The Writer & The Painter - The Conclusion

"Do you accept this task, my friend?"

"Yes" she replied.

"Well then, start. What, do you think, will your first painting look like?"

"I know what it will represent. I do not know what it will look like. I have to visualize an idea. I do not know what I will end up creating. This is what separates a painter from a non-painter."

She set to work. She toiled night & day. Her hand danced on the canvas, at times tentative & unsure, at times in rhythm with a melody heard only by her. Her excitement became more & more palpable as she gave shape to the first of the paintings.

He became obsessed with what the first output would be. Wondering, guessing, analyzing. All else was secondary. He could not even start writing the book.

She presented it to him.

He took one look at it, and his face was red with chagrin & consternation.

"A master painter such as you, and you have drawn only one line."

"It is no ordinary line. Take a look again. Do you recognize what this is?"

"No"

"This is the normal distribution curve."

"And why have you drawn this?"

"I have drawn it for what it represents - possibility. The normal distribution typefies that. Under it lies entirety, wholeness. The sum of the area under it is 1. It is a mapping on the plane of life - from hope to possibility. And it extends till infinity. No matter how small the chance of something happening is, it is there. You exist in possibility. Your task was to make people realise that no matter what the desired outcome, it was possible. Your task was never to take people to their destination; You only gave them the the belief that they could make it there."

He remained silent. He had no answer.

She quietly continued with her 2nd painting. Many days passed.

When she brought it in front of him, nothing could have prepared him for the scene which unfolded. It was the most gruesome painting he had ever seen. He could not bear to look at it.
If this was her idea of a garden, it was a cruel joke. Was there ever a garden such as this? It was strewn with human carcasses in place of flowers. The trees were all withered and dying. And in the midst of it all, a person stood with a pen. Blood flowed from the pen, and was sprinkled all over the garden.

He looked at her. His eyes asked a question.

She replied: "You can choose what you want to cultivate in the Garden of Life. You are now choosing to cultivate & nurture misery and hopelessness. Not just choosing - you are enjoying it. You enjoy fostering your own illness, watching it grow. You had a choice. This is the option that you have exercised"

He was left speechless.

Many days passed. The disease had begun to grow on him. His facial features had become terrible to look at. More and more inhuman. His skin hung in shreds while his eyes glowered with the melancholy brightness of fever.

This was nothing compared to the anguish of his soul. He wanted it to stop. He now realised what he had spawned.

She was ready with her 3rd painting.

He saw a woman and a baby near a cliff. The baby was the cutest one would have ever seen. A microcosm of life itself. It raidated warmth & joy. One would not be able to resist holding it to one's bosom. But what was this? The woman instead of cuddling it, had thrown it over the cliff with no regard for what might happen to it.

He leaned back in his bed. He had no strength to continue.

She spoke: "Do you believe that the woman created the baby? Or was she only a medium for creation? Do you believe you are a creator? If so, you must realise that you only have the right to create. With absolute detachment. Having created, you do not have control over your creation. You must give it up, as the woman gave up the baby. You created hope and you clung on to it. You wanted your creation to pass away with you. You wanted the attachment, the involvement of seeing it wither away. You do not have the luxury of that. Having created hope, you had to let it pass on. You were not meant to bother about what happened to it."

"I shall be leaving tonight. I have completed the final painting. I have kept it, wrapped. In return for all that I have done for you, I ask one favour. You must view it only when you are writing the final chapter of your book, just before you write it."

She left that very night.

Time kept passing. He lay lost in thought, seemingly oblivious to all that was passing him by. He could not wait longer. He felt that the time had come to finish the book. His grandiose ambitions had been shattered. Nevertheless, he thought. One line will suffice to sum it all up.

Remembering the painter's injunction, he took the package which contained the final painting. His hands trembling, he undid the paper around it and held it up.

He could not believe what he saw.

He saw himself. All the unsightly blemishes on his skin had vanished. His eyes radiated a spark of energy & positivity. His cheeks glowed with a bright hue, seemingly resonating with the mellifluous chirping of the birds outside. He realised it was dawn.

Underneath the mirror was written: "Reality is perception"

His hands now calm, he entered the first words of his book:

"It began..."

A pause...

