sleep, muffled by silent screams. Your appettite, destroyed by the hunger for a new dawn. And then it all goes dark... like it always does.

"Nothing in this world is harder than speaking the truth, nothing easier than flattery." - Fyodor Dostoevsky

Note: The subject line is a quote by Fyodor Dostoevsky from the novel "The Idiot"

Hiatus

Sun, 25 Mar 2007 00:00:00 +0530

The worst thing that could happen to anyone would be to settle down in your life with a job that pays your monthly bills and keeps you comfortable. Day after day passes by and you stop feeling guilty about not living your life the way you wanted to. The simple joys of academic life. That one rollicking night you spent with your girlfriend when both of you got drunk.

The thing is, simply put, you become a phony once you settle down into your job. The sub-conscious dies down. The so-called responsibilities over-burden your shoulders with the truth of life. Those long cherished moments with your friends are forgotten. The night you spent on the roof of your hostel staring into the dark winter night, stars looking down upon you dreamily, cold beer by your side and most importantly, your friends to give you company. These are the pages that get lost in the book of life, like a moth in a candle-flame.

What occupies your mind, now, is how you'll make more money. More money than you could ever imagine. More money than you could ever use. What pressurizes you are the mortgage payments. The credit card bills to be settled next month. Those long walks down the road on a lonely winter night are long forgotten. Crumpling dried leaves on the way to the football field. Those wild nights when booze used to flow like an unstoppable river. Those road trips through the beautiful country-side, cruising along on your bikes.

One fine day you realize that you end up falling in love with things more than people. You wear a mask so tight that you forget about the life you once owned. That's the day when you find yourself alone in the walk of life. The day you want to kill yourself. The day which, you hope, should have been the first of your life. The day you blow the dust off from that old Pink Floyd CD, which'd got lost among the things you used to own and love.

Life starts today. Again.

Pawns

Sun, 21 Jan 2007 00:00:00 +0530

She was like a mystery to me. I was never able to unravel what lay beneath those pages of foreboding. She seemed to be intangible whenever I wanted to touch her, talk to her. Then she would come down like rain on a cold winter night, beautiful yet surprising. She never seemed to amaze me with her sheer timing. Its just like giving that last extra tug to someone falling off a cliff - to pull him up. And yet I long for her, every day, every month, waiting, breathing hard at the impending doom, only never to meet it. The hours in her company seemed to compete with my shadow, never leaving me, still distant. Untouchable.

Her life changed, completely, the day we became God's pawns in the game of chess. Mine continued on its course. Two pawns seperated by the checkers of life. Patience is a virtue, and so one of them was taught. Hope is a virtue quipped the other. Yet I knew, I would see her again. So what if we were being played on in this game. So what if each one of us had to guard our own sqaure. Some said, life goes on. In an existential sense of the word, yeah, it does go on. But yet, I shall never live again.

And I still lurk in her shadow, breeding on her virute of hope, patiently.

The Road to Phuentsholing

Fri, 1 Dec 2006 00:00:00 +0530

Day one: The route to Phuentsholing, Bhutan

My flight landed at the civil terminal of Bagdogra at an hour considered unearthly for someone travelling to Bhutan. It was 3:30 PM and all the buses for the day had left. So I had no choice but to pay through my nose and spend Rs. 1800 on a taxi to Bhutan. Little did I know it will be worth every penny of it. The road is a winding one from Bagdogra-Siliguri-Birpara-Jaigaon and finally on to Phuentsholing. With a detour in between due to a broken bridge, the journey got extended from 4 hours to 5 hours. I reached Bhutan at a time when no more vehicles were allowed inside, but the friendly guard let us in. I settled down in the hotel in Phuentsholing. The small town sleeps very early. By about 9:30 all the shops close down and the streets are deserted. It was time to hit the restaurant in my hotel and have a few drinks. The best whiskey available in Bhutan is called Coronation Silver Jubilee.

