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.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Q.
Will time heal the pain or kill the memory? Did the illusion of choice set Sisyphus free? Can you lose your way and find the destination? Or will nuclear war be our salvation?
With love gone will god need Man? Would you have done enough if you do all you can?
If repeated often enough does a miracle stop being one?
Is the journey just beginning, or are we done?
With love gone will god need Man? Would you have done enough if you do all you can?
If repeated often enough does a miracle stop being one?
Is the journey just beginning, or are we done?
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Growing up sucks
Someday, you’ll hear the concern
behind every censure.
Someday, you’ll be kinder to your parents
and feel sorry for others’.
Someday, you’ll find a stranger
in your mirror.
Someday, you’ll miss the comfort of certainty.
Someday, you’ll want real food.
Someday, you’ll be all grown up
and hating it.
behind every censure.
Someday, you’ll be kinder to your parents
and feel sorry for others’.
Someday, you’ll find a stranger
in your mirror.
Someday, you’ll miss the comfort of certainty.
Someday, you’ll want real food.
Someday, you’ll be all grown up
and hating it.
Monday, July 10, 2006
No Rhyme, Just Reason
We could have been in love,
introductions got in the way.
We could have smiled,
fear got in the way.
We could have flown,
gravity got in the way.
We could have been beautiful,
appetites got in the way.
We could have made a difference,
a beginning got in the way.
We could have lived the dream,
mornings got in the way.
We could have been famous,
names got in the way.
We could have made it,
colour got in the way.
We could have been at peace,
God got in the way.
We could have created perfection,
but work got in the way.
We could have won,
economics got in the way.
We could have died,
love got in the way.
We could have been friends,
egos got in the way.
We could have been happy ever after,
but life got in the way.
introductions got in the way.
We could have smiled,
fear got in the way.
We could have flown,
gravity got in the way.
We could have been beautiful,
appetites got in the way.
We could have made a difference,
a beginning got in the way.
We could have lived the dream,
mornings got in the way.
We could have been famous,
names got in the way.
We could have made it,
colour got in the way.
We could have been at peace,
God got in the way.
We could have created perfection,
but work got in the way.
We could have won,
economics got in the way.
We could have died,
love got in the way.
We could have been friends,
egos got in the way.
We could have been happy ever after,
but life got in the way.
Monday, July 03, 2006
The Last Words
“So, you want audience with the King, huh?”
The fat soldier’s thin friend laughed at his ready wit, relishing the look of acute discomfort on the visitor’s face. It wasn’t often that they got sport like this, trapped as they were behind their desk job. But when it happened, it was good. Only the truly helpless come knocking at these doors and they make soft targets.
Growing truculent, the fat one spat out “We have orders not to let anyone in. Now get out of here before we hand you the same fate as your King!”
The visitor didn’t seem unduly worried by the threat. (He was an old man, the lines on his face making it impossible to judge his true age. Looking at him, one only knew that he’d lived too long for his own liking) He merely reached inside the rags that served as his robe, and pulling out a piece of parchment, placed it on the table in front of the soldiers. Face up, so they could not mistake the seal on it.
One glance was enough. The fat soldier took his feet off the desk, and sat up straight, his face ashen. His thin friend was already escorting the visitor to the cells downstairs. It didn’t even occur to either of them to read the note.
The thin one was back soon enough. First he had a swallow of the glass the fat soldier had filled in his absence. Then both stared at the parchment in silence, as if wishing it away by the combined power of their fear.
“I thought he’d washed his hands off it,” the fat one finally ventured.
“Do you think they’ll release him?”
“If they do, it’ll be our heads. You weren’t there that day. The people will have his blood. Or ours.”
“I heard rumours that many were incited by a few. Do you think…”
“Shh! You think too much for your own good.”
X--------------------------------------X---------------------------------------X
The cell was small, filthy. Rust coloured stains covered the walls – reminders of the trials of others. And also served as warning to the new guests: “Countless men have been broken here, spirits crushed, futures erased. Do not think you’ll be any different. Soon, your pride will be gone, and so will all resistance. All that’ll remain, will be these four walls. And an eternity.”
Huddled in the corner, he seemed to have lived his eternity already. But had he been broken?
The visitor was there as well, the sight almost too much for him to bear. But he too, had a job to do.
He opened his mouth, but the other spoke first:
“It is done.”
Silence, as both men contemplated what was to come next. Hard as the last few days had been, the visitor knew that the worst was far from over. Finally, the visitor spoke:
“Pontius has done what was required of him. Everything is at the ready. But remember, a nation hangs on your final words. We have come this far, do not...I pray... do not fail us at the end.”
“A kingdom, not a nation. The kingdom of God.”
The visitor felt uneasy as he heard these words, escaping like life itself from the still form. A whisper, yet more than a shout. Was he, in his final moments, falling prey to his own myth?