Night has fallen. Far more democratic than the day. All is covered under an even darkness.

A tepid breeze blows across the parched earth. This city is funny. There is contemplation in crowds, & crowding in contemplations.

There is promise in onerous tasks, from the material to the spiritual, unfulfilled as yet. There's a cloying desperation to clutch at and preserve the current moment, futile because it slips as sand slips through the fingers.

Life stretches ahead, vast as the expanse of the sea, a continuum, uncharted, pristine & frightening. There is no finish line, no goal post. No courses, tests, grades. Nothing to tell you how far you have progressed. Nothing to indicate how much is still left.

Yes, there are stories waiting to be written.

Should one rush through and draw the conclusion? Or will time wait?

Darr to think beyond the IIMs...

3 interesting links:

http://gauravsabnis.blogspot.com/2005/08/fraud-that-is-iipm.html

http://www.jammag.com/careers/n/showart.php?art_id=149

http://careers360.in/lead-story/iipm---best-only-in-claims.html

Please note the dates. Some things just continue...

Disclaimer: The content / text / opinions etc on each website mentioned above are the respective responsibilities of their owners.

The Writer & The Painter - Chapter II: The Task

At last, she met him.

She now understood why the house was the way it was. It was his spirit which embodied it. There was nothing to differentiate the house from the man, and the man from the house.

He gave her a glance of one who has long awaited something & finally sees it fructifying. He started to speak:

“I must go straight to the task for which I have called you here”

“You probably have heard of me as the greatest writer the world has seen. Yes, I have written books of great inspiration. I have provided comfort and joy to millions of people. I have delved deep into the meaning of life, its enjoyment in all forms, its purpose, goals and achievements. I have motivated. I have taught. I have received unstinted praise and admiration for all that I have done. The world has acknowledged me as a benefactor of the human race”

“But they are all wrong”

“I am a sinner. A sinner the scale of which the world has never seen before. I am a sinner worse than the most debauched, murderous & bloodthirsty tyrants seen by mankind. History has had sinners who have plundered, tortured, looted, killed & cheated people. I am a sinner because I have implanted an idea. An idea that is completely untrue.”

“I thought that life is meaningful; that there are things worth working towards, that there are objectives worth achieving; that hope is worth hoping for. I thought I was endowed with a gift – the gift of spreading hope to those who need it. I believed it to be my sacred duty in this world. The juxtaposition of words provided me with the means to do so. People have learnt to hope because of me. People have learnt to work towards making their lives meaningful because of me. I have been their saviour, their messiah. I am the one who has kindled their spirit in order that they may pass with flying colours in the examinations that life presents”

“But Providence, it seems, loves to prove a point”

“I came to know yesterday that I am suffering from a disease. It’s so rare that it has no name. Doctors are completely clueless. They say it’s incurable. They only know that it will keep consuming me. It will defile my body and corrode my spirit. It will make my countenance unbearable for anyone to see. And I will die a very painful death”

“And now you see the point. Was there ever such a fall as mine? One who was once the toast of the world, reduced to such triviality; like the entrails of a dead animal discarded by the roadside, fit only for vultures to feed on! What had I set out to achieve, and what have I been reduced to? Why was I the one chosen to lead when I was to be carried off midway?”

“I have been wrong all along. We seek so much from life. We work so much for it. We think. We feel. We do. And in the end, it all comes to nothing. It’s all gone without a trace. There is nothing that we control. There is nothing that it leads to.”

“There is nothing more inhuman then to have made people believe in an idea which is not true. For when people believe in something, it takes possession of their soul. They live for the idea and are often willing to die for it as well. They shape their reality by the ideas which constitute them. They spend their lifetimes in pursuing it. And when the idea turns out to be false, it destroys them. Nothing remains. Nothing“

“Who could be a bigger sinner than one such as me; one who has committed genocide not of bodies, but of spirits?”

“I am an idea, my friend. I am an idea whose time is over. I am idea which must be uprooted, wrenched out from the minds of everyone on the face of this earth. I must redeem myself”

“Until such time as is available to me, I shall spend on writing a book; but not just any book. It will be a book which tells the tale of despair, of the nought that all journeys must come to in the end. It will haunt and possess everyone who reads it. It will disturb the reader, snatch away his peace of mind and ensure that he does not ever dare to hope again”

“And finally, my destruction must be captured in the book. Nothing shall be left to chance or to imagination. I must be irrevocably decimated in the mind of the reader”

“You are a painter renowned for drawing the veil from the many shades of tragedy in life. Your canvas has been a chaotic splash of paints drawn from the palette of gloom and wretchedness."