Day two: The dreamy mountains en-route to Thimpu

Day two started off with the work commitments I had. It was completely different interacting with the Bhutanese Government officials, when you are used to the Indian babus. Work got over by noon and it was time for a quick bite and cool beer to enjoy the afternoon. Had 4 hours off when I decided to go trekking up the highway that leads to Thimpu.

A trek of about 9-10 kms took me to a height of abt 400-500 metres above sea-level. I could see Phuentsholing as a speck of land from there.Sitting on the edge of the road with your legs dangling over a valley with a straight drop of 400 metres is the kind of moment that doesent come too often. I lit up a smoke and saw the clouds speed by in the distance. Weary birds headed home from their fleeting treetop houses. Every now and then a car would pass by with its passengers astonished to see a guy sitting in the middle of nowhere. To them it would look like I was contemplating suicide. But moments and places like these are the ones that give you hope. A lone tree stood in the valley as if waiting forever.

A dog gave me company as he walked up several kilometres with me, sitting in between at times to admire the magnificent work of art. I sat there for several minutes enjoying the beauty and the cool wind. Finally it was beginning to get dark when I decided to head back. There was one thing I always wanted to do. Hitch-hike! So I stood at the edge of the road and got a lift from a passing government official on his bike. He wore the traditional Buddhist robes like all other Bhutanese government officials.

At nightfall it was time to hit the most popular hangout in Phuentsholing and have some good whiskey and some Bhutanese food. There's Thukpa which is basically soup noodles. And then there is Ema Dashi which is a preparation of Bhutanese Green Chillis in Cheese Gravy. Trust me its absolutely delicious when had with Butter Naans. Or else you would be standing under the faucet for atleast 20 minutes. I finally headed back to the hotel when everything closed down.

The next morning I woke up early to see the beauty of Phuentsholing when it rains. It had rained overnight and the clouds had come right down to greet us (me and the fellow Bhutanese). The last walk to the bus stand was as breath-taking as the rest of my journey. Plans are already in works for the next un-official trip to Bhutan.

More Photos here

Echoes

Mon, 6 Nov 2006 00:00:00 +0530

The pentograph was cutting the full moon at bizarre angles as the train sped by on a Sunday night. The wind had been left damp and cold by the surprising November showers. I was returning from a friend's place after a rejuvenating weekend and the local seemed unusually empty till I realized that it was a Sunday.

On weekdays while on our way to our offices we all fight for a place to sit or stand comfortably, but on a Sunday the equation changes. The whole compartment is empty but you don't feel like sitting. I just walked over to the door as the train made its way past the crowded Dadar station. The cool breeze started hitting my face as it threatened to drown out my music player which was running at full volume. I realized the weird mix of sound that is created by the rushing wind and some amazing music in your ears. It sounds wonderful.

As I stood on the very edge of the door, a smile just crossed my face much to the amazement of the co-passengers. I realized that time sure flies. It wasn't more than six years back that we would travel by the same locals; me, Uddhav, Narain and Sudarshan, four of us on our way to our junior college in town. Hanging out at the door everyday by choice rather than reason. The days we spent scanning the platforms, looking for 'hot girls' or as we would call it then - bird-watching.

I remembered the first time I tried boarding a running train when my bag got caught in the support rod and I got dragged all along the platform. We all laughed our asses off after that incident. But soon enough we got the hang of it, quite literally. I remembered those times when Uddhav used to run on a mid-station halt to a tea-stall for a glass of water and we screaming at him to get back.

When you are traveling in Bombay, half of your time is spent on the locals everyday. We never regretted even a minute of it. Because when you are with your friends time sure flies! Important discussions took place at the door while screaming at each other to be heard over the roar of the train. We figured out the signaling patterns, knew exactly the bends where the train lurched outwards. I still remember, Uddhav trying to figure out the name of the long distance trains by timing and we teasing him to no end.

