Aura of August.

Some songs just get us hooked . I change my playlist approximately every month ( a recent study on my boredom thresholds revealed this remarkably useless fact), and experiment with hitherto untried bands and sounds. And uncannily manage to get hooked on to one song and one band, atleast. (quote : the afore mentioned study) .
As August '06 draws to a close, the band of the month is Cranberries (featured numbers : Dreams, Animal Instinct, Ode to my family). Though the lyrical intention is either too "deep" or too "shallow" for me to comprehend in its entirety, the magic of Dolores's voice, blending with the sounds in the background produces an astounding effect.
Coming to the song of the month, the crown goes to "Afterglow - INXS". Addictive sounds, absolutely groovy, the lyrics simple yet elevating when in liason with the music. Guess I need to put in extra effort to grow tired of this one.

Afterglow - INXS


Here i am
Lost in the light of the moon
That comes through my window
Bathed in blue
The walls of my memory
Divides the thorns from the roses
It’s you and the roses
Touch me and i will follow
In your afterglow
Heal me from all this sorrow
As i let you go
I will find my way
When i see your eyes
Now i’m living
In your afterglow
Here i am Lost in the ashes of time
But who owns tomorrow
In between
The longing to hold you again
I’m caught in your shadow
I’m losing control
My mind drifts away
We only have today
Touch me and i will follow
In your afterglow
Heal me from all this sorrow
As i let you go
I will find my way
I will sacrifice
Till that blinding day
When i see your eyes
Now i’m living
In your afterglow
When the veils are gone
As i let you go
As i let you go
Touch me and i will follow
In your afterglow
Heal me from all this sorrow
As i let you go
I will find my way
I will sacrifice
Now i’m living
In your afterglow
Bathed in blue
The walls of my memory
Divides the thorns from the roses
It’s you who is closest

P.S : "Newyork Nagaram", the latest number from A.R.Rehman's new born "Sillunu Oru Kaadhal" seemed to have gained a permenent status in my playlist this month, though it is worth a mention here, it doesnt scale up to an instinctive hit with me. But its a song that grows on you. Kummi Adi is a catchy folksy number. As for the other songs in the collection, Soliloquist wholeheartedly agrees with Peter Tina* that they are pedominantly jazzified constipation groans.

* : My roomie.

The Cause and The End.

In Today
Out Tomorrow.
Its all childsplay
This Joy and sorrow.

Tears that are born at dawn
But, to die quietly at dusk
All These Songs so forlorn
Yet so trite in the crux.

From the turbulent womb of genesis
Sets out the meandering bohemian
Seeking the tender grave of Peace
Forever the hunter, the Orion.

Sweet Chirps of nascent white
Drowned by the din of Red
Bloody Victory and Gory Might
First love at death bed

Run along, my little one
Up and ready for doom
Red Roses and redder Guns
As the shadow of the future looms.

-The Lunatic Bard




Catching up with the newspapers after a hiatus, I decided to abstain from them altogether. The causes that people fight for and the aftermath, left me disillusioned with life. The bigger picture is often blurred by the unidimensional perspectives. I was inspired to write on this after reading this piece of extended reality .

A piece of Me.

Of Late, Catch 22 has been very instrumental in clearing the mental block I face everytime I try to update my blog.. Here goes another, effortless post..


I am thinking about -

How much I ll miss the people around me once I move on.. And how much I miss people the people who have moved on… thought the latter was painful.. Finding the former heart wrenching.

I said -

" A fortuitous union of cells
That is not my beginning
Hark! Chime the bells
I have come to do my doing!"

(From one of my so-called poems)

I want to -
Make each second of my life well spent.

I wish –
I had scaled the heights I could have

I miss –
My childhood.

I hear -
The silence of the sea.

I wonder -
where the sky ends.

I need -
Everything and nothing.

I regret -
The lies I have told.

I dance -
like nobody’s watching… And when I want to release pent up emotions..

I cry -
Inconsolably. In the dark.

I am not always -
Realistic.

I make with my hands-
crispy dosas, creative status reports.

I write -
whenever and whatever I want to.

I confuse -
"ei” and “ie” in words..

I should try -

Learning to drive.
Bungee jumping
Oil Painting.


I should finish -
my quota of cribbing for the day.

I know -
how to smile.

I am -
Me.

And finally -

I am tagging a few more people to do this tag - nero, subbu, shiva.

Love Story !??????

Monday mornings are always the same. The weekend spirit being reluctant to leave, she always oversleeps and misses her usual bus. This Monday was no different. The next bus being a comfortable 15 minutes later, she went around humming a catchy tune from the lastest flick, much to the chagrin of her still-lost-in- neverland roomie. Taking care to dress presentably is always fun. She stepped out with a cheerful smile to the landlady, the sun shining as though party to her buoyant mood.

She had to cross to get to the bus stop. She didn’t mind the waiting for the little green man to shine on the traffic signal. It gave her time to look around, and take in the pleasant breeze and the colorful buzzling crowd around her. “This lady looks friendly” , she said to herself as she gazed at woman hailing an auto rickshaw. “And that little fellow with her looks so naughty and cute!!”, she smiled indulgently at the toddler tagging along with the ‘friendly lady’. Her attention swayed over to the opposite side , where a sizeable crowd had gathered to cross the road. One particular face struck her as uncannily familiar.
She tried to recollect.. Was he from school? Were they at college together? Had they met in office? She remembered seeing him at close quarters. Just as she was lost in thought, , she caught herself staring at him, and worse still, this Mr.X was also staring back with avid interest. Instinctively her eyes lowered to her sandals. Something about her sandals inspired the realization. Damn it, man… This was the same guy they had seen in the restaurant. She and her friends had the time of their lives making fun of him. They had been to this South Indian Restaurant that weekend after a movie. It was rush hour, and they had to wait till eternity, or go upstairs. They generally avoided the tables upstairs,because of the dense seating. But, this time they had no chocie. She and her friends went and sat in a corner of the room. Once they had placed their orders, they realised their mistake. Famished as they were, still their appetitites were no match to the amount of food the restaurant provided. While they were struggling through their meal, a couple of guys in the next table, were cruising through a multiple course lunch, ordering almost everything on the menu card. One of them, stopped eating , awestruck by the guys remarkable ability to stuff themselves. She found the situation really funny. Whenever provoked suitably, she can come up with an avalanche of PJs.. And when a few girls giggle (few = any aribitrary number greater than 1), all hell can break loose.The oldest in her group, assuming a matronly role, tried to shush them up, fearing an embarassing situation. Intoxicated with the mirth of the moment, she had defended “ Relax yaar,those guys don’t know us, we don’t know them.. Once we leave the restaurant, we ll be perfect strangers.. Lets have some fun at their expense”….

