I was a dumb punk kid with nothing to lose

Here I am, where I've been

I’ve walked a hundred miles in tobacco skin,
And my clothes are worn & gritty.
And I know ugliness,
Now show me something pretty.

I was a dumb punk kid with nothing to lose
And too much weight for walking shoes.
I could have died from being boring.
As for loneliness,
She greets me every morning.

At the most I’m a glare,
I’m the hopeless son who’s hardly there.
I’m the open sign that’s always busted.
I’m the friend you need, but can’t be trusted.

At the most I’m a glare,
I’m the hopeless son who’s hardly there.
I’m the open sign that’s always busted.
I’m the friend you need, but can’t be trusted.

Here I am, where I’ve been
I’ve walked a hundred miles in tobacco skin,
And my clothes are worn & gritty.
And I know ugliness,
Now show me something pretty.


At the most I'm a glare
I’m the hopeless son who’s hardly there.
I’m the open sign that’s always busted.
I’m the friend you need, but can’t be trusted.

At the most I’m a glare,
I’m the hopeless son who’s hardly there.
I’m the open sign that’s always busted.
I’m the friend you need, but can’t be trusted.

Threads that bind

The taxi driver insists he didn't take us for a ride - we insist otherwise. It's almost 4.00 a.m. and we begin to wonder if this is really worth the headache. There's a day ahead and this can't be the beginning of it. We wake up the whole household only to turn in ourselves - not many mind, but that's probably because not many are awake.

But you do wake up to the noise - both in your head and outside. You go down and survey the scene - some are there, some yet to arrive. You sit down with her and the two of you grin. It's been two months and although there's not a whole lot to catch up on, it's still good to be with her, see her run around and stir people into action.

You walk around in a daze, sleep deprived and a little hungry. Lunch will be ready soon, don't worry, she says. You know that it will be ready soon - it's always ready soon. She walks over to the balcony and yells through the grills "Ah Lalitha, cheppu" and proceeds to converse in yells and screams to the lady downstairs. Houses are practically stuck together and the neighbors can definitely hear the conversation, but no one cares. Why bother going down when your legs ache? She and I have worked out a system that works, she says. You grin and walk away - c'est la vie.

Lunch is served - it's the universal favorite - baigan.

**

You wake up less dazed but more confused - there's a lot of noise as people bustle about purposefully (or aimlessly, if you ask her). A trickle leads to a downpour that gives way to a deluge as everyone descends and total chaos reigns. Yet, in the midst of this chaos, knowing smiles are flashed, greetings exchanged, past incidents reminisced as echoes of laughter and the cacophony of noise fill the room. There is no respite from the overwhelming noise but there is an escape - perhaps into familiarity?

They crowd around the dinner table and continue animatedly in their discussions - politics, school, family gossip and relationship statuses. It's like Facebook in real time, with real people and a real conversation. The noise continues to hover around us all and as they serve the baigan on your plate, you look around and wonder - maybe this isn't a daze.

**

You have to wake up by 3.00 a.m., which inevitably means you worry about oversleeping. It's a big day, you're the center of attention and you don't want to screw it up by doing something so amateurish. Waking up on the hour, every hour can't be good, but you do it anyway - underneath that calm exterior, you're a control freak and you worry about slipping. As the hour approaches, you descend down and break a sleepy haze as people warm up to the events that are about to unfold. She's already up - has she even slept? Fresh as a daisy, but perhaps that's the adrenaline rush as the plans for the past two months come to pass. There aren't many happy faces as the pictures are snapped - but you also imagine that there aren't many happy faces in the houses stuck next to you as the band plays what can only be charitably described as a wooden elephant's trumpet. Which is accompanied by an accordion. And a dholak.  All at full pelt. And it's not yet 4.00 a.m.

You move through the day, doing as you're told because you really don't know what else to do. You don't care, but you pretend do. And for once, that's okay - not knowing and pretending to enjoy it all isn't such a big deal. Ignorance is bliss? Perhaps. You need to let go of certain things to maintain sanity.  As the smoke fills your eyes and they water, you look up to see the faces. In a bigger hall, they don't seem as many as they were at home and yet, they're all there. All of them. You stop for a second and repeat that again - They're all there. All of them.

Perhaps the second most poignant moment comes near the end when one of the elders walks up to her and confesses that this is a day he never asked for but was gifted nonetheless - seeing all the family together under one roof in happy times. Happiness is found when you least expect it. Those words stick... and stick... and are still stuck.

The most poignant moment is the 60th birthday celebrations - uncalled for, completely unexpected and surprisingly unbelievable. The  genuine emotion on display - happiness and gratitude as your uncle announces that his little brother crossed 60 (little brother - 60) - is palpable, as is the acknowledgment of past efforts in more trying circumstances, the meaning of family and the presence of friends. You go through most of your adult life wondering why they ever bothered with the bonds. As you sit down to lunch, the banana leaf spread out, you can't help but continue to wonder.... right up to the moment they serve you baigan on the white rice.

**

The city lies naked below you - lines of yellow snaking between buildings, the roads and alleys crowded with vehicles. But the crowds are far away and therefore more tolerable. It took you both two hours to make a forty minute journey but you don't mind the traffic anymore. The vista below is a picture filed away in memory only, something that you both may look back on in the future - he in quiet contemplation, you in deep thought. You both look down and you know he, like you, wishes for better times, and you know his, unlike yours, is a greater need. He looks down wistfully one last time, turns around to you and says that perhaps its time you both made it back home. They would be waiting for us. You agree and as you head back, crawling along the roads, you wish you could tell him that better times were just around the corner. But you don't, because it doesn't seem like something brand new to him - he's heard it all before. As you wash up, sit down and stare into nothing, your gaze is draw to the plate below, and the baigan on it. The grocer needs to be fired...

**

You wake up again at 4.00 a.m. - why? There's nothing to do today. As you tip-toe around the snoring bodies sprawled across the floor, you remember those who aren't there. Those too far away. Those in a better place than you are right now. And you don't remember them wistfully at all - they would've been happy to be there, but they're happier where they are.

You sit down for lunch and she serves you baigan. She has a smile on her face and she looks happy - happier than she's been in years. And so are you, just to see that infectious smile again. Your thoughts turn to leaving, but you're not running away this time. You just have nothing more to do there so it's better to be in a different place.

**

You're at the airport but you can't anymore make one of the calls you normally make. You try to call home, but the network is busy. For some reason, the combination of the two upsets you for a little while. So much for telecoms in India. You finally get through to home and for some reason it feels like you've not spoken to them or seen them in ages. Very silly really, but you felt it nonetheless. You hang up, sit back and reflect... your distant past, the recent past, the past two days.... And you ponder about the future as you sieve through your thoughts. As you land, you think - maybe you'll have McDonald's for dinner.

