So many choices we have to make.
So many roads we fail to take.
Wonder how many lives I’ve already lost
in a lifetime spent calculating their cost.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
The Man in the Mirror
“Maybe this world is another planet's hell.”
– Aldus Huxley
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ravi caught his eye in the bathroom mirror, as he prepared for his morning shave. For a moment, he couldn’t place the man. It was a common enough face, easily forgotten. He took in the graying stubble and the receding hairline, the face puffy from too many late nights in the office and too little sun. One of the many middle-aged men you pass everyday on the streets – of no consequence.
A common face, defined by a common name. And now, framed in one of the cheap plastic mirrors you find by the Bombay roadside in the hundreds.
Hell isn’t a snake pit filled with righteous fire. It isn’t a little red man wielding a farming implement.
Hell is a mediocre life in a planet of infinite possibilities. It is your bald landlord squeezing his luxury out of your necessity. It’s watching your dreams merge into grey nothingness, and slip away unnoticed among the cubicles. It’s the fourth seat on a Bombay local that feels like home. It’s winning a fight for love, only to lose it in the battle of life. It’s typing your name in google and getting 16,000,000 hits – none of them about you.
Hell is waking up one morning and finding a common stranger in your bathroom mirror.
Ravi stared at the man in the mirror. Was he trying to tell him something? The eyes didn’t look quite as dull as they had a moment ago. In fact, they were shining fiercely now, as if he wished to transmit his very soul through the glass and into Ravi.
Then the man spoke. “You don’t need to stay. There is a better world. All you have to do, is step through.”
The voice was his, and the words had come from him, but it was the man who spoke. Was he losing his mind? But he had always known that things weren’t quite as they seemed. He’d always felt the void. In a sense, the man in the mirror had always been there, watching him – waiting for the right moment.
The moment was now. Ravi felt it in his bones. He finally realised that he was the one in the mirror – on the wrong side of it. In Hell. On the other side, was the real him. The one he’d lost on the streets of Bombay a long time ago – the man in his mirror.
Once he’d realised this, stepping through was easy. In a way, he was already there, existing in both world’s simultaneously. It was just a question of perspective.
Reality is arbitrary – you can choose the one you want.
He was through. Everything seemed as before, but the man in the mirror was gone. Ravi smiled at himself, and felt ten years younger. He was out of Hell. In a new world, things would be different. He could be different. Time to change.
A little apprehensive, he headed for the door. He hoped the people would be kind, and not shun him. But he knew that however bad things got, they could never be as bad as Hell.
He opened the door and stepped out into the light, to find a sea of people prostrated before him. All of them chanting the same thing:
“Welcome, visitor from paradise.”
– Aldus Huxley
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ravi caught his eye in the bathroom mirror, as he prepared for his morning shave. For a moment, he couldn’t place the man. It was a common enough face, easily forgotten. He took in the graying stubble and the receding hairline, the face puffy from too many late nights in the office and too little sun. One of the many middle-aged men you pass everyday on the streets – of no consequence.
A common face, defined by a common name. And now, framed in one of the cheap plastic mirrors you find by the Bombay roadside in the hundreds.
Hell isn’t a snake pit filled with righteous fire. It isn’t a little red man wielding a farming implement.
Hell is a mediocre life in a planet of infinite possibilities. It is your bald landlord squeezing his luxury out of your necessity. It’s watching your dreams merge into grey nothingness, and slip away unnoticed among the cubicles. It’s the fourth seat on a Bombay local that feels like home. It’s winning a fight for love, only to lose it in the battle of life. It’s typing your name in google and getting 16,000,000 hits – none of them about you.
Hell is waking up one morning and finding a common stranger in your bathroom mirror.
Ravi stared at the man in the mirror. Was he trying to tell him something? The eyes didn’t look quite as dull as they had a moment ago. In fact, they were shining fiercely now, as if he wished to transmit his very soul through the glass and into Ravi.
Then the man spoke. “You don’t need to stay. There is a better world. All you have to do, is step through.”