"Throughout time, painters have depicted events, people, divinity, nature and abstractions. You, my friend, will depict the demise of an idea. You shall paint my last days on earth; you shall capture my ruin; the undercurrent of the unalterable uselessness of life shall adorn each one your paintings; each sibilant stroke of your brush shall be a nail in my coffin”

“Reality, is perception…”

The Writer And The Painter - Chapter I: The House

She stared.

Never before had a mere building so forcefully imposed a personality upon her. If ever an inanimate structure could have personified loneliness, this was it. The house didn't seem to care for the world of which it was a part.

She felt the angry reluctance of it's walls, anguished at being forced to co-exist as a bridge with the world instead of being left alone. She wondered what purpose the walls served. Did they serve to protect and contain the fears and insecurities of the one who resided within or did they just accentuate his despair and gloom?

It stood alone, blank, immune to all hope and ambition. It carried the putrid odour of a thousand dreams buried; It was a house that revelled in nurturing the supreme miseries of life.

And yet the ordinary observer would have noticed nothing. He would merely have seen one of the finest mansions in the country, renowned as that belonging to the most famous writer in the world, one who had outsold every author in history and inspired millions of people with his gift of word weaving.

Thats what most people would have seen. For most people can only observe reality. But she, unfortunately, was one of the few who could feel it as well.

Of all the asymmetries of life that she recollected this was perhaps the most skewed. A house such as this, and a writer such as the one she was to meet.

No one else, she was sure, would have had a stranger task ahead...

Pearls After Swine...

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His Mirror of Erised...

He looked into the mirror.

He saw a hermit, perched atop a snow-capped mountain. Trudging along with his bare feet in the frosty wind, quivering with every gust but going on determinedly. He was about to reach the top...

The image faded.

He saw a young couple bent over a baby in a cradle. Their eyes were shining with joy. The baby gave a radiant smile in his sleep, secure in the knowledge that there were two people in the world ready to do anything for him...

The image changed.

He saw a young man & woman walking on the pomenade. She was speaking animatedly, pouring her heart out. He was listening, in rapt attention, with the invisible beam of trust & understanding encouraging her to go on...

The image blurred.

He saw a man shouting instructions to a group of people. The man was full of tremendous vitality. They all listened to him as one. They knew that those without hope could hope, with him around...

The image vanished.

He saw a man get out of a super luxury car and walk up to the stage. The thunderous applause of a hundred people greeted him, as the mike announced "The award for the Indian Business Leader of the Year goes to..."

The image disappeared.

He saw a group of people at a dinner table. Smiling, laughing without a care in the world. Each one happy with the sheer pleasure of being together...

The image did not stay.

The mirror was turbulent now. Nothing was visible. He was trying to decipher, trying to see the image which would fit, the one which would stay...

Then it cleared. Slowly, steadily, unwavering, undisturbed.

And he saw himself, exactly as he was at that instant.

Dearth Song

What about cash in hand

What about the vain

What about all the returns

That you said we were to gain…

What about killing markets

Is there a time

What about all the things

That you said was yours and mine...

Did you ever stop to notice

All the losses we've had before

Did you ever stop to notice

The crying Earth the weeping shores?

What have we done to the world

Look what we've done

What about all the yield

That you pledge your only son...

What about rising markets

Is there a time

What about all the dreams

That you said was yours and mine...