What a premature statement that was! There he was, the same guy who had worn bathroom chappals to lunch, and gorged the entire kitchen off. She immediately looked at his feet. Thank God!, he was wearing formal shoes. He must ve slept late that day, and must ve woken up directly for lunch, without bothering to dress up for the occassion. How come all that didn’t occur to her pea brain when she went on making up all possible reasons for his bathroom chappals?

Now here he was, staring at her. She tried to keep her face as expressionless as possible. "Chill girl, he’s gonna cross the road any moment now, you can mingle with crowd and be gone. And we’d be perfect starngers again!". She looked at the timer .. 129 seconds .

"Come on comeon.. just keep your cool and it will all be over." She mustered up courage and looked at him. He was looking away.. Good.. She heaved a miniscule sigh of momentary relief. The timer read 93 seconds.

She kept looking at him, trying to detect even the faintest signs of recognition in him. Hope he didn’t recollect her face. She was in sporty attire the other day, and now she was in a formal salwar suit. She really wished clothes made a difference.A real big one at that. He looked at her. "Stay Cool. Act Casual". She pushed back a strand of hair that the breeze had blown away. She no longer had the inclination to enjoy the till-then-pleasant morning weather. A crimson 80 blinked at her from the timer.Time can come to stand still, if it chooses to. Weary from the effort to stay calm, she had entered into a stupor. Dimly aware of herself, she returned his gaze more out of duty, than anything else. 48 seconds to go. “You can make it, jus keep going gal” .. She was great at pep talks, but somehow to her, this one sounded feeble. Any moment now, they ll cross each other, and the fatal flash of recongnition can strike. She began to move. He was still standing. She had taken the plunge. He also began walking.They were a couple of yards away from each other. She met his eyes. There was no indication of recognition, no cinematic recollection. Her lips curled in an imperceptable smile. Of Triumph, relief, and joy.He also smiled. She convinced herself, it must have been directed at someone else on the other side of the road.
She could see he was working for a software company and a couple of his collegues were waiting for the bus on the opposite side. She walked on. She could imagine his eyes boring through her back. She wanted to turn back and check on him. But was too scared to push her luck any further. She looked up at the heavens and thought to herself , “If God ever existed he must be absolutely elfish!”.


Disclaimer :

In acceptance of the bait thrown by catch 22, the above work of fiction* came up.
* The sequel is as fictitious as its predecessor, not more, not less.

Safety

I have this irrational fear of dogs. Something which dates back to the day I was a single cell old. Back in good old Chennai, I used to meticulously skirt past the scrawny, beleaguered, perennially thirsty low-breeds, that would rampage the empty streets of a sleepy Chennai, cursing passionately the way too early timings(by my terms, of course) of the college bus. Some of them got so used (/bored with) to my chastisement that they magnanimously chose to leave me alone to mind my own business. My woes didnt disappear altogether. The pampered poodles peeping out of their kennels in the neighboring bungalows, got an inane kick out of barking out of the blue and sending me racing from their gates… Didnt fail to give me a taste of ragging even in my final year of college..

Now in Bangalore, I stay in an area so infamous for its teeming canine community matched in numbers only by the IT professionals who reside here. The road I stay in is in no way less in stature than my area in Chennai, when it comes to the snob squad. An absolutely silly looking long bodied duo, along with a dumb bully as big as a calf, and an obnoxious sadistic spoilt brat, democratically take turns in harassing the scared-of-dogs, over worked, and pre-occupied passersby. But its not just these guys who rob me of my peace, because I know they are there, and they will scare me day in and day out. There exists a rowdy gang of street dogs, thriving on the scraps from the multitude of “juice junctions” and “bakeries”. And its this cotorie that I lose my sleep over. Polar opposites of their Chennai cousins, these dudes and dudettes are well built and sturdy. They amble around with an air, stirring fear in the depths of my heart. All of a sudden, from nowhere, one of them picks up a fight and there is pure, unadulterated commotion in the pack, and I either stay put, paralyzed by fear or try something stupid in an urge to flee. Thus is my lot, every time I venture out alone on the streets.

Today was exceptional. I woke up early, smartly got ready ahead of my usual time to work, and was tempted to take the early morning bus. I made it to the bus stop without much ado, but it is here that the catch lays. The number of people in the stop, would be few, and scattered. The Ruffians arrived in full style, parading their silken coats to their dames.. Fear of the mortal kind, started to grip me. Carrying more bags than I could manage, the realization that an attempt to flee was ruled out, was more than painful. Despite the chill, sweat began to pour down my face. Though my hands were full, I was desperately searching for my nails, biting them had always calmed my nerves. Praying fervently for heaven’s grace, I was edging towards the nearest human, as surreptitiously as I could, with all my bulk.

“Bark!”, “Wham”, “Howl!!”… The much anticipated pandemonium broke out. I almost saw doom leering around the corner, when my knight in white armour came by. The office bus swished past the warring factions and stopped in front of me. Pushing people around, (although, there weren’t any people to push around) I scrambled on to the bus..

Setting my many bags in an intricate fashion adhering to the tenets of feng shui, I took a deep breath. Immense peace engulfed me. Beads of sweat evaporated as a cool breeze blew. Looking out through the window, I finally felt safe. They cant reach me here. Nothing can harm me.


Just then, the driver applied a sudden brake. And I hit my teeth. On the same metal bar. Again*.



___________________________________________________________________


*: I had a nasty accident, sometime back, last year in the same bus to office.