The voice was his, and the words had come from him, but it was the man who spoke. Was he losing his mind? But he had always known that things weren’t quite as they seemed. He’d always felt the void. In a sense, the man in the mirror had always been there, watching him – waiting for the right moment.
The moment was now. Ravi felt it in his bones. He finally realised that he was the one in the mirror – on the wrong side of it. In Hell. On the other side, was the real him. The one he’d lost on the streets of Bombay a long time ago – the man in his mirror.
Once he’d realised this, stepping through was easy. In a way, he was already there, existing in both world’s simultaneously. It was just a question of perspective.
Reality is arbitrary – you can choose the one you want.
He was through. Everything seemed as before, but the man in the mirror was gone. Ravi smiled at himself, and felt ten years younger. He was out of Hell. In a new world, things would be different. He could be different. Time to change.
A little apprehensive, he headed for the door. He hoped the people would be kind, and not shun him. But he knew that however bad things got, they could never be as bad as Hell.
He opened the door and stepped out into the light, to find a sea of people prostrated before him. All of them chanting the same thing:
“Welcome, visitor from paradise.”
Inventory of a Wasted Life
I have sent 12 'business' emails today.
The primary function of 7 of these emails was to cover my quivering pink ass.
3 of these emails were sent to 'confirm' (read 'repeat') what I had already verbally communicated to the recepient. To cover his/her quivering pink ass.
2 of these emails were constructive, and hence could possibly get me into trouble in the days to come.
I love corporate culture.
The primary function of 7 of these emails was to cover my quivering pink ass.
3 of these emails were sent to 'confirm' (read 'repeat') what I had already verbally communicated to the recepient. To cover his/her quivering pink ass.
2 of these emails were constructive, and hence could possibly get me into trouble in the days to come.
I love corporate culture.
15 Minutes
In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes. Everybody will have their faces transmitted across the ‘global village’ to the proverbial idiot box for at least 15 minutes. Tom will finally have his day in the sun, Dick will not be denied his fan following and Harry will see himself lit up on every billboard in Jaisalmer.
The future is now. Today, so called ‘reality shows’ are just the rage. Even as I write this piece, some enterprising suit in some multi-million dollar media corporation is cooking up a revolutionary new idea for yet another reality show – shocking, scandalizing and even more titillating than ever before. And of course, it is going to star you and me.
Stars have to look the part. People are getting better looking with every generation, women get better looking every day. Pretty soon, ‘plain Jane’ will be extinct. Or as near extinct as won’t matter to the rest of the world. This genocide is, in part, the responsibility of the innumerable beauty products of numerous cosmetic and health care companies.
The gap between the faces we see on television and the silver screen, and the ones we see in our high schools, colleges and local pubs is getting shorter every few years.
Every once in a while, you are struck with the strange feeling that the World just got prettier. Well-proportioned, healthy people, with perfect skin and complexion. Above all, people who know how to make the best of what they already have.
Throw in the miracle of plastic surgery, laser treatment, hair replacement and the myriad other ingenious ways by which technology helps us regain our lost youth and beauty, and you have a pretty formidable mix. Especially when the new you can be a whole lot better than the real you ever was, at least externally.
Technology is the fountain of youth. And it comes with a price tag.
Value is always relative. If everyone is pretty, no one will be beautiful. If everyone is on television, it won’t be enough to make you famous.
Earlier, you had to be special to be famous. Now, you are considered special if you are famous. In the near future, you’ll have to prove yourself special if you want to stay famous.
The trend can already be seen. Most people who turn up for the American Idol auditions are not really there because they think they have a shot at the title. They’re there to be on television. But they won’t be, unless they make a fool of themselves in some outlandish way – unless they entertain.
And when all you have is 15 minutes, you have to be very entertaining if you hope to be remembered.
The conclusion? In the future, everyone will be Famous. And Special (in the same way that a child with half his brain missing is special).
But hopefully, the sun will burn out before that day dawns.
The future is now. Today, so called ‘reality shows’ are just the rage. Even as I write this piece, some enterprising suit in some multi-million dollar media corporation is cooking up a revolutionary new idea for yet another reality show – shocking, scandalizing and even more titillating than ever before. And of course, it is going to star you and me.