Things have changed now. I still travel by the local everyday, but alone. Consultancy sure takes the joy out of your life. The other three are in the US, trying to make something out of their lives too. The struggle continues, in a different way. But this Sunday evening while I stood at the edge of the door, I could hear our voices echoing in the very same compartment. In many of these locals, our voices would be hidden somewhere, waiting to come out and greet us the day we all travel the same way. If at all. But the echoes will never die, every time I'll hold that door handle, the smile will cross my face. Don't worry Mr. Passenger, all is fine in the locals.

One of these days..

Wed, 30 Aug 2006 00:00:00 +0530

It was just another day till it trudged into a gloomy evening. The worries at the back of my mind were like natural allies which have supported me through the daily works. I just knew that this time it was different, but didn't expect it to be so soon. I had been walking around like a zombie for as long as I knew and ever since I had heard about her. The train back home seemed to take much lesser time that evening. Or maybe it was just my thoughts that had travelled the world.

The confines of my home could not depress me further that evening. Nothing could. The zillion thoughts never stopped as I furiously wrote on my scratchpad. I used to do that in those days just to get my thoughts out and to scream out aloud. Maybe paper was the next best alternative to a person. They are the same words which get spoken. It was just a matter of what came first. I didn't know if I would ever see her again. Or would I ever see anyone again for that matter. And I thought:

"Heaven's a lie and we all lie at some point of time. Truth lies in the darkness that never betrays you. It makes you realise that you really cannot see. What you have been looking at is an illusion. You hallucinate everyday. Its a natural thing. The mirror lies, the birds pretend. The sun never does shine and its always too dark see the moon. Nothing lasts beyond the time you want it to. Not even people."

"Cut!!", shouted the director dramatically, as I heedlessly flicked the channel, smiling at the stupid but well-timed intervention. The Gods must be crazy. During all the tensed moments in my life, I have been blessed with remembering movies and lyrics that depress me further. I always liked it. Life with her now seemed like a winter night's sky. So clear, so dark, yet never unravelling the ultimate truth. What lies beyond? Maybe no one knows. No one ever will. My mind plays tricks with me again. I was told, I am the Devil. And a voice played on:

"The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was to convince the world, he didn't exist. And like that *poof* he's gone."

One of these days....

Through good times again

Mon, 10 Jul 2006 00:00:00 +0530

The match had just ended and so had our two hours of furious drinking. Portugal had lost. A little sad at the defeat and anxious about the ensuing adventure we set out. Three out of five. The other two were already in seventh heaven. We were pretty sobered up by the time we reached the car in the parking lot. Darkness enveloped the dead of the night as the parking lights jumped off the car in myriads of directions as the silver body gleamed. Wearily I lit up a cigarette as the realisation of having cut 120 kms just a few hours back dawned upon me. My body almost ached, but the desire for an adventure is always overpowering.

A quick glance at the watch revealed that it was already 2:30 am. The Johnny Walker simmered in my head as the engine of my Zen sputtered to life. I made sure everyone who was supposed to be seated was seated. Doors were secured. The speakers lazily spurred when i inserted the Pink Floyd CD. Put down the hand brake. Slide the gear into the first. The alcohol wasn't too much, but when the weather inebriates and best friends are there for company, theres just no defending.

Hill stations are like owls. They would never seem their original selves in the light of the day. Given a choice, I would always visit a hill station at night. Its like making love when the lights are out. The same roads that were teeming with life and traffic, which they couldnt handle, seemed happier accomodating us at night. I swerved to the right off the highway to the road that leads to Bushy dam and then onto Ambi Valley. There was not a soul in sight for miles and miles. The moon had retired for the night. Soon we drove past the first settlement at the foot of the hill arousing no one but the dogs who indignantly barked at us. As we sped past they went back to sleep satisfied with their work.