“You know that this miracle cannot come to pass, as others have. It is outside our hands. Your last words must give a reason for this – a reason for the followers to believe. Without that, all this will have been for naught.”
The visitor paused, waiting for a reply – some sign that he understood. None came.
There was nothing more to be said. The visitor had done what he had come for. Now, it was up to God.
X--------------------------------------X--------------------------------------X
The next day, the visitor joined the carnival. There was no other word to describe it. He winced as he saw the enthusiastic crowd milling about, waiting for a man to die. Housework was put aside in favour of endless debate on whether he would beg for mercy in his last moments, or die in the same silence with which he had borne his trial. School was forgotten as the young ones ran alongside their elders, boasting how they would have shown their courage in the same situation.
One good man’s life for a million saved. It seemed a fair enough bargain. And yet, the visitor wasn’t sure anymore.
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
It was done. The visitor turned back, away from the crowd waiting for an encore. It was done. The faith would live on. The endless debates, theories & counter-theories about why the promised miracle didn’t happen would see to it. As long as there’s room for doubt, there’s room for faith. And so, a nation would be built from the ashes of another.
But as he walked away, he couldn’t help wondering, ‘and what about the Kingdom?’
The fat soldier’s thin friend laughed at his ready wit, relishing the look of acute discomfort on the visitor’s face. It wasn’t often that they got sport like this, trapped as they were behind their desk job. But when it happened, it was good. Only the truly helpless come knocking at these doors and they make soft targets.
Growing truculent, the fat one spat out “We have orders not to let anyone in. Now get out of here before we hand you the same fate as your King!”
The visitor didn’t seem unduly worried by the threat. (He was an old man, the lines on his face making it impossible to judge his true age. Looking at him, one only knew that he’d lived too long for his own liking) He merely reached inside the rags that served as his robe, and pulling out a piece of parchment, placed it on the table in front of the soldiers. Face up, so they could not mistake the seal on it.
One glance was enough. The fat soldier took his feet off the desk, and sat up straight, his face ashen. His thin friend was already escorting the visitor to the cells downstairs. It didn’t even occur to either of them to read the note.
The thin one was back soon enough. First he had a swallow of the glass the fat soldier had filled in his absence. Then both stared at the parchment in silence, as if wishing it away by the combined power of their fear.
“I thought he’d washed his hands off it,” the fat one finally ventured.
“Do you think they’ll release him?”
“If they do, it’ll be our heads. You weren’t there that day. The people will have his blood. Or ours.”
“I heard rumours that many were incited by a few. Do you think…”
“Shh! You think too much for your own good.”
X--------------------------------------X---------------------------------------X
The cell was small, filthy. Rust coloured stains covered the walls – reminders of the trials of others. And also served as warning to the new guests: “Countless men have been broken here, spirits crushed, futures erased. Do not think you’ll be any different. Soon, your pride will be gone, and so will all resistance. All that’ll remain, will be these four walls. And an eternity.”
Huddled in the corner, he seemed to have lived his eternity already. But had he been broken?
The visitor was there as well, the sight almost too much for him to bear. But he too, had a job to do.
He opened his mouth, but the other spoke first:
“It is done.”
Silence, as both men contemplated what was to come next. Hard as the last few days had been, the visitor knew that the worst was far from over. Finally, the visitor spoke:
“Pontius has done what was required of him. Everything is at the ready. But remember, a nation hangs on your final words. We have come this far, do not...I pray... do not fail us at the end.”
“A kingdom, not a nation. The kingdom of God.”
The visitor felt uneasy as he heard these words, escaping like life itself from the still form. A whisper, yet more than a shout. Was he, in his final moments, falling prey to his own myth?
“You know that this miracle cannot come to pass, as others have. It is outside our hands. Your last words must give a reason for this – a reason for the followers to believe. Without that, all this will have been for naught.”
The visitor paused, waiting for a reply – some sign that he understood. None came.
There was nothing more to be said. The visitor had done what he had come for. Now, it was up to God.
X--------------------------------------X--------------------------------------X
The next day, the visitor joined the carnival. There was no other word to describe it. He winced as he saw the enthusiastic crowd milling about, waiting for a man to die. Housework was put aside in favour of endless debate on whether he would beg for mercy in his last moments, or die in the same silence with which he had borne his trial. School was forgotten as the young ones ran alongside their elders, boasting how they would have shown their courage in the same situation.
One good man’s life for a million saved. It seemed a fair enough bargain. And yet, the visitor wasn’t sure anymore.
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
It was done. The visitor turned back, away from the crowd waiting for an encore. It was done. The faith would live on. The endless debates, theories & counter-theories about why the promised miracle didn’t happen would see to it. As long as there’s room for doubt, there’s room for faith. And so, a nation would be built from the ashes of another.
But as he walked away, he couldn’t help wondering, ‘and what about the Kingdom?’