Stars have to look the part. People are getting better looking with every generation, women get better looking every day. Pretty soon, ‘plain Jane’ will be extinct. Or as near extinct as won’t matter to the rest of the world. This genocide is, in part, the responsibility of the innumerable beauty products of numerous cosmetic and health care companies.
The gap between the faces we see on television and the silver screen, and the ones we see in our high schools, colleges and local pubs is getting shorter every few years.
Every once in a while, you are struck with the strange feeling that the World just got prettier. Well-proportioned, healthy people, with perfect skin and complexion. Above all, people who know how to make the best of what they already have.
Throw in the miracle of plastic surgery, laser treatment, hair replacement and the myriad other ingenious ways by which technology helps us regain our lost youth and beauty, and you have a pretty formidable mix. Especially when the new you can be a whole lot better than the real you ever was, at least externally.
Technology is the fountain of youth. And it comes with a price tag.
Value is always relative. If everyone is pretty, no one will be beautiful. If everyone is on television, it won’t be enough to make you famous.
Earlier, you had to be special to be famous. Now, you are considered special if you are famous. In the near future, you’ll have to prove yourself special if you want to stay famous.
The trend can already be seen. Most people who turn up for the American Idol auditions are not really there because they think they have a shot at the title. They’re there to be on television. But they won’t be, unless they make a fool of themselves in some outlandish way – unless they entertain.
And when all you have is 15 minutes, you have to be very entertaining if you hope to be remembered.
The conclusion? In the future, everyone will be Famous. And Special (in the same way that a child with half his brain missing is special).
But hopefully, the sun will burn out before that day dawns.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Bess
She came from darkness into light. But it seemed more as if her very presence had vanquished the night, and set the little room aglow. Indeed, the brilliant white light seemed but a manifestation of her inner fire.
Such was Bess.
She knew truth, she had the answers. In her, lay Earth’s eternal salvation. She was God’s chosen one.
But Earth is no heaven. God’s messengers do not have it easy here. And so it was with Bess. Her own people had shunned her. Her neighbours had derided her, and her parents had driven her out. You see, her society was a rigidly structured one, and there was no place for heavenly messengers there. Even ones so obviously touched by the hand of God. Such is the lot of all true prophets.
But she hadn’t lost faith, and God had shown her the way. He revealed himself to her in a dream, and told her to go to the Others – the only ones capable of ruling the planet if her people were not ready for the Message.
The devil had tried his tricks with her then, sowing uncertainty in her mind and hoping to reap her soul in return. The Others were very young after all, and fragile. They were of little faith, and even less wisdom. All true. But they had also accomplished much in their short time, and there were a few among them who were capable of higher things.
The devil retreated, disgruntled. Such was her spirit.
Her journey had been a long one. And without the support of her people, dangerous in the extreme. But she had climbed over every obstacle with courage. And gone around a few, with wisdom. In the end, she had prevailed. And God had shown her the way – a devout family with an intelligent child who showed much promise for her age. They were the ones who were to receive the Message first. They were to be her first disciples, as per God’s wish. But she only wished to be a true friend. Such was Bess.
And so the moment had finally come. And she stepped out of the shadows, and revealed herself to the family. ‘Here I am, the messenger of Truth and God. And I bring to you salvation, the hope of heaven. Wilt thou listen?’
“Eeeeuuu!! Mum! A roach!”
And so did Bess become a martyr.
Such was Bess.
She knew truth, she had the answers. In her, lay Earth’s eternal salvation. She was God’s chosen one.
But Earth is no heaven. God’s messengers do not have it easy here. And so it was with Bess. Her own people had shunned her. Her neighbours had derided her, and her parents had driven her out. You see, her society was a rigidly structured one, and there was no place for heavenly messengers there. Even ones so obviously touched by the hand of God. Such is the lot of all true prophets.
But she hadn’t lost faith, and God had shown her the way. He revealed himself to her in a dream, and told her to go to the Others – the only ones capable of ruling the planet if her people were not ready for the Message.