Of marine and terrain Fauna

Sometime in the mid of the week that went past, Ms Kutty, threw a party for us girls at a local restaurant. The occasion was to celebrate Ms Kutty’s return from her trip and subsequent stay abroad, on official purposes. Ms Kutty happens to be one of our ex-PG* mates. And the idea was initiated by the august efforts of one Ms Bumble Bee, whose unparalleled enthusiasm for organizing “events” in our tell-tale uneventful lives is well-known across the lengths and breadths of the nation. Owing to Bumble Bee’s deluge of emails and incessant flurry of phone calls (which Soliloquist dutifully missed, as usual, by leaving her mobile behind wherever she went, as a clue for any private eye who might have to trace her whereabouts, in case she gets lost, given her appalling sense of direction.) all the four of us were assembled sharp on time at the said venue, Bumble Bee making the grand entrance after a hard fight between the clock and the Madivala Traffic.

So we go in, gorge as much as we could, Bumble Bee getting experimental, ordering unidentifiable delicacies of the marine world which others were wary about, and finally having to finish all of it, (of course, Soliloquist, being solicitous, offering able assistance ). We had a nice long chat of old times, new times, and still newer times… Soliloquist, having lost the precious early morning hours of sleep for the past 4 days, benevolently smiles through most of it, dropping a quip here and there, to show she’s been listening…

As the evening progressed in this fashion, the meal traversed through its different courses, it was presently time to wind up. Kutty takes out her neatly organized purse. Soliloquist gapes in wonder at the sight of a neatly organized purse, as she does at anything that is neat and organized. Crisp Sodexho passes materialize and Kutty begins to count. As the count is checked, double checked, triple checked by all those at the table, Soliloquist’s interest with the purse vaporizes gradually. Soliloquist, by now fully awake, attempts to takes in the ambience, before they leave. ( Soliloquist, isn’t definitely lady-like, or even normal-human – like for that matter, ‘eat first – gawk later’ being her principle motto when comes to eating out.) A huge fish tank catches her attention and she is transported to a hypnotic trance by practicing the art of relentless staring without batting an eyelid on it. (A new technique of Transcendental meditation, eh???)

“They say its good for the heart to watch the fish”, Soliloquist announces, abruptly breaking her reverie.
Bumble Bee, rudely disturbed by this sudden digression, loses her count of the Sodexho passes and looks up.
“But I find them stupid” , opines Soliloquist, with a presumptuous air.
Bumble Bee, in a marine-favoring mood, enquires “why do you say so?”
“They are so dumb. All they do is swim, go up, hit the top of the tank, and go down. Go down, hit the bottom, and then go left. Go left, hit the left wall, and Go right. Go right; hit the wall on the right, and the go up. How absolutely mindless and moronic!!”
Bumble Bee lets out a guttural laugh. Soliloquist mouths a soundless “Oh-Oh”. Whenever Bumble Bee gives a guttural laugh, one can anticipate a well timed snub.
“How different are you from the fish? All you do is get up every morning, get ready, go to office, come back, eat , sleep, and again get up next morning, and repeat the same thing. Even if you take a break, or shift your location, you’ll still be doing the same thing. The maximum you might do is shift from one routine to another.”
Soliloquist mumbles under her breath, “ I need not have woken up from my half slumber in the first place. So much for taking in the décor.”
Bumble Bee, with rabidly (pun unintended!) multiplying enthusiasm of one who has scored over the other, and is ready to go for the kill, delivers her final blow “ At least the fish doesn’t have the sixth sense. You claim to have it ……” A suggestive pause follows which ensures that the message is duly communicated.

When the counting is finally done , and Kutty had neatly tacked up the bunch and left it for the waiter to collect, Soliloquist ruminates over the apparent snub and realizes the pearl of wisdom that Bumble Bee unconsciously let slip by. Soliloquist looks up at Bee with new found awe. And decides to append Bee’s name in her long list of awe-inspiring women.

And so the day drew to a close, with a more enlightened Soliloquist finally being able to catch her ever-lost 40 winks.



An aside:

Speaking of pearls of wisdom, ala PG style, this one came up late last night.
The Krish Heroine** was in a very chatty (read ‘reflective’ between the lines) mood. Soliloquist also warms up to the occasion and they happen to discuss all and sundry.
When the subject turned to relationships, Soliloquist, predictably, speaking volumes about the futility of human ties, The Krish Heroine wisely said, “Whatever said and done, Man is a Social Animal. If the “social” is removed from it, Man is an animal, nothing but an animal.”
Soliloquist blinks back her sleep and gets reflective. (Read ‘chatty’ between the lines.)



*: By now, the readers of the this blog should know what PG stands for. As for the rest, please go through the previous posts which I wouldn’t link here.

**: Tired of using initials, I decided to refer people by their nick names.

July Seconds

Fate’s whips lash
Dreams crumble
Before your eyes
Embers slipping
Through your fingers
Fall on your knees
As Tears harden
With Silent sighs
Nascent Smiles die
Nothing matters
Any more
A cherished mural
Washed down
By a downpour
A secret joy
Transmuted
To a personal sorrow
Grieve for what that was
Grieve for what could’ve been
Hurt that bottles up
Corked and buried

In the recesses
Of your psyche
Pain that shall
Follow you
To Your grave

A resounding blow
That makes a man
Out of a boy
Way too soon

The world baring
Its teeth at an
Hapless kid
Numbed beyond defense

Illusions stripped
To reveal
Reality that
Would Morph
Into illusions
Someday.

A bed of roses
Meandering mirage
The haze clears
Needles and pins
Thorns and nails

Destiny grins
Villainous
Piteous pleas
Last cries
Lost cries

Shadows of the past
Dregs of evanescent pleasure
Seals of destination missed
Disembowel your spirit

Shoulders sag
Gait slacks
Vision blurs
Conscience kills


Pain inexpressible
Misery sans vent
A slow poison
Numbing delight

Get a grip
Shake it off
It wasn’t meant to be
Was it ?

You were meant
For other things
It was for someone else
Probably it aint that good……

Move on…
Drag on…
Grit your teeth
And Endure..

Doors are still
Waiting to be opened..
Don’t fret
Over the one that closed…….

A loser’s pep talk?
A booster for the last lap?
Roads that lead nowhere?
Incarcerated for life
Edmond Dantes
Or The Count of
Mounte Cristo?

-The Lunatic Bard

A question of Love

Girl : "I am not all that beautiful".