Did you ever stop to notice

All the assets dead from store

Did you ever stop to notice

The crying Earth the weeping shores

I used to dream

I used to glance beyond the MTMs

Now I don't know where we are

Although I know we've drifted far

Hey, what about past performance (What about us)

What about commodities (What about us)

The markets are falling down (What about us)

I can't even invest (What about us)

What about the bleeding fund (What about us)

Can't we feel its wounds (What about us)

What about intrinsic worth It's our planet's womb (What about us)

What about MBS (What about it)

We've turned assets to dust (What about us)

What about retailers (What about us)

Have we lost their trust (What about us)

What about carry trades (What about us)

We're ravaging securities (What about us)

What about interest rates Cut despite our pleas (What about us)

What about the Holy Street (What about it)

Torn apart by greed (What about us)

What about the real economy (What about us)

Can't we set it free (What about us)

What about investors dying (What about us)

Can't you hear them cry (What about us)

Where did we go wrong Someone tell me why (What about us)

What about the man (What about us)

What about the crying man (What about us)

What about Buffet (What was us)

What about crashes again Do we give a damn…

[With apologies to Michael Jackson]

The Cribber adviseth...Come back to life!

So this is what a friend had to say, post his 26th birthday...

"first thing
stop thinking abt what ppl think abt you
dont type just read
step by step
first take the class list and point out people who you were very regular with or u really like and now think have changed or are no longer good people
send them a text saying " I am sorry for everything..."
they deserve a second chance and u should give them one
then whoever calls back or messages back answer them in more than 20 words not like hmmm... or yes... or no... long complete sentences
end the conversation by i miss you... i dont think u have ever done this
thatss to make yourself realize that u miss the people and u r losing out on prescious time
then write this whole thing down in your blog so that reinforces the feeling
then maro 50 sit ups and go for a brisk walk
no music
look at the couples
and try and gauge how they met
i mean at juhu beach
think of allt he ridiculous stories u can come up with
let your mind run wild
if the guy looks nice anf the girl not nice
its like he was in a car she in a bus
but he loved the way her hair was flying
and she had the most beautiful eyes
he just chucked his work and followed her till dindishi agar from colaba when she got off
he went to her and said that i dont this often but i just had to tell you how beautiful your eyes are and then they dont meet for 2 years
again one day at best house red light their eyes meet
and she had a smile in her face
and so on and so forth
but remember this is not a task
jsut try and get in touch with your good feelings inside
get emotional
miss the love of your life if any
cry if it makes u cry
let go
stop thinking what people want u to think
be yourself
and no music
others' words are worthless
listen to yourself
do it baby
you deserve yourself..."

Why so serious...

I saw "Dark Knight" yesterday. Again. The difference being that this time it was in the IMAX Dome in Wadala. An awesome cinematic experience. The Dome setting brought out the appeal of the visual imagery, the action sequences, the sounds of the movie.

And I was left marvelling yet again at the insane vagaries of one of the most terrifying villains of all time (whether fictional or real) - The Joker.

It is not easy to understand exactly why the Joker is so scary. You watch his antics, you watch his horrifying deeds and slowly, like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, things start falling in place. But one does not get a complete picture.

The Joker as an antagonist is frightening because he shakes your beliefs to the very core and does something truly unexpected - he far exceeds the set of normal "expected unexpecteds" that you have implanted in your mind.

People set rules, regulations and impose restrictions on themselves in order to ensure a beneficial social order, in order to prevent excesses, in order to develop a sense of progress an achievement. They attempt to understand, to adapt to their environment & then to manipulate it to their advantage - to control, to direct towards such ends as each one might have.

The Joker turns all of this on its head. He's a self-described agent of Chaos, who does not believe in rules. He does not have ends. He has means, & in the absence of ends, does not know what to do with them. He's like "A dog chasing cars", who would not know what to do with one if he caught one.

It amuses him to see people who try to control things. People who formulate plans and who think things will go go according to them. He wants to prove that that people do not know what to do once their plans fall apart. He's an entity who wants to test the infallibility of people merely to prove that they are going to fail. He pushes them to their limits to prove that they will falter.

The Joker thinks that people desire control over their surroundings, their environment, their fate, other people. It is to such people that the Joker poses a threat. He brings them down to their knees. He brings down the Mob, which hungers for money & harbours the notion that things will be back to normal once Batman is dead. He brings down mentally-ill people, who, relatively blamelessly, believe that they will regain control of their minds with the Joker's help. He brings down the corrupt police officials, who betray their fellow officers for money. He brings down Jim Gordon, who in his zeal to capture him, overlooks the danger of corrupt people within his own team. His greatest triumph is the fall of Harvey Dent, the incorruptible White Knight of Gotham City, who is maddened by the loss of the woman he loves and who blames the external environment for it. Dent loses control over himself; He starts believing in the fairness of Chaos; He believes that it was an indecent world which was cruel to him & the way to tackle it, the only morality is, Chance.