**

Why is it that we embrace diversity in all aspects of our lives but our relationships? Why do we seek the comfort of someone who fits our norm? Why do we believe that we know the right way forward and try to fit everything into that path - much like square pegs in round holes, only that the pegs are people, the holes are life's journey and this isn't some camping expedition? Relationships are tricky things - we expect a lot from them but we feel burdened by expectations from them. They can infuriate you like no other, driving you to tears. Yet they can also make you laugh so hard that you shed the same tears in joy. The best relationships are grounded in the unconditional acceptance of the other, regardless of the behavior on show.

It may the behavior that makes a 50-year old woman do an Elvis shuffle in a sari right in the middle of a prayer to spice things up. It could be the pranks pulled on by the daughters-in-law of the household to pretend that a 60-year old man is remarrying his wife of thirty three years again in a mock ceremony, serenading them with cheesy love songs as the "bashful bride" coyly shies away as he garlands her. It could also be that kiss on the forehead that's shared in front of everyone. Or it could be all of it mashed up as one. Seeing all that makes you realize one thing - despite the pettiness that sometimes engulfs us, despite the pain of dealing with idiosyncratic behavior, despite the untold sufferings of nights gone by, you never run away from a person you love - you run to them. You fight tooth and nail for them, sometimes to be with them, because you would want them to do the same for you when the chips are down. In the end, that's what all relationships boil down to - the ability to depend on the other come rain or sun: Reliability. Security. Stability. Something you can retreat to in silence if you want to, or take a mile-a-minute if the mood grips you. And you've seen it work - you worked for it as much as you could.

You ought to get all of that at home, but the funny thing is, not many people can really define what home is. Someone once said that home is a place where you feel safe and comfortable - it has more to do with the people there rather than the place itself. However, to place so much faith in people raises questions - they would have to be willing to assume that responsibility, to be there all the time you need them and never walk out on you. With what seems to be a shaky ground, perhaps it would be more reasonable to hypothesize a home as something you build on your own? A home is more than a place of comfort and safety - it's a haven. It's a place where you can batten down the hatches if you need to or express yourself if you feel it. It is your sanctuary - why should it be left to others to provide it? True stability, love and peace in a relationship comes from being stable, in love and at peace with yourself. There's a saying that's oft repeated "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you". That could also be applied to expectations - expect of others what you would have them expect of you. Build your own home and you let those you love in - you let them redecorate the walls, color it with their touch and make them feel welcome. And do the same at theirs. Then maybe, just maybe, you find what you're looking for in others to complete you. So that you may complete them.

**
The original title of  this post was supposed to be Lawaris (meaning orphan or one without roots) - but as I wrote it, I felt more of a sense of belonging. So I went for a completely opposite title. I think it suits it better. 

 

Patience

You wish there was some way to calm your mind
Slow your heart
Take a deep breath and sigh

You wish there was some way to erase your thoughts, your emotions
Just for a little while
So that the bliss you seek, you may find

Then you wish you could undo it all again, only to restart.. Calm mind, slow heart, deep breath and clear thoughts... then bliss...

Midnight...

Jab jab dard ka baadal chhaya
Jab gham ka saya lehraaya
Jab aansoon palkon tak aaya
Jab yeh tanha dil ghabraaya
Hum ne dil ko yeh samjhaya
Dil aakhi tu kyun rota hai?
Duniya mein yun hi hota hai
Yeh jo gehre sannate hain
Waqt ne sabko hi baante hain
Thoda gham hai sabka qissa
Thodi dhoop hai sabka hissa
Aankhj teri bekaar hi nam hai
Har pal ek naya mausam hai
Kyun tu aise pal khota hai
Dil aakhir tu kyun rota hai

It's hard not to pick up your phone and call when you want to...

Blue, with no cloud cover

A return to blogging after a brief hiatus (time is all about perspective – one man's brief is another's lifetime… Please, no puns on undergarments and changing time to line) is never easy. Primarily because it means returning to creativity in one of its most meaningful forms and that is something I find daunting. Not because I feel I could never do it, but because I'm afraid I cannot any longer. The creative part of my work life is limited to fancy boxes and charts on PowerPoint presentations. Poetic license is shunned, and rightly so, in favor of economy of speech and brevity of disclosure. I prefer this to jargons being bandied about, mainly because I don't get most of the them as they make no sense and the ones that I do understand are not relevant in the contexts they are used. It may be that school is not cool, but trying to be cool with "buzzwords" (say that with a French accent, it's infinitely funnier) is not the way to go either.

However, and by a curious coincidence, a recent exercise at work required me to flex the thus far hidden creative section of the grey matter, and it suffices to say that I totally stunk up the place. By virtue of being almost PowerPoint exclusive, my ability to be brief reached such new levels of efficiency that I was more adept at using 10 words to describe an event that could equally be described in 20 words. Now, this may be confusing, but I challenge you, especially those who spend their lives paraphrasing and summarizing, to engage in the exact opposite. Things that were second nature to you in high school suddenly become not so second nature – my description of the sky on a typical, non-Middle Eastern summer's day, would be "Blue, with no cloud cover". In high school, I would be encouraged to write "A clear, cloudless sky of light blue punctuated with the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves". Brevity deems that birds and trees do not explain the sky, but it also dictates that the description could be of any bloody day in the year that wasn't cloudy.

So I return to blogging in the vain attempt to reconnect with a past that allowed me to write with a semblance of creativity, certainly better than "Blue, with no cloud cover", all the while ensuring that I refrain from work related rants and exposés. The latter is easy – I think I enjoy my job sufficiently to rant in speech rather than the written word; the former, not so. However, just because it is not easy, let it not be an obstacle to the endeavor – I shall try my best to prove, that the pen is indeed mightier than the sword, punctuated with thousand-word pictures along the way (See what I did there – I replaced jargons with idioms <<insert cool look>>).

In the effort to return back to what it was, the blogging experience should be about moving forward, both in context and content. It is in the shower, the birthplace of all great and good ideas, where I've come to realize that I may have spent a significant portion of my "me-time" over the past five years looking back. I've re-read a significant number of books and re-watched a significant number of TV shows that I had already re-read and re-watched a significant number of times before. Having a personal and digital library (both books and video) has benefits, but they should come with a disclaimer. If you do not add to either, you may be left poorer for the experience. And add I shall, slowly at first and more to the books section rather than the video. I've not always been a fan of TV and it takes a good show, such as the newly commenced Newsroom with Jeff Daniel (who continues to surprise me), to really draw me to it. I hope that it remains this way. However, I hope not to return to things or experiences that are cozy to me, but make a significant move to embracing new experiences and perhaps enjoying more things in life than I've done so in the recent past.

It may be that I blog in fits and spurts, it may be that I blog regularly. I do not know, but in this case, the good thing about me not knowing is that no one else is left at the edge of a cliff. I've not written in years, so I do not think anyone has missed it. However, if you have, I sincerely thank you for your patience – I perhaps do not deserve it, but more importantly, a simple thank you may never be enough to show my gratitude.