Guy1: "I dont give a damn about looks, its your heart that I look at"

Guy2: "No matter what others might say,you are the most beautiful girl to me.Afterall, Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder"

Guy3: "Bull crap!, who said you arent beautiful??? , You are a very attractive girl.. Lots of guys would go fida over you"


Who do you think the girl would choose?


Disclaimer: This is an absolutely hypothetical situation. Any resemblence to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Or so says The Soliloquist.

Speed of Sound

A song thats been in my head for sometime , for some uncanny reason. But now, the reason reveals itself in theaterical grandeur, in a moment of silence. After all that noise, And all that sound.

Speed of Sound - Coldplay

How long before I get in?
Before it starts, before I begin?
How long before you decide?
Before I know what it feels like?
Where To, where do I go?
If you never try, then you'll never know.
How long do I have to climb,
Up on the side of this mountain of mine?
Look up, I look up at night,
Planets are moving at the speed of light.
Climb up, up in the trees,
every chance that you get,
is a chance you seize.
How long am I gonna stand,
with my head stuck under the sand?
I'll start before I can stop,
before I see things the right way up.
All that noise, and all that sound,
All those places I got found.
And birds go flying at the speed of sound,
to show you how it all began.
Birds came flying from the underground,
if you could see it then you'd understand?
Ideas that you'll never find,
All the inventors could never design.
The buildings that you put up,
Japan and China all lit up.
The sign that I couldn't read,
or a light that I couldn't see,
some things you have to believe,
but others are puzzles, puzzling me.
All that noise, and all that sound,
All those places I got found.
And birds go flying at the speed of sound,
to show you how it all began.
Birds came flying from the underground,
if you could see it then you'd understand,
ah when you see it then you'll understand?
All those signs, I knew what they meant.
Some things you can invent.
Some get made, and some get sent,
Ooh?Birds go flying at the speed of sound,
to show you how it all began.
Birds came flying from the underground,
if you could see it then you'd understand,
ah, when you see it then you'll understand?

Wait Weary ...

The things that make me happy are few
And dont occur ordinarily
Thus the wise say there is nothing new
That i am happy ever so rarely!

Damn the Laws of Probability..
- L.B

The Chasm.

Last week, I read a short story, “The Squabble” by Gogol. The central theme is about a petty quarrel between two of Mirgorod (a hamlet in Little Russia) ‘s landowners, who were thick friends. The squabble matures into a long drawn legal battle that devours the whole of their lifetimes. This set me wondering on how the best of friends can fall apart on the most trivial of matters. That’s when this conversation came wafting through the channels of my mind.

S: I don’t like him anymore. He’s developed an attitude.
Voice: The feeling is mutual, my dear.
S: That’s why I don’t like him at all. He gives me the cold shoulder.
Voice: Your behavior towards him would have frozen him to be a preserved specimen till 3010 A.D.
S: I just react. I don’t initiate. And that’s another reason I loathe him.
Voice: For all that you might know, he may have the same thoughts about you.
S: How can he? After knowing me for so long?? I feel disillusioned. He is simply not worth my friendship.
Voice: A smile can shorten miles.
S: I smiled, he didn’t return it. I hate him now.
Voice: You walked past him, without saying even a Hi the other day.
S: (silent)
Voice: Why don’t you talk it out?
S: He doesn’t deserve it. Anyways who cares…
Voice: You do..
S: Get Lost, will you? I ll stuff a barrel down your throat if you don’t shut up this instant!
Voice :( Sighs, and disappears)
S: (Sulks. Misses the voice). How I hate voices in the head!!



P.S: No points for guessing who S is.

A simple wish

If only I could stop time,
grab my long lost 40 winks,
and set the seconds ticking again...
Sigh!

-Sleepy and Lunatic Bard.

Re-Serving Reservation

Much has been said about the election time gimmick a.k.a the reservation move of the Indian Government in recent times. Voices have been raised, and some have been heard.
Some were vehement, ridiculed the government, in cynical and sarcastic undertones. Some garnered mass support to protest. Some took a moderate stance -suggesting “affirmative action” as a more viable alternative.

But all these reactions are by people who haven’t an inkling of an idea of what oppression means. I read a short story , “the Strikebreaker” by Isaac Asimov set somewhere in the future, which runs somewhat like this:

A sociologist from Earth goes to a planetoid in the fringes of the Galaxy, to study the socio-cultural scenario there. He finds the planetoid to be gripped by a state of intense crisis. The planetoid, owing to its limited water resources, survives by recycling everything, including human wastes to replenish its supply of water. This might be revolting, but something similar to this happens in the natural cycles on our own planet.
The denizens are very well aware of this fact. The planetoid boasts of a very rigid caste system where even inter-caste marriages are allowed. The crisis situation is the family which does the recycling now has revolted and stopped doing so. Their demand: to be recognized as humans, to allow their children to grow with the other kids, their women to mingle with other women. For all that they do, these people just push some buttons which operate the recycling machines. The government wouldn’t give in, though they face the acute danger of a pandemic due to accumulating wastes and a diminishing water stock. The papers wouldn’t even mention his name while reporting the crisis. The earthman sees the glaring exploitation, but for the sake of larger good, offers to do the recycling, his offer is accepted with a sigh of relief. The protestor succumbs the loss of his last weapon to alleviation, and resumes his occupation. But the earthman is deported back to his planet having become contaminated with the abominable profession and is denied further entry into the Planetoid that helped to save from annihilation.

Asimov makes a passing reference to the gravediggers in Ancient India in the story. One might delve into the pragmatic origins of the caste system and how it degraded into an antithesis of human progress. Or one can argue that all that talk is irrelevant to the current situation now that post-independence caste system has been abolished and so have other forms of prejudiced oppressions. But having had privy to the so-called erstwhile “upper classes” mentality throughout my childhood, I wouldn’t say that the tell-tale “them” and “us” notions have'nt entirely disappeared. So many times, I have heard “ungalava” and “engalava” being used for absurd and mundane issues which wouldn’t lift a feather in the over-all scheme of things. So many households which use separate glasses and cups for the maids who wash their dirty pots and pans. So many houses constructed with separate entrances for the washer woman to wash and leave without infecting the sanctum and sanctorum of their divine abodes. People who do all this aren’t barbaric in the truest sense, cos they are compassionate to their household staff, helping them monetarily, never forgetting to give them the (excess) boxes of chocolates (which they got tired of eating) that their sons and daughters bring from their trips abroad. But the strains of meaningless superiority still linger on. Simply abolishing caste system hasn’t removed the taboo associated with inter caste marriages. Even in certain professions, especially the monetarily rewarding ones, the presence of the socially lower strata is sparse.