How does one defeat such a person? Men like the Joker only want to "Watch the world burn". They are not looking for anything logical. They cannot be bullied, reasoned with or bribed. As he says when Batman is interrogating him for Dent's & Rachel's locations, "You have nothing, nothing to threaten me with."

The way out lies in realising the gap in the Joker's ideology, the one thing that he has not bargained for - People who exercise control only over themselves, instead of everything else. Those are the people who are able to defeat the Joker. Rachel Dawes, who does not flinch from death right till the end. The people in the two ships who master their fear & let their trust in humanity surface; The ones who choose to not succumb to the mistrust induced by him. And most importantly, Batman. The one who chooses to see himself become a villain, an outlaw, a hated figure - because HE's internally at peace with what he is doing, because he knows what he is doing is right. He does not seek control over the opinion of the people of Gotham City. He does not desire fame, adulation, praise. He's able to let go of it all because of his steely resolve, the belief that what he's doing is right. He realises that he has control only over himself, he can only shape things by the way he reacts to situations.

The Joker is a villain of our times - senseless, purposeless, without any morals or rules. I see him in various forms everywhere - in criminals who commit the most dastardly crimes, in terrorists who kill innocent people, in the driver who kills in a fit of road rage, in the student who goes on a shooting spree, in the distressed executive who commits suicide, in the intolerance of the moral police & religious fundamentalists - everywhere when people lose control over themselves & become agents of Chaos.

Without a doubt, one of the finest characters created in cinematic history.

The Apology

Experimental, in a way;

THE APOLOGY

She looked at his tear-stained face.He hadn't stopped crying since she came. She knew it would be ok with time, he would regain his composure, she just wanted it to be as soon as possible. She was frightened. She had never seen him cry before.

"Blood pressure abnormally high. My God, she's sinking. Nurse, NURSE!!!"

They went for a walk. The garden was so refreshing, in the cool winter days. It's going to be ok, she assured him. Things would be fine. Count on me.

"She's going into cardiac arrest. We will need to do an emergency operation."

He was smiling by now. She was quite pleased with herself. I can convince anyone, she thought. Just a little bit of reassurance, it always works. He's just a kid...

"Too late. Too late. Inform her relatives."

"You hate me, don't you?" The parting remark caught her by surprise. Her face froze with shock, as the taxi sped away.

The door swung open, a man stepped in. He saw the immobile figure lying on the bed.

He turned back & bitterly regretted the impulse which had made him say that. Ah well, I will apologise, he thought. She always listens.

The man stood still. The doctor looked at him quizzically.

They told him they had no idea where she had gone. She had just packed up and left.

The doctor asked him gently "Did you know the lady?" "I thought I did", he replied.

Vanished without a trace. It was hopeless. No one knew of her whereabouts. He searched & searched in vain.

"She passed away very peacefully. More peacefully than most".

He heard her whispering softly. He heard her peals of laughter. Most often he heard her voice - clear, limpid, as smooth as the waves gently crashing against the sea-shore.

"What is your relation to to the deceased?". "I never could figure that out myself" he replied.

He felt he was going mad. Loneliness would kill him. He had to be surrounded by people all the time. Life had to go on.

"Is there anyone whom we can inform?" "I am here, now", he said.

He had seen her walk into the hospital. Here was the chance he had been waiting for. Soon, it would be all right. He would know peace again.

A woman came into the room shouting "Did you find her?" and stopped. She spoke no further.

"Yes, she was admitted a few days back. Not too long, so the Doc tells me. Ah well, the poor woman..."

"You are still waiting. Is there something that you would like to do?" "No, now there is isn't"

The doctor stared at the man. In his wrinkled face he saw a young boy, terrified. He could not comprehend what the boy realised - tha the apology had taken too long in coming...

A Prayer...

Reach.
Reach for the morning Sun, the gently blowing Breeze, the azure Sky, the sweet caress of your Parents' hands on your cheeks...