New readers, welcome; old hands, welcome back. And if nobody reads this, I shall stoically console myself with an old Chinese saying: "If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, has it really fallen?"

I usually embed lyrics in my posts – lyrics that hold meaning to me and are relevant to the topic. I cannot lay claim to the creation of the lines below; that belongs to Mr. Frank Sinatra

"Blue skies, smilin' at me

Nothin' but blues skies do I see

Bluebirds singing a song

Nothin' but bluebirds all day long

Never saw the sun shinin' so bright

Never saw things goin' so right

Noticin' the days hurrying by

When you're in love, my how they fly"

Clearly, he had a better professional life than I did...

Onwards and upwards, as they say…             

Quote of the year

"It's like comparing Apples with CAMELS!"

Say it in a 60 year-old French man's voice, and you'll understand why some days are just worth it at work...

My Darling... where art thou?

As opposed to being the year of the rat, 2008 might as well be the year of the dog/bitch and every other animal that is a metaphorical representation of getting screwed over.

The Bears couldn't handle the Stearn tests of credit markets and were the first to topple over, only to be rescued by nickel-and-Dim(e)on, Jamie (no, I didn't sit down and think about that...It just came to me...). Lehman's Brothers-in-arms weren't of much help either, but Hank's a-Paul(son)-ing mistake was along the lines of a Shakespearean tragedy for the financial markets. Letting them fail could perhaps be one of the worst "let market dynamics take over" decisions that any person could ever take. Merrill's bullherd followed soon, with BofA being benevolent enough to snap up a financial monstrosity on the cheap and beef up their presence. So, from the big 5, we were left with 2 pillars standing amongst the ruins... but not for long... Goldman and Morgan have bailed out of the solely Investment Banking model, leaving a once proud industry in tatters in the space of 14 months... With due respect to the people of New Orleans, Hurricane Katrina couldn't have created as much damage.

Governments have denied recession, then, rather than acknowledging it openly, quickly did a u-turn and have decided to combat it. Funny old game, politics is. A much maligned ex-Chancellor of the Exchequer-turned PM rose to be the savior of the Eurozone for all of one week, before optimism waned and pessimism took over... and hasn't let gone still. Black gold hit the highs of the Himalayas and now is camped somewhere at the foothills of Jebal Al Dukkan (I've lived in Bahrain long enough to know its exact dimensions). Biggie sang about Mo Money, Mo Problems, but it's now a case of no money, mo problems...

So all is bad, nothing is good. We are still living, and learning, but living nonetheless. And from the ashes of this somber mood comes the following conversation (well, actually, it didn't. It happened one morning when we bother were bored, but I think I had a more dramatic version going):

Interesting tidbit when chatting with a Twenty-something-person With Interesting Trysts (TWIT) (see, I can come up with acronyms too)

TWIT: Sara Suhail has requested to add the tag:
my darling....Simmu
Would you like to approve this tag request? (Facebook talk)

me: umm...simmu?

TWIT: someone who only [Edit:a common friend] knows... why do i get all these random people sending me even more random things?

her darling

me: ...

TWIT: and it's a pic of [Edit: Another common friend] going on stage with a bunch of ladies/girls

me: ah?

TWIT: so i can't tell WHO has been tagged

me: hehe

okay

TWIT: in any case, i'm ignoring it because it'll look like simmu is *my* darling

if i accept the tag

me: LOL

:D

TWIT: what?

i'm serious

me: yes yes

i know

TWIT: i wasn't saying it to be funny

me: it just was :)

TWIT: You have ignored a photo tag of my darling....Simmu.

ugh, it looks stupid in rejection too

me: hehehehehe

i'm sorry

this is an amusing turn of conversation

Looks like it's not a cheery season in the Simmu household. Why reject the feelings of someone? I'm sure Simmu is sitting in some corner, heartbroken and wondering what to do with life now that her tag has been rejected.

In other news, following his blogpost, I decided to go check out what I would be.

Get Your Cyborg Name

Apparently, I am *clearing throat and in an Arnie impression* A TERMINATOR! Affirmative! There's a kid who needs to be saved, so I should suck my belly in, don my shades and leather jacket, commandeer a Harley, and be on my way. No Problemo!

And keeping with the movie theme, a new year is upon us, so I'll leave you with what Humphrey Bogart said to Ingrid Bergman... "Here's lookin' at you, kid"... maybe things won't be so bad after all...

Hastalavista... baby....

Answering her Unanswerables

Eyes wide open- Travis

All these visions in my head
shoot the gunner baby for the watershed
some are live and some are dead
makes no diferrence when they're in your head...head

Keep the door open a crack
so I can see then when they attack
some are white and some are black
makes no difference when they're on your back

And I can't stop crying
And I can't stop trying
'Cause the day is dying...dying...dying
With my eyes wide open

Kept the sheep jumping the fence
so I can see teepers when I'm feeling tense
disbelieve hung in suspense
I die down with my own defense

And I can't stop crying
And I can't stop trying
'Cause the day is dying...dying...dying
With my eyes wide open

All these visions in my head
shoot the gunner baby for the watershed
some are live and some are dead
makes no difference when they're in your head

And I can't stop crying
And I can't stop trying
'Cause the day is dying...dying...dying
With my eyes wide open

So, I was randomly going through Her blog and found this post, so I've decided to respond... why? I don't know... let's put this in the 'searching for life's answers' category, shall we?

1) People weren’t thinking, were they? But, it’s like a fad… things run their course. It’ll probably be the same with the yuppie look, and it’s the same with ladies, come to think of it. In the 50’s and 60’s, wide hips were indicative of sexuality. Now it’s the hour glass figure where hips are narrow (or not as broad).

2) Well, human beings are inherently incapable of satisfaction. So it’s not humanly possible, but it is possible. You just have to be a dog that has his bone and a scratch on the head, or are dead… I guess that’s eternal satisfaction (unless you’re Hindu…)

3) No, they’re not. They never were, and neither is her 6-pack. It must be a Jackson trait… they might even use the same surgeon… something like a family discount.

4) A good parent realizes that they are not wardens, and don’t own their children. It has to be a relationship, much like between a man and a woman. The rest then falls in place neatly. Then again, good is defined by whose standards? The child? Or the parent? Again, rather subjective, but I guess the first sentence would hold in either case.

5) Hindus believe in hell because that’s where the Rakshas’ emerged from, and apparently Sri Lanka is the gateway to hell. Don’t tell Mafaz that. They don’t believe that sinners go there, but they believe evil emanates from there (much like Lucipher and the fallen angel story). And that’s where Rakshas’ go back when they are banished. So, I guess the story is for them, and recited to us because they ran out of other stories. You want to tell Mafaz now, don’t you? (If you don't know Mafaz, the joke is lost on you)

6) Hmmm… now, that’s wishful thinking. Depends on his diet, his addiction to booze, and his general lifestyle. Sean Connery had the added advantage of being the sexiest man on the planet, so he had vested interest in keeping up that image.