Some of my random thoughts on the subject: (inspired reaction to multitude of other random thoughts.

Attributing brain drain to reservation is actually a wake up call to the government. What does the government gain by investing in “brains” that look for the slightest opportunity to flee for greener pastures? Such brains would drain even with the teeniest of leaks in the pipe.

You are comfortable only where you belong. And a certain sense of fraternity holds good even when people leave their hometowns to fend for themselves. Not just to promote their culture and have a feel of home, but also to enjoy the privilege of rubbing shoulders with the “high and mighty” of the corporate echelons for they happen to be from your state/city/district/village/street and what not.. and caste still has the invisible binding effect that forms closed niches in places of “equal opportunity”.

Dilution of quality is a vehement argument against reservation. Those who are afraid of their pedestal being usurped, but wouldnt admit this fear even to their own sub-conscious minds, might see logic in this. If one prevents the dilution of quality by denying access, then by what means is quality maintained?? The same set of students with identical profiles/interest groups tend to pass out year after year with the same ideals, goals and aspirations.. which revolves around social apathy and self-promotion.

Improve primary education – A noble and lofty suggestion.. in the so called right direction.. Right for whom? God alone can answer this question. True, grass root reforms alone can be sustainable, but they consume the precious years that make the difference and generations would have to be passed to taste the fruits. By that time, the rich would have becomer richer and the poor poorer.

Before we set to admonish reservation as a ruthless suppression of merit, we should first make clear what exactly “merit” is. Is merit the ability to quote the great men and women of litreture, art and politics even when one has to ask something as simple as the directions to the next street? Is merit the ability to mug up scores of unwanted information from the zillion books and CDs that your parents buy and win a trophy trove in quiz contests? Is merit the ability to belt out the cash for the “competitive – exam” coaching centers? Is merit the ability to have parents who enroll you into posh private schools?? Do any one of us stop to think what we are , is what we were born into? I for one wouldn’t be writing this blog, if I were born to tribal parents in Nagaland, or to a poor weaver in kancheepuram, or a flower seller in Chennai. We really dont know how much of our "success" is sheer luck and fortitude.

I hail from the southern state of Tamil Nadu, where reservation rules the roost. And has been a regular feature of every party’s election manifesto, year after year. 69% is the reservation in this state, and if they choose to, the insane political competition here could well strive to make it cross 100%. And where every single caste, sub caste, sub-sub-caste scrambles to make the most of it, by marching to the state secretariat to be declared "backward".(This actually increases the rat-race amongst the BCs whose cut-off scores are almost as high as the OCs).
But all that has done the least to compromise “the quality” of the educated class.. The state boasts of some of the stellar entrepreneurs in the country’s younger industries, and the IT sector sees a sizeable representation of Tamilians, from ALL CASTES AND CLASSES.. It is a state where the lower middle class father could very well dream of sending his children to a high profile professional college.. I realized the true empowerment that reservation has given the masses, only after I entered college. In school, though the atmosphere was competitive, the mentality and background of the students used to be similar. Its in college, that I got to see people from different stratas of the society, with different kinds of upbringing, showing the equal amount of logical reasoning and thinking, although sometimes, prowess with the English word was something they couldn’t boast of. They had the same, if not more, amount of zeal and enthusiasm towards learning, and were very original and innovative in their grasp of new concepts.


A couple of my friends who belong to these apparently “backward” classes, have done pretty well throughout their collegiate years and have secured themselves enviable (even amongst meritorious standards) positions in private sectors which don’t have “reservation”. The only worry that plagues them now is they don’t have equally educated men in their caste when it comes to the question of seeking marital alliances.

Quality of education is mainly the responsibility of the educator and the pedagogy involved. It is highly ridiculous to place the onus of keeping up educational standards on the students. If a system of imparting knowledge depends on the student’s potential alone, then the system is very much at flaw and ironically, lacks in quality.

I am not a supporter of mindless vote-bank politics, which does nothing but up the ante on the reservation percentage. Reservation is an area where much thought and planning has to go in. And the present move may or may not include a thorough analysis of the pros and cons, and could even lack in foresight of its own goal and vision. It would serve a larger section of the populace, if the economic ( now more relevant) criteria is also included as a clause. I wouldnt consider myself a puritan supporter of reservation in its currently absolute form.
What had disturbed me is the pseudo-standards with which the reactions to the move came up. Flared by a commercialized and headline-hungry media , misinformed, superficial analysis, I was appalled by the “quality” (forgive the pun) of views and reviews from people whose writing I admire (used to) and adore. Not one bothered to give the other side of the coin, nor did anyone go beyond the calculatively moderate “affirmative actions”.

Disclaimer :

I did not intend to lash out at any particular line of thought. Each one is entitled to his/her own opinions. And so am I.
I did not intend to make this post 'this' long. If you had had the patience to reach till here, I extend my sincere gratitude to you.
I did intend to make this article neutral and tried to adopt a clinical approach to the issue. But I can hear myself puffing and huffing after all the ranting that I have done. My deepest regret at having disappointed myself.

Crucified

Moats of tears
Pillars of pain
Armour of Loss
Safe and secure
No more assaults.
Seen it all
Steeled nerves
Broken beyond
breaking point
Nothing Left
To devastate
Embers extinguished
Resigned to ruin
mute submission
Pledging servility
To its cruel whips
Its hunger insatiable
Back for the last drop
Of Blood and Life
Fate Strikes
Yet again.

- The Lunatic Bard

Thus spaketh my pen.

A fortnight back, one of my room mates came up with a writing assignment for me. Not that my prowess with the written word is known across the seven gutters of Banglore, but simply because she had no time to write it herself ( And I am not going to mention the fact that I have zillions of seconds at my disposal). Some one she knew had come over and narrated an incident that had happened to him/her (In my excitement at getting my first writing offer, I totally missed verifying this vital information.). He/She had wanted my roomie to write a story on that for him/her. And he/she was sitting on my roomie’s head to get it done. And he/she happened to be someone she couldn’t dismiss off with the choicest of expletives. So the buck was passed on to a more than willing victim..