Smile.
Smile unrestrained, with the hopeful anticipation of better things to come, with the promise the future brings, with the innocent enthusiasm of a baby at peace with the world...

Talk.
Talk to your friends, relieve their pain, each one who is agonized for bearing an untold story inside him, they are still there, they haven't walked away...

Trust.
Trust the aut0-rickshaw driver to get you home, trust the watchman to be up & vigilant at night, trust the intention, trust the person...

Let Go.
Let go - fear, doubt, guilt, regrets - let it all go; State the obvious; Become an open book...

Live.

A tribute to Anthea Bell & Derek Hockridge...

Rather an odd tribute, one would think.

But I am a die-hard fan of the Asterix series. The kind who can quote call-outs verbatim; Many of the issues I do not even need to read; I can play it like a slide-show in my mind.

Which is why it never ceases to amaze me how wonderfully Anthea Bell & Derek Hockridge have translated an essentially French series (in language, but more importantly, in character as well) into full-blooded Queen's (Dictator's?) English, while preserving the spirit of the original.

The first thing that strikes me are the names. The Bard, a torture for the auditory senses, is named Cacofonix, while the old gentleman with a pretty & young wife is named Geriatrix (incidentally his wife is the only major village character which is never named in the entire series, apart from the village itself - YES, the village is NEVER named in the entire series!) Dogmatix is one of the best-named characters - He's actually a very dogmatic character (witness his howling whenever a tree is cut)

The names of one-time characters are even more mirth-inducing. Many of the British characters are named after esoteric taxes - Getafix's British druid friend is called Valueaddetax (in Asterix & The Goths), while a trainee legionary is called Selectiveemploymentax (in Asterix the Legionary). Another favourite name is Courtingdisastus (in Asterix in Corsica); The pun on his name when one of the Corsicans warns his sister about flirting with Romans is too funny!

The beauty lies in revealing something about the character through his name and always ending it appropriately - ix for the Gauls, ic for the Goths, us for the Romans & a for the Ladies. So you have a scheming Gaulish traitor named Uptotrix (in Asterix & The Banquet), a tough Briton chief (in Asterix in Britain) named a after a line from Hamlet (Mykingdomforanos) & a decadent Roman Governor named Varius Flavus (in Asterix in Switzerland).

And now. the repartee, the conversations, the lines. One can go on and on and on, but to pick out a few: (Warning: Read the original, to get the full drift of the remarks!)

Asterix in Switzerland: The entire sequence in the beginning, when Vitalstatistix sacks his shield-bearers, is a sublime classic; Some sample lines:

"The Chief will lose his standing in the tribe if he throws his weight around like that" (In a reference to Vitalstatistix falling off his shield)

"The Chief is bent on getting a good angle on things. Proves what you can do if you have got the inclination" (Asterix & Obelix are carrying him on the shield; He is in an inclined position because of their height difference)

"He's just serving half a pint of mild & bitter" (Obelix alone is carrying Vitalstatistix like a waiter, Vitalstatistix complains of feeling like a half-pint chief & being a mild man who is now feeling very bitter)

Asterix in Britain:

"He's been removed once, but you mustn't shake him too hard even if he asks you to" (Obelix says this for Anticlimax, Asterix's first cousin once removed, who had previously asked Obelix to shake him by the hand)

Asterix & The Big Fight:

Cassius Ceramix, the Roman stooge chief after challenging Vitalstatistix to the Big Fight, says "Gloria Victus! I turn my back on you" & turns around on his shield, after which his shield-bearers turn & he is facing Vitalstatistix again.
"No, not you! If you also turn back, then I get back where I started!"

Asterix & the Banquet:

Obelix is interrogating the traitor Unpatriotix; He ask's him which place the Romans have captured & taken Asterix to;
"Divodurum"
"I don't care whether you have ordered rum or not! You don't soften me up like that!"


Asterix & The Secret Weapon:

One of the village ladies argues with Cacofonix:
"Oh, so a woman can't be a bard"
"No Ma'am, shes barred from being a bard"
He gets bashed left right & centre.
Asterix observes his black eye and remarks:
"No holds barred, eh?"

Genius. Pure genius.

XL Memories I: Kung-Fu Ganjeshwarnath...