7) This is a classic “grass is greener on the other side” example. The western world is more acceptable of casual sex. Indians, for the very large majority, are still frigid and actually do it missionary style. So anyone who doesn’t is either a sex goddess or a hussy like Bridget Jones. In the US, they all like variety, and enviously glance at our sculptures and wish they were immortalized for sexual acts. If they keep it up, they just might.

8) The Gods tempt us only to deceive. Pairs are never meant to be together, not the least when you’re in a rush. Something about paying for a lack of organization. Now, this begs the question: when were you in a rush to don your panty hose?

9) Simple: take the average IQ of all the men in the world.

10)She has fans?

11)Again, this is rather related to the whole stereotype of men/women and being confident. Broad shoulders are taken as a sign of an assertive personality, and someone who’ll be taken seriously. Now, naturally, women aren’t gifted with the broad physique (for the majority), so enhancements of the non-permanent nature were devised as a welcome solution.

12)If gay was okay, and straight was not, it wouldn’t be categorized as such, would it? See, being straight derives from normal sexual preference, but normal sexual preference is being homosexual, not attracted to the opposite sex. So, you would actually be straight, and being gay would then be falling in love with the opposite sex. You would still be a taboo, for most societies. It would make procreation a problem though, a very serious one.

13)No they didn’t. Else, they would’ve cremated and carried their secrets with them into non-existence. (It normally would be taking it to their grave, but that’s the issue, isn’t it?). I don’t think we’re that sophisticated or advanced. Everyone knows everything about everyone else, so no need to really exhume people for the heck of it.

14)Okay, so this is an unanswerable. I could tell you what dogs are thinking of though, not cats.

15)More sensitive nerve endings and more twitch muscles. Normally, if you work out a lot and build muscle (tonic muscle) or grow fat, you lose that sensitivity. Also, developing a good sucker punch generally puts rest to you being the example of ticklishness. If you believe all that, man alive, you deserve to be conned. If I am correct about all that, man alive... I should get an award.

16)Stress, strain and a generally depressing life. T.V. shows violence, people have lots of skeletons in several closets, George Bush is a powerful man… the list is endless. So being depressed is the in thing, nay, the only thing. Plus, apparently, neon lights have a big role to play. The brightness stunts brain development and makes people more irritable. Something to chew on…

17)Hmmm… the female form is more attractive. Two of them, doubly attractive. Three of them… you see where this is going? Penises are not as attractive as breasts. They hang, shrunken and shriveled up, and have to be kick started (not literally, please) to get to work.

18)Because Cassius Clay just doesn’t ring the same bell, does it? Nom de plumes are what people know you by. Rajeev Bhatia is a very popular Hindi film actor. And he goes by another name. Let me know if you figure out who he is.

19)Yes, actually. Put an ice cube there, with your mouth on it, and you’ll reap the benefits over the next 40-50 minutes.

20)A misnomer. They’re not French; they’re Belgian (apparently). One more reason for them to start bickering. It’ll keep the UN in that part of the world busy at least. They seem to have very little to do in either area. And the name came because people in the US can’t describe stuff, so they say fried potato pieces by the Belgian as French fried food, or French fries.

21)Unchained melody is actually a song for an obscure film called Unchained. Deep meanings, huh?

22)The exact opposite of a black hole, with no event horizon. That’s all I understand of it. For more reference, maybe I should introduce you to Wikipedia. Then again, maybe I don’t need to

23)I don’t know about that one. George Bush would be murdered, not assassinated… even though he’s supposedly important. I guess if people give a damn about you, that should matter more than fame.

24)They probably don’t… don’t think they have the same reflex response as other creatures. Puppies sneeze… they sound cute when they do. And they look lost as well.

25)That criminal genius would be the Saharan African tribesman who wore it for easy maneuverability when hunting. Also, the women liked seeing their men’s buns hanging out. Turned them on or something

So, there you have it... 24/25 answered. Not bad, if I say so myself. Which I do. While I bid thee goodbye, I shall pat myself on the back for this accomplishment.

Edit: Houseism:

Cuddy: You think I want the cameras? You think I want the whole world watching you check out my ass... question my wardrobe?

House: Would it be better if I checked out your wardrobe and questioned your ass?

Epiphany... behind the wheel...

Glorious Day- Embrace

Who could send something so pure to lure me away
I fought the last of my breath
But you came along on a glorious day
By the time that you left I was crawling again
Yeah you came along on a glorious day
Now I want you to save me again

Ooh oooh ohhh

The fire that they said would burn just lights up the way
I lie in the place where I fell
And three years on this nine day wonder won't go away
Till you bring an end to my hell

But you came along on a glorious day
By the time that you left I was crawling again
Yeah you came along on a glorious day
Now I want you to save me again

Let them all keep their plans
Cos all I want is in my hands
And I can't look down
Back then I had it all, now I want it back that's all
And I can't get out

Ooh oooh ohhh

You came along, on a glorious day
By the time that you left
I was crawling again
Yeah you came along on a glorious day
Now I want you to save me again
Now I want you to save me again
Now I want you to save me again

I was driving the other day and I heard Joan Osbourne mournfully dole out If God was one of us and it got me thinking...

If God had a name, what would it be? And would you call it to his face if you were faced with him in all his glory? What would you ask if you had just one question? (These are the opening lyrics of the song, not my questions...).

Interesting, isn't it?

Money talks... so does bullshit

Heroes- The Wallflowers

I, I wish you could swim
Like the dolphins, like dolphins can swim
Though nothing, nothing will keep us together
We can beat them, for ever and ever.

We can be Heroes, just for one day.

I, I will be king
And you, you will be queen
Though nothing, nothing will drive them away
We can be Heroes, just for one day
We can be us, just for one day

I, I remember standing, by the wall
And the guns, shot above our heads
And we kissed, as though nothing could fall
And the shame, was on the other side
Oh we can beat them, for ever and ever

Then we could be Heroes, just for one day

We can be Heroes
We can be Heroes
We can be Heroes
We can be Heroes
Just for one day

Bring out the pom-poms, wave the jhandas and yell at the top of your voice: victory is sweet. Savor it, for it may be another false dawn, much like what several sporting memories have been for this harrowed nation. For all the double-digit growth this country has had economically (and demographics-wise), India as a sporting nation is starved of success. As a nation, we perhaps stand for the exact opposite of success breeds success. All it breeds is a burden of history, a burden weighing down many a mighty career. But, that’s not the issue here.