I did it with all gusto and enthusiasm and mailed it to her the very next day. And waited with bated breath for his/her feedback. And waited . And waited. I asked my room mate for any updates on my client’s (!!!) reaction as many times as basic roomies decorum permitted. She gave me her approval of the same, but to me the end customer’s satisfaction is salvation.

As Providence may have it, I never got to experience my Nirvana. But still the desire to be pelted with rotten eggs and tomatoes is too strong for extraordinary immortals (if you are wondering who on earth could this be, its none other than Yours Humbly..) to desist. So I present to you, Ladies and Gentlemen, “With mouth Wide open….” the first story I was commissioned to write. Do be gracious and leave your comments/stinkers/roses and anything else in my blog.

“With mouth Wide open….”

“Hurry, its getting late!”, she hollered across the sea of neat cubicles. “We will miss the last cab home, if you are gonna amble any longer”…
He sighed. Muttering under his breath something unintelligible about all women being nags, he tried to hasten his steps.
Pretty soon, they were seated in a milk-white Indica, cruising through the traffic-free night streets of India’s IT capital.
She lowered the window glass to let in the cool evening breeze. He kept stealing glances at her as the wind ruffled up her long locks.. “Man, doesn’t she look pretty when she puts her face out like a puppy?”… He smiled to himself at this simile.. He had never been good with words..

“Get out !!, Out , I Say!!”… He was jolted back to reality with the cacophony that was raging outside… She was protesting wildly, at someone who was rapping at her window… He hadn’t realized she had drawn up the glass.. The cab had stopped and the driver was standing outside, his face reflecting all signs of impending calamity. A cop was tapping his cane at the window, ordering them to get out of the cab. He hushed her.. “Listen, lets do as he says.. get down”. She calmed down a little, seeing him take charge..

“Where are you guys headed?”, asked the cop.. His eyes were unfriendly, and his slurry speech disguised something sinister.. He could see the fear evident in her eyes.. He himself was slightly unnerved by the sudden interruption, notwithstanding the ungodly hour and the desolate setting.
The driver explained that he was from their company and was dropping them home after the night’s shift.
“Whom are you kidding, you bumble headed moron?” . “Don’t you dare to imagine that I am a half baked dim-wit!!” bellowed the beast in Khaki.
“ No, sir, but sir..” , the driver was groping for the right words to say..
“Open your mouth”, ordered the cop.
“Do as he says”, she screamed, by now a bundle of nerves. He couldn’t help stifling a chuckle, seeing her use his logic.
The driver did as he was ordered to. “Filling yourself with cheap arrack, and driving through the city at late hours , eh? , Wait till I lock you up, and break your bones..”., the cop held up the sobriety meter near the driver’s open mouth.
Silence. Nothing happened.

“Blasted meter, doesn’t work when we want it to”, he shook it with all his might, “Hmmm, open again”.. The driver opened his mouth wide, exposing 32 nicotine stained teeth with all grace. She squirmed at the unearthly sight by the light of the street lamp.
“God-forsaken meter, what s wrong with it tonight?” The cop hit the breath analyzer hard on his fist and held it up near his own mouth.
“BEEP, BEEP, BEEP”, the meter started to beep through the silent night, casting an eerie red light as it glowed.. The cop was flabbergasted. He shook it hard and held it up again,
“BEEP, BEEP, BEEP”.. He burst out laughing.. She shushed him with a fierce hiss..


“What is goin on here?” , An official looking plainclothes man approached the party of four. “Nothing , sir”, “Just the usual checks” , mumbled the flustered cop…

“No, Sir, we were stopped rudely by this constable…..”. The driver somehow found his tongue and narrated the whole outrageous incident at breakneck speed.
The man in mufti heard him out.
“ Hold that meter up to your mouth” , he ordered the constable,. “BEEP,BEEP,BEEP”… The senior cop turned to them, “Sorry, Sir, I apologise for the mistake” “You can leave now , Ma’m”..”Sorry for the trouble”.

“Write down the registration number of the vehicle and you can leave”, he told the driver.

She was too distraught to speak another word, He too kept to himself for the rest of the journey.

The next morning, at work..
She comes up to his cubicle, “Hey, did you read the paper this morning?”.. “No, I didn’t, was in a bit of a hurry.., why anything sensational?” … “Constable suspended for getting drunk on duty and bullying public”.. ..

Both of them chorus a giggle mixed with relief and mirth.. “Life ain’t unjust, after all”,…

The Interpreter

Come March, the mercury soars. Having lost its Garden-city status, Bangalore is no exception to the searing heat that rules the roost in the South of India.
The rising temperature might keep us humans indoors, but the reptilian community of the city seems to find it prudent to venture out. Discomfited by the heat, one particular denizen of our house’s hidden nooks, sought refuge in our bathroom door one fine Friday night.
This lizard, henceforth referred to as liz, (for we* have christened it Elizabeth if female and Lister if male.. And we have absolutely no desire to find out which one is appropriate.) became the sole object of our attention that weekend.

Lizzie Day 1:

Soliloquist comes back to the room late, after a hard day at work (!!) to find S.J cocooned under her quilt. S.J had left work earlier that evening with a fever fiercely competing with the ambient temperature. Soliloquist wants to wash her face and hit the sack, so stumbles her way to the bathroom to be rudely shocked by Lady Liz ( I am assuming that its female, cos I stay in a women’s P.G**) relaxing on the anvil.
Soliloquist is petrified in her tracks, and turns to S.J for help. S.J mumbles something beyond Soliloquist’s intelligence in her infirmed state. Soliloquist tries all sort of antics to scare Liz. Liz is unmoving. Soliloquist calls her chum for advice. He raises her fears by saying that Liz might ve been dead for hours.
Soliloquist turns desperate. Goes down to the landlady for help and assistance. Manages to communicate her anxiety in her broken kanmil ( kannada+tamil). Aunty (that’s what we call her) comes up armed with a broom and prods Liz. Liz spurs to action and moves behind the curtains. Soliloquist is happy . Washes face and snores away to oblivion.