The devil had tried his tricks with her then, sowing uncertainty in her mind and hoping to reap her soul in return. The Others were very young after all, and fragile. They were of little faith, and even less wisdom. All true. But they had also accomplished much in their short time, and there were a few among them who were capable of higher things.
The devil retreated, disgruntled. Such was her spirit.
Her journey had been a long one. And without the support of her people, dangerous in the extreme. But she had climbed over every obstacle with courage. And gone around a few, with wisdom. In the end, she had prevailed. And God had shown her the way – a devout family with an intelligent child who showed much promise for her age. They were the ones who were to receive the Message first. They were to be her first disciples, as per God’s wish. But she only wished to be a true friend. Such was Bess.
And so the moment had finally come. And she stepped out of the shadows, and revealed herself to the family. ‘Here I am, the messenger of Truth and God. And I bring to you salvation, the hope of heaven. Wilt thou listen?’
“Eeeeuuu!! Mum! A roach!”
And so did Bess become a martyr.
6X3
“The magic of discovery is not in finding new landscapes, but in finding new eyes with which to see them.”
Sitting in the darkness, contemplating stories with roaches for stars and human vices for subplots…where are we going, you and I? Heading inexorably toward some nameless destination, maybe our destruction, why do we rush so? Where did the excitement go, the wonder of it all? Now the only wonder left to me is to watch myself go through another day without a clue.
I set the scene carefully – not too much light, not too little. Story of my life. Perhaps a life lived in mediocrity is a blessing not to be realised until harder days fall upon us.
And then there’s the music. Oh, the music! Sometimes I do think I am sick of it – those carefully arranged expressions of other people’s creativity. Nameless strangers invading my mind with their experiences, leaving bits of their souls to fill the gaps in mine. And yet I do need them as much as they need me.
Locked in a 10ft.X20ft. room I sit, my mind enclosed in a 3ft.X6ft. home. When will I escape? Where would I escape to? The questions are endless. The answers may seem easy at first but then I realise they don’t answer anything at all. A tangled web of lies posing as solutions that neither solve, nor gratify.
What is it to live, if you do not think of the after life? Always lived for the future, and now that it's here, I do not know where I am.
And here I sit, dreaming up stories with roaches for stars, carefully arranging sentences and subplots to express my creativity – baring my soul on lined paper.
And the world turns around once again.
Sitting in the darkness, contemplating stories with roaches for stars and human vices for subplots…where are we going, you and I? Heading inexorably toward some nameless destination, maybe our destruction, why do we rush so? Where did the excitement go, the wonder of it all? Now the only wonder left to me is to watch myself go through another day without a clue.
I set the scene carefully – not too much light, not too little. Story of my life. Perhaps a life lived in mediocrity is a blessing not to be realised until harder days fall upon us.
And then there’s the music. Oh, the music! Sometimes I do think I am sick of it – those carefully arranged expressions of other people’s creativity. Nameless strangers invading my mind with their experiences, leaving bits of their souls to fill the gaps in mine. And yet I do need them as much as they need me.
Locked in a 10ft.X20ft. room I sit, my mind enclosed in a 3ft.X6ft. home. When will I escape? Where would I escape to? The questions are endless. The answers may seem easy at first but then I realise they don’t answer anything at all. A tangled web of lies posing as solutions that neither solve, nor gratify.
What is it to live, if you do not think of the after life? Always lived for the future, and now that it's here, I do not know where I am.
And here I sit, dreaming up stories with roaches for stars, carefully arranging sentences and subplots to express my creativity – baring my soul on lined paper.
And the world turns around once again.
Immortal
We are God’s middle children. Born into Man’s middle ages. Too late for heroes and rock stars. Too soon for eternal salvation.
There are no more world’s to be found, no more ocean’s to be navigated. The mountains have been vanquished, the skies conquered. The virgin forests have all been raped.
Where do we go from here? How do we find the light when we have forgotten the feel of darkness on our skin, in our souls?
How will we live, when man cures death?
I hurt myself just to feel alive. Like a lens focusing, the pain brings my existence to life. But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.