It was nice to hear the Pakistanis, each to a man, acknowledge the opposition in defeat. It’s the true hallmark of close sporting challenges that the vanquished opponent stands up and says, “Well fought. You were the better man today.” To that, I doff my cap, but put it firmly in place for the ensuing events. Money has for long been the name of the game, and just how big a name was shown today. In a show that can be described as farcical at best, and a PR fiasco at worst, the BCCI announced a $2 million bonus for the Indian cricket team, this on top of the $1 million that the organizers were handing out as prize money. That’s $3 million split 22 ways, unless you are named Yuvraj Singh, because if you are, add another 10 million rupees on top of that. Not a bad effort for 2 weeks worth of bashing the ball around. Alarm bells are ringing. While it is undoubtedly a stirring riposte to all those who wrote off the Men in Blue (yes, remember those ad campaigns for the world cup?), $2 million?? 10 million rupees for bashing six sixes in an over?

Granted, they played out of their skins. It’s not like they did it for free. Granted it was a backs-to-the-wall job, but then again, if you play shit, where do you expect to be? The bookies aren’t going to place you as odds-on favorite unless you are odds-on favorites. Wonder what would the extra prize money would be if India lost? Now, I may seem like the-cup-is-half-empty but all I ask is for realism. It’s a victory and let it be a spring board for more. Compensating them with twice the prize money of the tournament is just plain stupid. It’s like your boss walking up to you and saying: I hired you as a troubleshooter, you shot out all the troubles, here’s thrice your salary for doing the job that I promised to pay you a fair salary for in the first place. And it could’ve been announced at any other point, not at the presentation ceremony in front of a gallant team that played its guts out and lost by a whisker. I bet there are a fair few in the green and yellow of Pakistan wondering what it would take to get that sort of money in their lives.

Money talks, bullshit walks. I remember Danny DeVito telling this line to Arnold Schwarzenegger (damn name is so hard to spell) in a movie. I never understood it then (I was a kid) but it has to be modified today: the bullshit talks as well. The BCCI is well known for knee-jerk reactions, and this could very well be another one in what is already a very long list. The nonsense that has come out of that office in the last 2 decades leaves people wondering where the next fiasco will come from. Yet, when they talk, everyone else listens. It’s a pity they don’t listen to themselves.

But for now, the streets of Delhi, Bombay and Bangalore will still be awash with people and color singing to ‘Chak De India’, dancing in gullies and streets, sharing the joy. And they should mirror that sentiment in Peshawar, Islamabad, and Karachi, because there is no shame in Pakistan’s performance. It takes two to make a match, and if the coin flipped the other way, no one would begrudge the winners then, as no one does now.

Snow White’s Seven Stooges... my version

Late for the Sky- Jackson Browne

The words had all been spoken
And somehow the feeling still wasn’t right
And still we continued on through the night
Tracing our steps from the beginning
Until they vanished into the air
Trying to understand how our lives has led us there

Looking hard into your eyes
There was nobody I’d ever known
Such an empty surprise to feel so alone

Now for me some words come easy
But I know that they don’t mean that much
Compared with the things that are said when lovers touch
You never knew what I loved in you
I don’t know what you loved in me
Maybe the picture of somebody you were hoping I might be

Awake again I can’t pretend and I know I’m alone
And close to the end of the feeling we’ve known

How long have I been sleeping
How long have I been drifting alone through the night
How long have I been dreaming I could make it right
If I closed my eyes and tried with all my might
To be the one you need

Awake again I cant pretend and I know I’m alone
And close to the end of the feeling we’ve known

How long have I been sleeping
How long have I been drifting alone through the night
How long have I been running for that morning flight
Through the whispered promises and the changing light
Of the bed where we both lie
Late for the sky

We all know of the seven stooges Snow White had in her very own movie. Imagine that… the movie is named after you when you’re a relative unknown… why doesn’t Ridley Scott direct “Robert De Niro” starring… you guessed it Bobby ‘you lookin’ at me’ Junior (his dad’s name was also Robert… go figure). It would be more than amusing, however, if Scott signed up Al Pacino to play the role of Bobby. That would sell tickets. But, I digress…

So, we’re all familiar with Doc, Grumpy, Sleepy, Bashful, Happy, Dopey (she gets to have illegal drugs on her own movie, and this is for kids, yeah?) and Sneezy. Now, I must confess, I had to look up to find these names, coz, well, I don’t remember them so well. But they greatly aid me in this game of tag, where I have to point out seven kooks of mine. My only problem is…just seven? Well… here goes.. My modified version of who should have accompanied Snow White on her quest for stardom:

1) Grumpy: no surprises there. I am as grumpy as they come. Sarcasm is my forte, and dispensing it judiciously (read wantonly) is perhaps what I live for. He, him, and her can all testify to it. In fact, I don’t think I give a straight response to any question that is put toward me. Just ask Bastard… He’ll tell you. E.g.

“Where did you lose it?”

“I don’t know. I placed it there, and now it’s gone.” That's what normally would happen. But if it was me:

“Where did you lose it?”

“Well, if I knew where I lost it, it wouldn’t be lost, would it?”

Yes ladies and gentlemen… if I were indeed in a movie, expect more of the same. It would be a one man show… literally. I don’t think anyone would care for such spontaneity on the set, regardless of how much they are paid.

2) Smiley: shocking? No, no… I’m not smiley… in fact, I’m the exact opposite. I have this seemingly bizarre handicap of being unable to smile for a picture. It has been called the South Indian smile (because it goes downward. Don’t look at me… I didn’t coin it. A British born part Sardar with an affinity for the corny things in life is the one you want to trample all over). Poke fun, make faces, have two ladies feel each other up right behind the camera, you’ll get nothing. Nada! Zilch! I am as expressionless as Abe Lincoln is, sitting wherever he’s sitting in Washington. You’d find more cheer in a graveyard when you look at pictures of me. Flashing grins to one side, weird looks and kooky faces to the other are all centered on the look from hell: touch me and I’ll kill you is what it conveys. It’s mainly why we don’t have a family portrait after I crossed the 5^th grade. Apparently I’m scary… *shrugs*… Big deal! It’s what’s on the inside that counts, right? Well, we know what’s on the inside… just look at point 1, and you’ll instantly want to be my ‘best-bud’

3) Geeky: Yes, I’m a geek in some respects. It takes me 15 steps to come from the landing to my room on a good day (when I’m bright and peppy) and 20 when I’m in a foul mood. How do I know this? I counted. That’s what I do. I count the number of steps it takes to get around places I’m familiar. This all stemmed from the fact that I had a poor sense of direction as a kid, so I decided to take matters in my own hand, and count the number of steps and the time taken to get to known places. It helped in telling if I was going the right way, or was getting sidetracked. It has now become a subconscious thing, and I do it for fun sometimes (the sense of direction has improved, so I no longer rely on this technique). I read for fun, and read a lot. I once went through exam month (we never had weeks, just months for midterms) reading 14 books in 28 days instead of spending most of that time studying. Why? Just for kicks, I think. I like assembling things, mainly Lego pieces or puzzles, fixing PCs and generally doing geek like stuff. Sue me.