Lizzie Day 2:

Soliloquist plans to work on weekends to make up her lethargy during the week. Double checks for Liz along the bathroom door’s perimeter and steps in the bathroom, at ungodly hours ( i.e on Saturday terms). And scoots off to work. S.J is still asleep under her over-sized quilt.
Soliloquist returns back that evening to find S.J staring at the ceiling lost in thought. Soliloquist surprised to see S.J so pensive and follows her gaze to end up staring in unison at the unfair reptilian beauty of Lady Liz. Soliloquist gets into action on a war footing. Calls an urgent counsel of all her able P.G mates. Everyone seems to have a lizzie tale of their own. An entire family seems to be residing in parallel for free.

End of meeting: Soliloquist more alarmed than usual, S.J looking unusually meditative.


That night.......:


S.J and Soliloquist follow the movements of Lady Liz like shadows. They get on the defensive. (Offense requiring more courage than both of them could ever muster).
The beds are moved to the center of the room. Soliloquist fights valiantly with sleep, having gotten up so early on a Saturday morning. The ever resourceful S.J picks up and M & B from V.N’s *** bed and is soon lost in pinky mush. Soliloquist tries to ape S.J and picks another M & B ( Both our stocks of books being too strenuous to be read in a sleepy state) . Soliloquist soon learns her lesson, the pink and red getting to her head, drops the book and resigns to her fate of keeping watch. Soliloquist is so impressed with herself, she even toys with the idea of being a sentry as if her profession gets any more unrewarding than it already is. A summer storm brews outside, with thunder clapping in applause to Soliloquist’s dedication.
The clock strikes one. The lights go off. Cursing the wretched transformer, Soliloquist and S.J fumble around the menagerie of cosmetics to find the candle on the shelves. Soliloquist resumes her sentry watch, joined by S.J, now having finally given up on M&B owing to poor lighting. Neither talks. The silence speaks volumes. Liz holds them enthralled with her maneuvers. Liz goes and hides behind the lampshade . S.J and and Soliloquist in a quandary. They wait with concentration for Liz to emerge from her hiding. Some thing bright flickers….
AAAAaaaaaagh!!.. Soliloquist screams..
Aaaaaaagh!!! S.J Choruses after a slight phase delay.
S.J stops to think. Soliloquist continues her siren. S.J shakes some sense into Soliloquist. Soliloquist gapes in new found wonder at Edison’s inventions.. The lights have come back… Liz too, scared by the two sopranos wriggles off to some remote corner.. Soliloquist says her wise thing for the day (her quota of one wise thing for the day still being unused) “Out of sight, out of mind”. And slumps down in a heap to snore her lungs away. S.J, still skeptical, plods on with her M&B.

Lizzie Day 3:

Liz is nowhere to be seen. S.J and Solioquist rejoice and thank the heavens. The even celebrate by shopping (!!) in lizzie’s honor. To be better safe than sorry, they lodge a complaint with the landlord. To their dismay, they discover he is as scared as them when it comes to Lady Liz. But as a solace, he offers to send his 2 year old toddler , Madam P , who happens to be an expert exterminator, specializing in Lizards. Soliloquist and S.J stay downstairs for most of the evening watching a deluge of dumb shows on the tube.
S.J finally gathers the guts and goes upstairs. Soliloquist follows with Madam P tagging along, lured by the snacks that S.J stocks up in the room.

Soliloquist is struck with déjà vu. Soliloquist catches S.J in the same pensive posture as on Lizzie Day 2. Both of them turn to Madam P for deliverance, eyes filled with hope. Madam P, oblivious, starts with her usual chime “S.J, Chips Chips chips..” “Chips, give me”..(A literal translation that she makes from kannada, to enhance our comprehension, her own and definitely not mine).

A diabolical gleam flashes across S.J’s eyes. “Madam P, you chase that lizzie away and I shall give your Chips chips chips..”. Soliloquist is bowled over by this master stroke.. Soliloquist filled with awe and admiration for S.J. Makes a mental note to pick up some pointers from S.J sometime later. Madam P marches across the beds to Lady Liz’s lair. And shrieks in her baby voice “Palli, Go”.. She repeats her cry with more vehemence and swings both her tiny arms to emphasize her point. And Lo!, , Palli (Lizard in kannada) obeys her command and does her bidding…

S.J and soliloquist heave a sigh of relief. Soliloquist utters her wise thing for the day “ Ahh, now I get it.. the Lizard was a kannada speaking one.. It didn’t understand our language.. All we needed was an interpreter”. They handsomely reward Madam P for her services, with “Chips, chips, chips”…




***** :
We*: S.J and Soliloquist
P.G**: Paying Guests
V.N***: Another roomie, who is fond of M&Bs and who was out of town for the weekend.

****: the astrixes are part of a novel strategy to reduce my talking in brackets.

A Kiss

Shrieking Still
Dark Night
Trial of will
And all his might

Frantic paces
Burning torture
His mind races
Heart in rapture

The stray twirl
The soft glance
Set him in a whirl
An eternal trance

She lay awake
Beads of sweat
A lot at stake
Desires whet

This is the moment
Of gain and loss
No time to lament
Fate’s own toss

He waits
She alights
Wolf cries
In the woods

He calls
She responds
A kiss






“Goodnight Papa”
She lies on her bed
A kiss
On her forehead

Dreams caress
Palls of slumber
Ruffling tresses
Sleep drowns her




The silent night
Wolf cries
In the woods
And he waits……

- The Lunatic Bard

Eyes opened..

There are things in life which can show you how big a fool you have been.. when realisation strikes, instinct devolops a shell to protect from further hurt and pain.. Seeking contentment in solitude... Becoming a rock of glass...

A song which I dedicate to myself ...

I am a Rock - Simon and Garfunkel

A winter’s day
In a deep and dark december;
I am alone,
Gazing from my window to the
streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
I’ve built walls,
A fortress deep and mighty,
That none may penetrate.
I have no need of friendship;
friendship causes pain.
It’s laughter and it’s loving I
disdain.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
Don’t talk of love,
But I’ve heard the words before;
It’s sleeping in my memory.
I won’t disturb the slumber of
feelings that have died.
If I never loved I never would have
cried.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within
my womb.
I touch no one and no one
touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries.