An XL superjunior, known to me only as "Bitchy Offliner" suggested that writing about Sundays was toooooo boring.

"Pray expound", he beseeched; "On thy wealth of experiences at XLRI; The rich cultural heritage & legacy which you left behind"

As always, I fell to the occassion.

I wish I had something glamourous to write about. Perhaps something like this:\

A teetotaller for 2 years
Didn't attend a single wet night
Passed out as the Batch Topper
Got drunk in the final convocation wetnight
Danced as he had never danced before
Proposed to the love of his life at Dimna, as the sun rose
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye

Naaaah.

Instead, I will write about my 1st year XL room-mate, Aditya Jhawar and an incident which still brings a smile to my face.

It was in the sultry summer days (July, perhaps). I was sitting quietly in the room, doing some assignment. Jhawar had gone for a bath. The second time that day. My God. Even once was a drag for me.

After he came back, I heard a buzzing sound in the room. Made me feel really queasy. I look all around, petrified and then I SAW.

The most gigantic insect I had ever seen. It menacingly circled over my head; I almost shrieked. A fresher who has live all his life in a metro is not the most formidable of opponents for a creature like that.

My face was convulsed. Aditya couldn't figure out what was wrong. He just saw my dazed countenance and was mystified. I pointed a trembling finger toward the apparition and managed to sputter out "udhar dekh".

Aditya spun around. He sized up his adversary. They circled each other for quite some time. Aditya was galvanised steel. He had turned into a leader of men. It was him and the Insect. A fight to the finish. Winner take all. No pity. No mercy. No regret.

Aditya took out his Brahmastra - the towel which he had just thrown onto his bed. He began wielding it like a champion of champions, cutting currents of air with the sheer impact. His eyes never wavered. It was death to the man that lost his nerve.

The Insect darted towards him. A brutal frontal assault. Aditya spun around, unperturbed. His towel was still drawn at the ready. Every muscle tense. Waiting for the right moment.

The Insect swerved & went to the rear. It caught him by surprise. It was a split-second. I shouted at precisely the time when it was about to deliver a killing blow, Aditya just turning around, towel in hand...

I opened my eyes. Aditya was standing, beaming. The Insect was nowhere to be seen.

Kung-Fu Ganjeshwarnath had vanquished the oppressor. The world was at peace.

A good Sunday...

Its been a good Sunday so far.

To begin with, I went for a brisk walk. On the beach. 45 minutes. My place to Juhu Chowpatty. 5 km. I have had so many concerned people telling me to shape up. My well-rounded personality is a potential health hazard.

Then I got my hair sheared. It was a sugarcane field in miniature. Took a great load off my mind. I know why Dilip Menda is so stress-free these days.

Then, I started this blog. And I already have two comments, by two valued people.

Just Googled for songs with the title "Sunday"
There's one by Sarah Brightman called "Tell me on a Sunday":

"Don't write a letter when you want to leave
Don't call me at 3 a.m. from a friend's apartment
I'd like to choose how I hear the news
Take me to a park that's covered with trees
Tell me on a Sunday please

Let me down easy
No big song and dance
No long faces, no long looks
No deep conversation
I know the way we should spend that day
Take me to a zoo that's got chimpanzees
Tell me on a Sunday please

Don't run off in the pouring rain
Don't call me as they call your plane
Take the hurt out of all the pain
Take me to a park that's covered with trees
Tell me on a Sunday please..."

Sunday afternoon...

Sweating it out at home; The typical Mumbai heat

Havent swiched on the fan as usual; I dunno why I always forget to do that!!!
Phamily calls me for lunch; Just about to head for that

The lines penned by Manas ring through my head, without any context:

"The silence breaks her down, on the wall she hurts her hand
She don't know, nothing can hurt him now, not anybody, anything
Would you stay, stay for me...."

Be back after lunch...

A fresh beginning, sans fresh promises...

This declaration is more for my own self, than for anyone else:

I, am not blogging, for any of the following:

1) To give the world a fascinating peek or sneak preview into my life, my thoughts, my opinions
2) To re-start from where I had left off 3 years ago when I became too lazy to update my blog
3) To find an outlet for any frustrations that I may have in life; broken dreams, broken relationships et al

And as to the reasons for blogging, the blog will justify itself...