4) Fiddly: I fiddle with things. Whether they need to be fiddled with or not, that’s a separate issue. I have taken apart phones, just to see what a speaker looks like. You might think that’s being geeky, but it isn’t. I have a destructive streak in me, since the age of being able to lift things that could be destroyed. I have tripped the power board to my house, gotten electrocuted, caused sparks and a small fire and banged my head while doing so all in the last 3 months. Yes, I come with a hazard warning. I have been known to open up electronic devices, not know how to close them back, like the thermostat for the central AC controller at home in Bahrain. The temperature kept dropping, and it was not taken too kindly. *Shrugs again* I’m curious… it killed cats, not humans… nothing wrong in that. I have also fiddled with the faucet for the gas cylinder while it was connected because I forgot to tell the guy to open it. I used a hammer and steel contraption, causing sparks to fly off… the gas cylinder was full, and I’m still here to talk about it. All’s well that ends well. Maybe I should call this destructy. However, it helped that I had a fiddly roommate as well, who took it to levels beyond my wildest imagination. Yes… those were the good days…

5) Fidgety: I cannot sit still, almost never have been able to. This is partly why I don’t like going to movies. You have no choice but to sit in one chair for 2 hours (or, God forbid, 3 if it’s Hindi) and watch some other idiot run around shooting off a gun, screaming profanities, breaking down into tears, or humping the hot chick he spent that last 1 hour 55 minutes wooing. I mean… that’s 2 hours of paying someone else money to straightjacket you to a seat and throw insane shit at you. You cannot move, coz other people ask you, politely, to sit the fuck down. You cannot talk, coz either the machine gun is going off, or other moviegoers politely ask you to shut the fuck up. In my opinion, movies are wasted. In fact, when I watch a movie on my PC, I’m chatting, playing Freecell, browsing the net, and watching all at the same time. Kooky, but yeah… works for me. Even for foreign films with subtitles. I twiddle with pencils when I’m in class, scratch my head, look around, stare at the clock and make a nuisance of myself. I pace in the room when I’m bored, chew my lip when reading and stick my tongue out when focusing. *Yet another shrug*I have issues… sue me.

6) Angry: I have a temper, and I will use it on you. I don’t care if you cry, scream, moan or sit there and pout. If you are stupid enough to raise it, you will bear the brunt of it. Deal with it. Life’s all about getting what you asked for, and you sure as hell ask for it.

7) Singy: Not stingy, singy. Yes, I sing. When I’m driving, I always sing. I don’t know why. As soon as my hands touch the steering wheel, it’s like Pavarotti (may his soul rest in peace) infuses his spirit in me. And I don’t sing good… not by a long shot. And not many people have witnessed it, although Bastard has seen me dance when driving… much to his amusement. Which reminds me: I’m a magnet for bad driving. Whenever I get on the road, it seems like the spirit of Idiot God takes over some drivers on the road, and they proceed to show me how bad they really are at driving. I have one word to describe them: assholes.

Well…there you have it. If I were the stooges of Snow White, I would be those. It would thereby assure that I am the main protagonist because she’d have fled long before the first shot was done, and never returned. Suits me… I never was a big fan of Disney anyway.

And since we’re on the theme of movies, here’s a line that came up to me recently and still cracks me over. The movie: Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. The scene: 4 guys with no experience of crime want to rob their neighbors who are peddling drugs, thereby having experience of the shady underworld. Two of the four guys are name Soap and Eddie, and they are discussing the schematics of conducting the robbery.

Eddie: Oh, one more thing, they’re going to be armed.

Soap: Armed? You mentioned nothing about them being armed! What are they going be armed with?

Eddie: Oh, I don’t know. Bad breath, colorful language… a feather duster… GUNS, you tit!

I love that movie… and to take another line from that… it’s time to bid adieu with the words *Jamaican Accent* chill Winstaan!

Of broken promises and lying truths...

Acoustic #3- Goo Goo Dolls

They painted up your secrets
With the lies they told to you
And the least they ever gave you
Was the most you ever knew

And I wonder where these dreams go
When the world gets in your way
What's the point in all this screaming?
No one's listening anyway

Your voice is small and fading
And you're hiding here alone
And your mother loves your father
Cuz she's got nowhere to go

And she wonders where these dreams go
Cuz the world got in her way
What's the point in ever trying?
Nothing's changing anyway

They press their lips against you
And you love the lies they say
And I tried so hard to reach you
But you're falling anyway

And you know I see right through you
Cuz the world gets in your way
What's the point in all this screaming?
You're not listening anyway

Image edited with Adobe Photoshop CS2.

Pictures always spoke more than words... always.

Musings...

Winding Road- Bonnie Somerville

Well, the rain keeps on coming down
It feels like a flood in my head
And that road keeps on calling me
Screaming to everything lying ahead

And it's a winding road
I've been walking for a long time
I still don't know
Where it goes
And it's a long way home
I've been searching for a long time
I still have hope
I'm gonna find my way home

And I can see a little house
On top of the hill
And I can smell the ocean
The salt in the air
And I can see you
You're standing there
And you're washing your car
And I can see California sun in your hair

And its a winding road
I've been walking for a long time
Still don't know
Where it goes
And it's a long way home
I've been searching for a long time
Still have hope
I'm gonna find my way home

All these dreams took me so far
And I felt I just couldn't go on
And I want to hang
Out the window of your car
And see just how good this baby can run

'Cause it's a winding road
I've been walking for a long time
And I still don't know
Where it goes
And it's a long way home
I've been searching for a long time
Still have hope
We're gonna find our way home

It's a winding road
Still have hope
One day we'll find our way home
It's a long way home
I've been searching for a long time
Still have hope
We're gonna find our way home

It's a long way home
It's a long way home

Well, it’s been a while since I have written anything of note here, so I guess it’s time to shake off the cobwebs and bring out the rusty nib and scratch away on dried out parchment. And maybe knock off some of the rust that’s there in my head as well. Having written about music festivals, appearances, thoughts, teachings, religion (a major fiasco that was) fireworks and some others (all in my previous blog which has been deleted), it will be a pleasant change to write about myself directly. I use the terms pleasant and myself very loosely: those who know me know that I detest opening personal closets for the world to see, but I guess updates are required to leave a signpost to look back on in the future. Provided I don’t delete this blog as well, that is.

Not much has happened over the last few months. Liverpool lost the final of the Champions League, sadly, India has a first woman president, the first female of Indian origin landed safely back on earth, and I’ve graduated, and successfully managed to stay unemployed, a situation I hope to redress in the coming weeks. Until then, I’m left with my own demons to battle, and I plod along stodgily, albeit with a great amount of help. To that person, I have two very inadequate words: Thank you. I hope I never have to reciprocate the favor to you, but if the situation does arise, well… don’t think twice about it J.