The ghats of lonavala are not too steep to climb except in a few places where the road suddenly curves upwards in a 'U', almost absent mindedly. As we started ascending up the slopes we passed the INS and AirForce offices, where a few weary guards sat around a small fire which threatened to die down at any point. After that it was nothing but us, the road, Pink Floyd and the wind howling at us prohibitively, mocking our late night escapade. But determined as we were, we drove up the slopes at furious speeds wherever the road allowed us to, careful at other bends. Soon it became a game of one upmanship with the winds bringing in an ally. The fog tried to change our mind, but we were not to be deterred. We continued with the headlights shining bright as ever cutting through the fog. But we had taken a hit in the game. We had to drop our speeds until we were cruising lazily at 30 kmph. We would fight till the end. We braved our way up a few kilometres when Pink Floyd started off with the chimes and one of my all time favourite, High Hopes. It seemed like the wind was conspiring with Pink Floyd.

The fog soon became way too dense to see. The visibility dropped to about 1.5 feet from the bonnet of my Zen. Consequently we dropped our speed to 10 kmph and drove on for a few more kilometres where the slopes heaved a sigh and came to a level ridge with the valley on both the sides, felt only by the sound of the wind-it was not to be seen. We turned on the parking lights and stepped out to be greeted by an ecstatic wind as if hugging us to celebrate its victory. And we stood there as Ashish echoed my thoughts when he said, "Just what are we doing back there in our offices everyday?" I suddenly felt claustrophobic while standing in the middle of nowhere. A feeling of helplessness engulfed me when the flash of Manish's camera brought me back to reality. I realised that we were really standing in the middle of nowhere. We couldnt see anything but our car and that too because of the headlights.

We stood there and enjoyed the true beauty of Lonavala, as the hills braced themselves to be swarmed by people oblivious of what they were missing. Half and hour must have elapsed when we smoked the day's last cigarette and slithered slowly down the slopes as the fog gave us company till the AirForce office as if afraid of the civilization and bid us adieu. I sighed under my breath, "So long my friend...."

Addenda:
Its funny how you can always find a reason to drink. There can be different excuses for drinking. I'm feeling happy, so I'm gonna celebrate with some booze. I'm feeling sad, I'll drown myself in alcohol. The weather's awesome, lets drink. Well then, I say if you wanna drink you drink. There's no two ways about it. More about this on some other day.

Heaven's A Lie

Mon, 12 Jun 2006 00:00:00 +0530

It's another tequila sunrise
Starin' slowly 'cross the sky, said goobye
He was just a hired hand
Workin' on the dreams he planned to try
The days go by
Ev'ry night when the sun goes down
Just another lonely boy in town
And she's out runnin' 'round

She wasn't just another woman
And I couldn't keep from comin' on
It's been so long
Oh, and it's a hollow feelin' when
It comes down to dealin' friends
It never ends

Take another shot of courage
Wonder why the right words never come
You just get numb
It's another tequila sunrise,this old world
still looks the same,
Another frame, mm...

-- Tequila Sunrise (The Eagles)

The Day Merit Died

Thu, 25 May 2006 00:00:00 +0530

To,

The entire Alumni Community of IITs and IIMs

Is the new generation responsible for the atrocites laid upon a certain section of the society, on the basis of caste, several decades ago? Should the generations to come suffer from the same fate that the section of society called OBCs suffered then? If this is not "Divide and Rule", then I do not know what is.

I write this letter today because I feel deeply grieved that the country's future is being held to ransom by corrupt politicians who can even kill to get their votes. CNN-IBN asked a very apt question yesterday. Can any politician in India afford to be anti-reservation? The Opposition in the Parliament, as an unwritten rule, is supposed to oppose anything and everything that is proposed by the party in power. And they do so religiously. But this time around, when it has come to reservations, they know that doing so will jeopardize their vote-banks. Not a single squeak has come from the Oposition.

I write this letter today not to elaborate more on the sorry state of affairs in the Indian Politics, but as an appeal to all the giants in the industry, to look at what is happening to their alma mater. IITs, IIMs and all the other major institutions in India are being held by the scruff of their neck and forced to go down the path that will surely lead to degradation of their value as an institution. When merit is killed, there is absolutely nothing that can save an IIT or an IIM or any other institute for that matter. And what has the government done? It has been succesful is making every Indian conscious of who they are working with. Today everyone who is not in a reserved category looks at the person sitting next to him and has only one question. Is he an OBC?