I want to run, the wind in my face, the devil behind me. I want to run, reckless abandonment in my stride and the exhilaration of fear in my veins. I want war, I want rebellion.
I want to die, but only as an immortal.
There are no more world’s to be found, no more ocean’s to be navigated. The mountains have been vanquished, the skies conquered. The virgin forests have all been raped.
Where do we go from here? How do we find the light when we have forgotten the feel of darkness on our skin, in our souls?
How will we live, when man cures death?
I hurt myself just to feel alive. Like a lens focusing, the pain brings my existence to life. But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.
I want to run, the wind in my face, the devil behind me. I want to run, reckless abandonment in my stride and the exhilaration of fear in my veins. I want war, I want rebellion.
I want to die, but only as an immortal.
One
One life
One love
One dream, all our own
One place to call home.
One more day to take flight
One more gift to make it right.
One last day, before endless night.
One love
One dream, all our own
One place to call home.
One more day to take flight
One more gift to make it right.
One last day, before endless night.
In my twentieth year
I didn’t know a bawa from a tava
And I’d never heard of bawis.
The only Mac I knew was McDonald’s
And Reddy was a chap I went to school with.
I couldn’t tell the difference between a Muslim and a Christian
And didn’t know there was any, between Mangloreans & Goans
Today, I’m out in the real world
And know all this and more
And I’d just like to say:
Thank you to all my friends
Who shared my ignorance
Thank you to my teachers
Who encouraged it
And thank you to my parents
Who gave birth to it.
And I’d never heard of bawis.
The only Mac I knew was McDonald’s
And Reddy was a chap I went to school with.
I couldn’t tell the difference between a Muslim and a Christian
And didn’t know there was any, between Mangloreans & Goans
Today, I’m out in the real world
And know all this and more
And I’d just like to say:
Thank you to all my friends
Who shared my ignorance
Thank you to my teachers
Who encouraged it
And thank you to my parents
Who gave birth to it.
Writer's Bloc
I want to write. The ink flows freely, but the words do not.
I’m so ugly. But that’s ok, cuz so are you.
What do I say? How do I begin? This moment is the difference between genius, and a life wasted.
This, is Sparta.
The moment of creation, of birth. Everything could change tonight, if only the world would shift a little to the left.
I stand on the brink of greatness. And mediocrity. Tonight, is the difference.
Tonight, we die in hell.
Glory. Or eternal night. I can see the fork, but which one will my pen take?
One word, that’s all I need. A revelation.
Yea.
I can sense what is not yet here. I just have to dip into the stream and fish it out. But I cannot.
I need to write. I feel the night steal away, taking my destiny with it.
If I go crazy, will you still call me Superman?
How can you fear something that does not exist?
A portal into another dimension. A place where our thoughts have a life of their own. A stolen glimpse.
Sweet dreams are made of these.
It flickers. The trick is to watch with your eyes wide shut.
The creatures that live there are calling out to me. It hurts. It festers. It keeps me awake, and rules my dreams. It chokes me.
What kind of thought are you?
And still I wait for the word. A revelation.
I’m so ugly. But that’s ok, cuz so are you.
What do I say? How do I begin? This moment is the difference between genius, and a life wasted.
This, is Sparta.
The moment of creation, of birth. Everything could change tonight, if only the world would shift a little to the left.
I stand on the brink of greatness. And mediocrity. Tonight, is the difference.
Tonight, we die in hell.
Glory. Or eternal night. I can see the fork, but which one will my pen take?
One word, that’s all I need. A revelation.
Yea.
I can sense what is not yet here. I just have to dip into the stream and fish it out. But I cannot.
I need to write. I feel the night steal away, taking my destiny with it.
If I go crazy, will you still call me Superman?
How can you fear something that does not exist?
A portal into another dimension. A place where our thoughts have a life of their own. A stolen glimpse.
Sweet dreams are made of these.
It flickers. The trick is to watch with your eyes wide shut.
The creatures that live there are calling out to me. It hurts. It festers. It keeps me awake, and rules my dreams. It chokes me.
What kind of thought are you?
And still I wait for the word. A revelation.
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