The weather has brought about many changes, none so much more than the fact that it has trapped me indoors. I hate that, and coupled with a massive head cold, it has not been a very nice last couple of days. I’ve learnt a lot about what I want over the last few weeks, and how much I have to work towards getting it. Many hard decisions will have to be taken, and the concept of deferred gratification (those who took sociology with me in school would know what I’m talking about) must soon end. I never truly understood what Macbeth (or rather, Shakespeare) meant when he said “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. Creeps in this petty pace from day-to-day and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death” until now, and having grasped the meaning of it, I shall not wait for my Birnam Wood to come to me. Not that I have before, but I was more content to take a “big picture” view of life. Unless you’re in business, it’s a very dangerous attitude to take: life gets so far ahead of you that the dream becomes idealistic. Yet more musings propagated under the influence of meds and hot drinks.

Oh man, this is harder than I thought it would be. The rust doesn’t seem to be clearing, and I’m running out of ideas. Must be a whole lot of introspection going on, most of which I won’t share and bore you. I’ve read on how holes are the most important inventions (not body orifices, the ones you bore/dig), how luck evens out for some people, but the next point is perhaps more important. One of my friends (let’s call him Bastard… so that he knows who he is, and the rest of you shall find him amusing. If Terry Pratchett can do it in a publication, so can I) raised a rather interesting point in his private entry (which was to be the first of many, but sadly remained at that point) of the know-it-all person who really doesn’t know it all. Bastard claims that just because you’ve successfully achieved something it doesn’t mean that you know how you did it. Bastard feels that it doesn’t give you the knowledge or wisdom of repeating the success again. Meaning, there are several factors that go into success, not just individual brilliance. Now this is a rather insightful point that Bastard has brought up, and one that I agree with on some levels, and on some I disagree. Luck does play a part: just look at your workplace. At least one of the bosses there has absolutely NO idea what he/she is doing, and just commands people around because they got there by plain fluke. Conversely, you might have some wise ass who knows it all, is a prick and knows that he/she is one, and doesn’t give a shit.

Bastard doesn’t believe that just by achieving something, you’re considered an expert: well Bastard, that’s where you might just be wrong. Usually, the pioneers are not the ones who teach, but are the ones who write the books on success that no one else can replicate. The ones who write the textbooks are the ones who have achieved the level of expert after the pioneers and can prescribe that the average Joe (and Bastard) can replicate successfully.

(At this point you must be wondering why I refer to Bastard as Bastard and not him/he… well… that’s because he is one… I mean, come on… if he was an angel, I wouldn’t call him Bastard now, would I? It has an almost cathartic feel to it, mmm… yes… Bastard… you’re a bastard… see I feel better already… feel happy that you made some difference to someone’s life)

And so, with that excellent summary of what Bastard (the serotonin levels are increasing) has said, and my response to it, I take your leave. I don’t know when I’ll write next, but maybe when I’m suitably bored, I shall enthrall you with words of wisdom. Till then… be good…

For the Special Ones... all 45,000 of you...

When you walk through a storm
Hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark
At the end of the storm
Is a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of a lark

Walk on through the wind
Walk on through the rain
Tho' your dreams be tossed and blown
Walk on, walk on
With hope in your heart
And you'll never walk alone
You'll never walk alone

When you have 45,000 odd people screaming you on, there's very little else you can say except...See you in Athens boys...You did us proud.

Nil Desperandum, Auspice Benitez

In Memory...

(courtsey Yahoo)

The tragedy that occurred yesterday in the US leaves me at a loss for words. Innocent students, not unlike myself, literally gunned down in the prime of life, and there's no one to hold accountable for it.


My thoughts and prayers go out to the victims and their families of the Virginia Tech massacre of April 16th, 2007. May the souls of the departed rest in peace, and may their families find some solace in life, as meaningless as it seems right now.

Currently, CNN runs the news as a breaking story. I intend to update as time progresses and more details are filled out. This is not out of mockery, or the need to be gossipy, but because this has hit very close to home. I genuinely hope that something good comes out of this, but I would rather have it come at a far less price. The life of 32 students to send a message is 32 too many... sadly, it's reflective of the times we live in.

CNN: http://www.cnn.com/
Yahoo : http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070417/ap_on_re_us/virginia_tech_shooting
Identity of the Killer: http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/04/17/vtech.shooting/index.html
List of victims: http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/04/17/vtech.shooting.victims/index.html

Vigil: http://news.yahoo.com/photos/ss/events/us/041807vtechvigils

I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier,
I know that the clubs are weapons of war...
(Thank you for the lyrics, Mafaz)

Overcoat of memories

“We all came out of Gogol’s ‘Overcoat’”.

Cryptic words and one that burdens an immigrant’s son for most of his adolescent life, as Ashoke Ganguli leaves his son, Nikhil ‘Gogol’ Ganguli a book from Nikolai Gogol as a graduation present. That it took four months to locate and purchase is lost on Gogol, but the book holds more value that he acknowledges first up.

Mira Nair’s adaptation of Jhumpa Lahiri’s novel ‘The Namesake’ is an art film with a difference: it caught my fancy, and very few of them do. It traces the lives of two Bengali (a husband and wife) immigrants, who married as strangers and moved to New York, and their first generation Americanized children. That Ashoke and Ashima’s first born was named Gogol is mildly humorous, the reasons for doing so are more emphatic. It highlights the difference between West and East, and the perceived lack of understanding of each other’s cultures. And so this divide continues to exist in the lives of the Gangulis, as they move up in life, both professionally and personally. Ashoke and Ashima grow to love each other, respect each other, and ultimately value each other in their lives. Theirs is a story of the perfect arranged marriage, highlighting the virtues of the traditional Indian matrimonial system. That it doesn’t work now is not the point: this was 1977, not 2007.

I will not bore you with details, nor spoil it for those who haven’t had the opportunity to either read the book or watch the movie. It is tastefully done, with soft colors, mild environments and an amazingly soothing musical score from Nitin Sawhney. While the growing pains of Gogol could’ve been more dramatized, the generational gap conflict was handled in good taste. There was no storming out of rooms, loud yelling of parents/children, nor rebellious to the point of sadistic behavior from either side. It appealed to the logic, not the heart, and thereby offered more connection with practicality. Interspersed with light humor, and witty dialogues, the movie was one in which you didn’t sit and wish the hour hands to speed up to the end.