For several weeks now students have been on a hunger strike. Several students have been injured in the merciless police lathi charges. All the students have screamed their throats dry to make their voices heard. But what did we get in the end? The government has stabbed every student in the back by its decision to implement quotas by 2007 even after appealing to the protesting students to have faith in the government.

Several bright students are being denied admissions to prestigious institutions only to fill the votebanks of the politicians. Undeserving students who are fortunate enough to have troubled forefathers in the form of OBC/SC/ST laugh their way through these colleges. And what happens in the end? Either they drop out or they manage to scrape through, thus reducing the quality of the output from these colleges.

I am not against quota if it makes sense. I am not against any reservation carried out on the basis of some logic or some figures. But why should we all take the decisions meted out by the government as they come? Why shouldnt we all oppose illogical decisions which are politically motivated? Mr. Arjun Singh in an interview with Karan Thapar from CNN-IBN was clueless when he was asked basic questions on which the decision should have depended. Our honorable minister was not able to answer a single question.

Its an earnest appeal to the complete alumi community to come out in the front and help the students. You are ultimately helping save the future of the country and of your companies that recruit these bright minds. Let the government know that their decision has major repercussions and that they have hit the wrong chord. I am not appealing to you to take decisions based on emotions, but on the basis of facts and figures available in the public domain. The government is not helping the lower classes by giving them reservations, but on the contrary pushing them deeper into the abyss.

Regards,
An ex-IIT KGP student.

Update #1: The quota row is reaching the doors of Rashtrapati Bhawan.

A 22-member delegation of striking medicos met President Dr A P J Abdul Kalam and appealed to him to not sign the Bill proposing to bring 27 percent reservation for Other Backward Classes (OBC) in elite educational institutions.

"We have said that if this law is enacted we will commit suicide after seeking permission from the president," a student, Kapil Mishra said. (Source: IBNLive.com)

Down with Arjun!

Sat, 20 May 2006 00:00:00 +0530

These are the old days,The bad days,
The all or nothing days. They're back.
There's no choice left...

.... Its blood for blood and by the gallon.

And thus goes Marv from Sin City. If only the same would apply to the situation here. Maybe it would if all were to wake up. The people of India have waited long enough and hard enough to withstand these corrupt politicians who won't even think twice about selling their own mother for two pennies if they are getting a hundred votes. The talks of which party is good and which party is not are over. Everyone's been there, done that and ruined India along the way.

Lets take the case of the recent controversy of reservation which is blowing hot and is threatening to engulf the whole nation. It all started when one petty politician, who wasnt in the news enough before and wasn't in the good books of our firangi leader Sonia Gandhi (seems like we have finally outsourced politics also) wanted desperately to 'change' things wherein he hit upon a jackpot of an idea to divide India on casteist lines.

Little did he have a clue about how it will backfire (Read all about the background here). It has backfired and quite badly. Look at the unrest everywhere. Students from all fields, medical, engineering and every other branch have revolted against this. And how?!!!!

Corrupt police officers have been caught all around accepting bribes and the levels of their frustration are increasing. It all shows in the merciless thrashing and caning of the doctors/engineers of tomorrow. These students who will be the future of our country are being whacked for no crime of theirs. Evil breeds evil. I won't be surprised if some of these get involved in organized crime at some point in their life. Grudges like these can never be alleviated.

India is poised for a civil war. Winds of change are blowing and its perfect weather to launch a counter-strike against the government. India needs a dictator. Maybe not someone as fanatic as Hitler, but someone who can control the whole country and hit these politicians where it hurts the most. Their livelihood. But first we need a civil war. A war that will destabilize the entire administration. Its bound to happen sooner or later.