I am an Indian

Of late there has been a great amount of publicity for the neo-national spirit.
Movies like Rang – De –Basanti impacting the target audience in a profound manner. Just last week, I had a tea-break chat, with a friend of mine who has been pretty keen on advancing his education abroad. For all that I know of him, he was one chap who was very focused on his career beyond the shores of this country, and had a fairly well-planned strategy for achieving his goals. But what amused me was this guy who seemed so hell-bent on his dreams, was moved to the extent of reconsidering his choice, after watching a 3 hour flick. He went on to watch the movie a coupla times more, in different geographic locations as well. The dude joined an online fan group of the movie and was roused enough to start a blog and put up a review. I was amazed by the amount of influence a movie can have on a person.
Yet another acquaintance of mine made a similar career move and went on to work in the rural stretches of India, after being influenced by the movie Swades. As time and fate had it, he realized that he had burnt his fingers, and is right now considering a time-tested career path. But, nevertheless kudos to his courage to try and be different.
I haven’t seen either of the movies, and I am no authority on the quality of work in this form of art/expression. What these, movies have managed to do, is kindle the dormant desire in the youth of today, to make the difference.
Nationalistic fervor of yesteryears was something which needed a leader, and icon to inspire. But patriotism in today’s flat world has a different dimension, all together. Our youth force is as competent and ambitious as any other across the globe. People are no longer tied by stigmas and the economy seems to have empowered them with a sound financial backing. Knowledge has acquired fluidity throughout the lengths and breadths of the country and information travels faster than wind. Today’s men and women are able to think on their feet and have the guts to question tradition.
But, their apathy to take up the onus kept things at a stale-mate. And the ones that did take it up, didn’t (and still don’t) clearly know what they had taken up and what they were to encounter in their path. They don’t need a leader, they need a movement.
The system has become ridden with miscreants who look upon it as a never-ending mine of gold. Youth of today know what ruin these shenanigans had brought in their wake. They are well-armed in resisting the lure of moolah, and in keeping the system going ahead.
Its good to see that group of the best brains of the nation have launched a political party. But though they have been highly appreciated, much remains to be seen. Lets hope they aren’t just a bunch of charged up individuals, who after the pet project, (something that would end being an inconspicuous fine print in their resume), land up in some multi national biggie with a fat pay packet.

People who took on the system alone, sticking by their principles ended up resting their heads on soft earth, six feet down under. ( I am not including a hyperlink here, because I hope memories of such horror stay afresh and don’t need any recollection). This was a colossal set back to the bright starry eyed intelligentsia, which gets disillusioned when its brethren of excellent educational background, find not only their intellects but also their lives becoming feed to the political predators.

The will to stay on and make the difference is resident in each and every individual. Even the one’s that have chosen the escape route to greener pastures are likely to come back and do their part, once things start rolling. The system at hand, is filled with unimaginable filth. One or two idealistic rookies cant change the world over night. Before sowing the seeds of a new era, the weeds have to be cleared. A silent war needs to be waged. Somebody has to do the dirty work, someday. Why not we and why not today? Our children may not remember us for what we have done, but we shall go to our graves with our heads held high.

Sometime back, I had to stand in the queue in Chennai to reserve tickets for my impending train journey. There was a snag in the network and the queue started to build up. People were clinging on to their positions with all their might.
There was a slight commotion in the senior citizen’s counter. A mini-racket had taken shape. Some “young-at heart" man had started a debate and the rest of them were passionately getting into the ring. One particularly effervescent grey haired personality, who was the next to get to the counter, got up from his seat, walked all the way to the end of the line, to prove his point. From the bits of conversation that came wafting, I was able to conjure upon a vague picture of some civic issue that needed attention.

The senior citizens of Chennai have always been a very active lot. Anywhere they meet lackadaisical attitude, they will “write to THE HINDU”. They share their concerns in any scenario, be it the morning walk in the beach, the chance wait-together in the bank, the post-office and so on and so forth. Despite the rude remarks from the other end “ Ei Perusu, velaiya pathutu poga maata?” translated as “ Mind your business, old man”..
Perhaps they have seen more of life, or maybe since they have all the time in the world, and have come the full circle in their personal lives that they can now afford to digress and think of the society as well.

Why should anyone wait till their youngest daughter gets married and bears grandchildren to start thinking of their locality/society/city/state and the country?
Why cant we teach a little bit of social consciousness in our schools along with the novel ideas of educating them in the share market early on?

Heavy rock and other similar genre of music generally scores a hit with the rebel in everyone. A sense of liberation is can be experienced through music and words. Its time to realize the same kind of emancipation in action.

Every walk of life needs to be revolutionalised with a common ideal in mind, which is what the Government is ideally supposed to be doing.

Not too long ago, I had caught up with an old friend of mine. We were into the topic of philosophy, God, et al. He quoted some western schools, and their tenets to prove his point. I accept, without shame, that I am blissfully unaware of all such things. But one thing that disturbed me was the fact that even for philosophizing one needs to look upon the west. Why is anything and everything that’s oriental, considered backward and decadent? I fully appreciate a mingling of cultures, a seamless blend of the East and the west. But why don’t we accept if not appreciate our own, as an alternative? Is it because of the fact that familiarity breeds contempt?

These are just random thoughts which I thought I could pen down. In one of my previous blogs, I had posted a poem ("Dare I dream") on similar lines. Wonder why I keep doing an encore of writing on the need for action, without actually acting upon anything.. Sigh!, Afterall, I am Indian.

The Prey

Dead and Depressing
Numb under the oppressing
Insipid grayness
Rip up the layers
Reveal the masqueraders
Filth, decadent ignominy
Venom dipped in honey
Odium in forms so many
Beasts ready for the kill
Suck your blood, they will
But never enough to their fill
Wriggle under their clasp
Struggle to free their grasp
Flee, run and gasp
Trapped in their milling mob
Looted with nothing left to rob
Frozen without blood to throb
Remember, your lot is to feed
Their undying, perennial need
No soul would come to your heed.
The Lord’s design is thus,
So make never any fuss,
Die Living you mus’.

- The Lunatic Bard.