Perhaps two scenes stick out from the movie, and I’ve dwelled on them since I’ve seen it. Both occur towards the end, and both are reminiscent of the times that we live in today. As two of the protagonists (keeping in line with the non-spoiling idea) walk to the banks of the Ganges to sprinkle the ashes on the holy water, a group of kids are busy somersaulting in the background, and doing general tricks in the water like it was a normal day. A poignant scene, it gave you a life-goes-on feeling, and one that is typical of India. Despite the tragedy that goes on everyday, people rarely stop to look and help you. The other is Ashima’s farewell speech, one which moves the heart to realize just how far we travel in life, and when we finally come to a rest in the place where we started from, we miss the little things that make life worthwhile. In her case, it was the life she shared with her husband and children in New York, one that she’ll remember as she fulfills her lifelong wish of going back home to India. And what of Gogol? Will he ever find his home?

Gogol’s journey of self discovery continues, even today, in us. Being born outside our home country, it is easy for us to understand his pains and his sufferings in dealing with his parents. He reproaches the ‘traditional’ approach, claiming it to be decadent in the society he lives in, and advocates for the ‘modernist’ way of life that Americans lead. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? The traditions of our ancestors seem cumbersome today, a burden that we have to carry purely because we’re descendants. But if we stop to look, and look deep inside, we realize that the tradition is our identity.


Much has been made of India’s progress over the last 5 years, and as we stand on the cusp of superpower status, we tend to forget the virtues that led us there. Hard work, dedication, and moral responsibility are all hallmarks of the Indian workforce. Today, we wish to pride ourselves in our innovativeness, our ruthlessness and our cunning. It’s like a business and its core competency. When we change the latter, the former automatically changes. The Americans realized that, and they stuck to what they do best: innovate. They’re not pretentious enough to think that they can slog their way to the top… they just slug it out when they reach there on the back of another’s effort. We should realize what ours is and stick to it. There’s no point in changing for the sake of change: just ask the Indian cricket team. We prove that our way is best, not someone else’s.

Gogol Ganguli has his own demons to conquer, his own memories to make peace with. And speaking of memories...

Appreciation from Grade 9: Had an appendectomy… was quite painful… the scar’s still there as well

Lower Sixth: A birthday card… for me…

Thank you to Patrick (yes, I still remember who made the card) and Karan (well, that one was easy… your name was plastered all over it!)… Thanks to those who were in school with me, I don’t fight with many memories. To you all, I owe a deep debt of gratitude. School was always the best for me

And I sign off with the single most important thing I’ve taken from The Namesake:

It was on a train that Ashoke met a stranger, who gave him the advice that would change his life: ''Do yourself a favor,'' the man said. ''Before it's too late, without thinking too much about it first, pack a pillow and a blanket and see as much of the world as you can. You will not regret it. One day it will be too late.''

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

FAQs

Always attached with program setups, enquiry fill-up forms, websites, tutorials... you name it the FAQ section is never too far away. So is the case in life as well... we always search for answers to questions that seem to never tire out. Life after death? Does God really exist? Is there life on Mars? Is George Bush really THAT stupid? Questions that always leave one scratching their head for answers (believe me... I've seen several people really wonder at the miracle that is the American President, not in terms of a boon, but endless wonderment at the prolonged longevity).

And then there are the other types of questions: the questions that you ask but don't receive an answer. You would like one, but the answer is just not forthcoming. Maybe they don't have an answer. Maybe the choose not to give you one. Maybe it doesn't warrant an answer. Maybe it's rhetoric. And maybe it's plain cop out... fear of sounding weak, stupid, or silly. Maybe they're afraid of the answer, and don't see it as a question. Whatever be the case, you get a lot of these in life. And you don't know what to do when you're the one asking those questions. Hell, you never know what to do when you're the one it is asked to. All you know is that, in either case, you'd rather be somewhere else, doing something else that is more "worthwhile". And the silence festers doubt... you doubt the veracity of enquiry... doubt the workings of your mind. And you blame yourself for the question: It was too harsh a question to ask. Maybe there is no answer to the question. Maybe it's not a question.

Cop outs are nothing new in life. Just ask Stephen King regarding his Dark Tower series (man, was that an abominable waste of time...), or the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI). These luminaries have done it several times, and in the case of the latter, made a profession out of doing it with alarming regularity. Taking the easy way out has been man's (and woman, child, animal... plant, maybe? I don't know... they don't move much... it's hard to say) greatest ally in times of distress. Forget the samurai/ninja/ancient warfare teachings of a quick mind and sharp reflex being your greatest weapon in times of distress. They're now replaced with an easy escape route, the backdoor out, the trapdoor beneath your feet.

Taking the easy way out, paradoxically, is never easy. The guilt associated with it lives with you, and unless you develop shallowness, will stay with you for some time. And whether you can live with that guilt determines whether you're the person to run and hide or stand and fight (well, if that sounds dramatic, it's because I saw 300 yesterday... the rhino was a complete waste if you ask me... no carnage whatsoever). And if you're the one asking it.. don't doubt the veracity of your question, or the harshness of it. If it was a query, and a genuine one, then you did the right thing by voicing it. Be at peace with that knowledge. "The art of letting go was learnt easily, and quickly. Not by will, but not exactly by force." Letting go is never easy, nor is learning it. It's one way of dealing with things, but not the correct or only way. Some day, you'll realize that, and also realize....

... there was truth in what you said, reason in what you voiced, and a right to know in what you ask.

"Don't your feet get cold in the wintertime,

The sky won't snow and the sun won't shine,

It's hard to tell the nighttime from the day.

And you're losin all your highs and lows,

Ain't it funny how the feelin' goes away?"

P.S. God bless Wikipedia... You have made my life amazingly easy. Now if only George Bush knew how to access it...

New Beginnings

It is often said that the worst piece ever written by any author can be seen in a blank page. The key to good writing is writing first, and then writing well. Turn over a fresh page and chatter on a keyboard, scribble with a nib, or scratch away with a pencil. There should be nothing blank, nothing white, and nothing to suggest that words don’t belong there.

This sheet was blank, until what is above was written. Too often I’ve been confronted with the pristine whiteness, and each time I’ve turned away, unable to scratch out the cleanliness that was in front of me. A blank mind? It could be that. I’d like to think that it was the repetitive staleness that I kept harking back to. And often it ended with apologies about not blogging… in the end, there was no point to it.

Every once in a while, a fresh start is good, however. For every writer, there comes a point in time when the burdens of the previous page need not enforce itself on the next page. A clean break is good and a new perspective even better. Writing should not be a burden, least of all to those who don’t make a living out of it. And for certain, I will not make a living out of it. It may sound trite, but I never was a good writer. I had way too many thoughts and too many expletives to go with those thoughts. For those who know me, the two are never far apart when it comes to expression of opinion.

Who knows, maybe this is the blank page I needed. Time will tell, and I’ll let that be the judge of things.

“What I am to you is not real
What I am to you, you do not need
What I am to you is not what you mean to me
You give me miles and miles of mountains
And I'll ask for what I give to you”