I remember a quote in Outlook Magazine many years back which was something as follows and which is very apt for the occasion:

In this world order,
Sovereignity has no border,
Yankee Doodle has his way,
No one else can have a say

Technorati Tags: Reservations Arjun Singh OBC

End of Days

Tue, 2 May 2006 00:00:00 +0530

A solemn cloud floats in the distance as if orphaned from the rest of the clan. The branches chatter away in unspoken words as the wind blows south. I stare out from the third floor of my hostel as the last evening trudges its way past the dusk. And I want to live through it all once again. Do everything I did in these two years in this one night before I leave.

Friends part only to meet again, but at this moment I wonder if the person who wrote that was a lunatic. On second thoughts, probably he was too optimistic in the moment of departure. The two years seemed like an overture to the life as a student.

The two years here have given something that my hometown could never give me. The freedom to live and the zest for travelling. An undying desire to satiate my appetite for seeing new places. Living life on my own. It was a two year long hiatus from the hustle of the city and the travails of luxury. But this place exudes a charm that no city can give you. You crib about this place but eventually fall in love with it.

Last thing I remember
I was running for the door
I had to find the passage back to the place I was before
Relax said the nightman
We are programed to recieve
You can check out any time you like
But you can never leave

Only I wish it was that way. Nights out drinking with friends, no care for any day but this. We all dread the day we have to leave. The final walk into the department we studied for two years. That last bend on the road that led to our hostel. The 2.2 kilometres of track I spent endless nights walking with the girl I loved. The late night snacks at Chhedis and the arguments we used to have over sutta and chai. All the gossip sessions and the mail-wars added some spice to an otherwise mundane place. The laughs we had at the cost of the people who taught us. The 40 winks session in the class while the professor droned on and on. Sneaking out of the class when bored and the rush for the attendance.

And half and hour later we packed up our things
We said we�d send letters and all those little things
And they knew we were lying but they smiled just the same
It seemed they�d already forgotten we�d came

Now we�re back at the homestead
Where the air makes you choke
And people don�t know you
And trust is a joke
We don�t even have pictures
Just memories to hold
That grow sweeter each season
As we slowly grow old

But I take with me memories that will last me a lifetime. Habits that I love to hate, but still keep them. Voices of the same old friends shouting out from their balconies. Late night sessions when we could talk about anything under the sun. Those wrestling bouts we had for fun and the aftermath of those. The drunken nights handling a few drunk people and sometimes getting drunk yourself (in my case, I used to get drunk mostly and was the master entertainer). Seasons will come and go and we'll grow old. But these names and the memories that they gave me will always remain. So long my friends. I'll see you all again.

Same dances in the same old shoes
Some habits that you just can't lose
There's no telling what a man might lose,
After the thrill is gone

The flame rises but it soon descends
Empty pages and a frozen pen
You're not quite lovers and you're not quite friends
After the thrill is gone, oh,
After the thrill is gone

The Boob Tube

Sun, 2 Apr 2006 00:00:00 +0530

I think there must be hundreds of people who rant about the sad state of Indian television. All it does is subject you to abject and mindless family politics and melodrama which can make you choke over and over again. Stereotype would be a highly understated adjective for these TV serials.

There might another school of thought here that says that the creators of these shows give the audiences what they want and what they like. I would say thats not the case. Its a complete loop. Unless and until they know what they are missing out on, there is no way for the audiences to raise their bar of judgement. You make something different something intelligent. Gone are the days when oafs and blondes ruled the world.

Quite recently I started watching this TV Series called Hustle which is aired in the UK on BBC. Its not available in India but, then piracy is the name of the game. But thats a different story for some other day. Its a series about con-artists. A crew of five who are involved with long-cons. They swindle people of their money. But the people they swindle are the people who have made this money by unfair means. They have their own code of ethics. People would say that we have a moral obligation not to show deceit and theft, et cetera on the television so as to not corrupt the minds of the young viewers and to discourage potential thefts. I assume this would be the reasoning to not create such a series. But, the vital point here is that it titillates your brain. It doesen't just fill your brain with stupid and mindless family politics (I for one dont give a rats ass for it). It makes you want more, think more. Here's the website for more dope.

If there is something that corrupts the young minds and screws their life's peace, then its these family dramas full of deceit and treachery. They should be banned from the boob tube. I think its high time, Indian television takes a cue from its western counterparts and cooks up something sensible. Till that time, for me, its piracy ahoy!!

Technorati Tags: Television Hustle BBC

On a day like today..

Sat, 11 Mar 2006 00:00:00 +0530

A perfect weather is the one that makes you think about all those good times gone by. About times hidden deep within the recesses of your mind, afraid to come out. A bicycle trip down the autumn road, with leaves left wet by the passing drizzle. The wind blowing into your face, pleasantly cold and damp with the evening dew.

All you can do is think about the great times you spent with your friends, a lifetime ago. Its funny how it always makes you think about the past. Those parting moments of laughter with your friends the last time you saw them, unsure of when you'll meet them again.

It makes you think of the girl who loved you not so long ago. But strangely the thought doesent depress you anymore. All you do is think of the good times you had and smile at the evening sky splashed with an orange haze. And remember how she loved to crumple those dry autumn leaves while walking down those familiar streets. The way she loved the drizzle more than the rains.

The voices they come back to you as you cycle your winding way past the same old football field where you spent endless nights gazing at the sky and enjoying the silence. The daily ordeals of slipping past the night guards bring the smile back on your face. Those fog-filled nights when the electricity frequently blew off.

The times they have gone away. But left memories to think about on a day when the weather is perfect. Sometime I wonder if the present makes any difference. Its the memories that make you feel good or bad...

... But when the weather's perfect, you make love to those good times again.

Technorati Tags: Kharagpur Weather Perfect Day

Patterns in the Ivy

Tue, 21 Feb 2006 00:00:00 +0530

Over the past few years ever since I started listening to all forms of rock music I have come across innumerable bands in this universe of drugs, booze and rock n' roll. But there are a few bands that continue to enthrall and surprise you with the kind of music they play. Majority of the bands have a set style of playing and the variation in the songs disappears over a certain period. But one band that has continued to keep you wanting more is Opeth.

I came to know about this band from Rohan who used to put the lyrics in his status messages on messenger. Out of curiosity I checked out the music by the band and was surprised with the variety they played. I mean most of the bands who play Death and Dark Metal are usually typecasted with the same form of music. But Opeth, can give you those growling vocals and at the sametime give you sheer poetry. How many bands have you heard who do that? I have heard Testament do one song Return to Serenity, but thats about it.

If my memory serves me right then the first Opeth album came out in 1995 and its been more than 10 years now since they've been around. But the music still doesent satiate your curiosity. Take the lyrics of Face of Melinda (Album: Still Life):

By the turnstile beckons a damsel fair
The face of Melinda neath blackened hair
No joy would flicker in her eyes
Brooding sadness came to a rise

Words would falter to atone
Failure had passed the stepping stone
She had sworn her vows to another
This is when no-one will bother

And conceded pain in crumbling mirth
A harlot of God upon the earth
Found where she sacrificed her ways
That hollow love in her face

Still I plotted to have her back
The contentment that would fill the crack
My soul released a fluttering sigh
This day fell, the darkness nigh

I took her by the hand to say
All faith forever has been washed away
I returned for you in great dismay
Come with me, far away to stay

Endlessly gazing in nocturnal prime
She spoke of her vices and broke the rhyme
But baffled herself with the final line
My promise is made but my heart is thine

Who writes such lyrics? For all I know most of the new Death Metal (or Black Metal as they call it) bands do not anything apart from hatred and blood and demons in them. Now people will argue that if you want poetry then do not listen to Death Metal. But music as genre was never about the lyrics. Genres are decided on the basis of the music that goes with it. Death Metal is just a fad that rockers have. All of them. There was a time when I wouldn't take anything but Deicide and Cannibal Corpse. But those really seem like such a waste now.

To all those who havent heard Opeth yet, all I would say is go get a CD! Here are some strong recommendations:

Still Day Beneath The Sun

Patterns in the Ivy - 2

Face of Melinda

Benighted

Harvest

Death Whispered A Lullaby

To Bid You Farewell

Technorati Tags: Opeth Metal Rock Death Metal

Whats The Craze All About?

Sun, 19 Feb 2006 00:00:00 +0530

I think every Indian at some point of time must have desired to go abroad and specifically to the US. Not many think about the fact that mountains look radiant from far away. The dust gets into your eyes only when you venture close to it. People might have conflicting opinions on this issue and once again I might be kicking up a major storm here. But something that happened recently caught my eye and hence the attention. Here goes:

The scientist community is up in arms against the denial of US entry visa to senior scientist Goverdhan Mehta. Mehta was formerly associated with the Indian Institute of Science.
Top scientists have expressed their grouse at the "impolite" questions they are asked while applying for a US visa. None other than C N R Rao, principal scientific advisor to the Prime Minister, has said he may stop visiting that country.
Rao said on Friday, "It�s regrettable that the US cannot distinguish between a scientist and a student. We are not beggars. We are a developing economy. When they expect royal treatment in India, why don�t they reciprocate?"
Rao, who faced a similar experience three years back, said, "They ask impolite questions. I�m not saying they shouldn�t. But they ought to be polite."
The sentiments are no different with other top scientists who feel the insult to Indian scientists is happening all too often.
Former IISc director G Padmanabhan said, "I have stopped going abroad. It�s insulting the way they treat Indians." Space scientist U R Rao feels the government must take up the issue with the US. Padmanabhan says this is due to US obsession with security. (Source: TOI)

And at this time I wonder, why do we still continue to grovel? People tell me that "going abroad broadens your perspective and gives you a new outlook". Sure it does. But should it be at the expense your own self-respect? There is a thin line between self-respect and ego. But this is an open and shut case of losing your self respect and going. I respect the views of the scientist above. And the same are mine. Although I have never been through any such experience, I have a heard a lot of cases. People might rebuke me by saying that I havent had any first hand experience. Are all these cases made up then? I wonder.

Its high time we have some sort of pride for our country. Sure, it might be full of shit when it comes to politics. Sure it might be the Michael Schumacher of corruption. But no country is pure from its inception. You have to make it that way. If you run away with your tail tucked between your legs, who would work, to make the country the way it should be? All patriotism? Nah, I say all practicality.

Bite Me.

Technorati Tags: India Visa US

Its Another Sunday

Sun, 5 Feb 2006 00:00:00 +0530

As another lazy sunday began, I woke up to the sound of the newspaper sliding below my door. The newspaper delivery guy also comes in quite late on sundays, I guess everyone needs to unwind and the newspaper guy, deservedly so.

I was in a pensive mood as the day began and felt the need to do something different. So for a change I sat and read the newspaper at length. I came across an amazing article by Manu Joseph. It is so very well written. The beauty of the article lies in its simplicity and when you can portray something as simple as a conversation with a man in a such a subtle manner, its really amazing. The article can be read here.

As I was browsing through various blogs I came across a friends blog which talked about a Tagore poem. This instantly reminded me of a small verse, again by Tagore, that someone sent me long time back. It is so beautifully written. Or maybe I found it so because those were beautiful times. But anyways here goes:

He whom I enclose with my name is weeping in this dungeon.
I am ever busy building this wall all around,
and as this wall goes up into the sky day by day
I lose sight of my true being in its dark shadow.
I take pride in this great wall, and I plaster it
with dust and sand lest a least hole should be left
in this name, and for all the care I take
I lose sight of my true being.

I guess I'll finish reading one of my Roald Dahl books to end the Sunday on a literary note.