Thursday, June 29, 2006
An exercise in futility
Life is incredibly frustrating. All the while you sit, and to an extent it allows you some amount of freedom to believe whatever little insanity you call a philosophy, and to use that as a coping mechanism, and then when it really starts to settle in, and you get comfortable, you get hauled out and you have to start all over again, you would think that this is a solid warning to not go i nthe same direction again, but no, the mind is an incredibly fucking stupid organ. It will go the same route, saying "I'll fashion something different this time, albeit with th same tools" , and 2 years later you'll find yourself in the same ditch you had to dig yourself out of some time ago. It's general really. It could be love, relationship, falling for the same psychotic women again and again, it could be a career, not knowing what you want and so condemning yourself to the tedium of basically raping your soul everyday when you get to work and have to deal with people you'd rather see under a tombstone with a cute little epitaph marking their unremarkable lives, and then making that statement, looking at the elitism and arrogance that caused you to say such a 'mean' thing and then realize that that arrogance is contributing more to your isolation from all the things that life on this planet is about.
The more miserable you get, the more you surround yourself with this wall of impenetrability, the more you try to appear composed to people around you so they wont see the cracking foundations within, the more you try to keep up appearances, to hold on to concepts you consider "constructive" while desperately trying to hide the big gaping holes of doubt that come across whenever you or someone else deliberately or innocently questions a core fundamental precept of whatever crap you chose to call a belief.
Life doesn't suck though, it can be nice, but the head won't let you see that, and when you are down, it will kick you in the shins some more so you can crawl a little longer. But eventually you have to crawl out, you either do that by abandoning yourself completely to nihilism, which is really not advisable, because then you have a "nothing can stop me now cos i don't care anymore" attitude, which makes you into a pretentious little bitchy goth, or you can say "we add our own meaning to life" and embark on your own quest to redefine your concepts again and again and again till you either go mad, or weave something so durable that it can withstand anything life throws at you, from random deaths of people you love, to instances that appear out of nowhere and have no tangible lesson to offer. Naturally, this does not happen often, many people who do try have incredibly ridiculous (to me) ideas wihch do not stand up to any form of scrutiny. These people are best left alone. These ar enot the only two methods. I am sure there are more, but unfortunately my moods are being severely limited by my criticism of every observation i make. I am stuck at a stage where I am trying to build something stable. A concept that involves having no concepts of life, which well, is completely self-defeating, and yet i do it, for the few moments I am able to look past that paradigm i am able to experience balance equilibrium, and this fleeting feeling that maybe life is not an ordeal after all, that it can be pleasant, that there are squares of light in the dark. But like all things, this too will pass, and it leaves you again with the uncertainty of doubt, the vulnerable feeling in the morning, the pain on seeing someone you don't wish to speak to anymore, the hundred things that make existence a roller coaster, and they keep washing on over you and spinning you around in an unstoppable vortex of change. I am desperate to get out of it, to be in it, yet be outside it watching myself be in it and not feeling numb, feeling things yet realizing the futility of emoting about something that is entirely out of your hands, yet I realize that that very desperation also keeps me very firmly in it.
Unfortunately, I fail to see the point in many things these days,love perhaps being the only exception, because it has some good benefits as far as mental health is concerned, other emotions,anger,rage,despair, they come, they stay, they go, and i still stay the same. I won't say i don't care..i do care, but there is only so much you can do for yourself and others. The exhaustion that follows the realization of futility is indescribable. I feel it pretty heavily now, so I think I'll spare you the torture of reading more of this tripe, not because I am kind, but because I can't go on without sounding like a complete charlatan.
The more miserable you get, the more you surround yourself with this wall of impenetrability, the more you try to appear composed to people around you so they wont see the cracking foundations within, the more you try to keep up appearances, to hold on to concepts you consider "constructive" while desperately trying to hide the big gaping holes of doubt that come across whenever you or someone else deliberately or innocently questions a core fundamental precept of whatever crap you chose to call a belief.
Life doesn't suck though, it can be nice, but the head won't let you see that, and when you are down, it will kick you in the shins some more so you can crawl a little longer. But eventually you have to crawl out, you either do that by abandoning yourself completely to nihilism, which is really not advisable, because then you have a "nothing can stop me now cos i don't care anymore" attitude, which makes you into a pretentious little bitchy goth, or you can say "we add our own meaning to life" and embark on your own quest to redefine your concepts again and again and again till you either go mad, or weave something so durable that it can withstand anything life throws at you, from random deaths of people you love, to instances that appear out of nowhere and have no tangible lesson to offer. Naturally, this does not happen often, many people who do try have incredibly ridiculous (to me) ideas wihch do not stand up to any form of scrutiny. These people are best left alone. These ar enot the only two methods. I am sure there are more, but unfortunately my moods are being severely limited by my criticism of every observation i make. I am stuck at a stage where I am trying to build something stable. A concept that involves having no concepts of life, which well, is completely self-defeating, and yet i do it, for the few moments I am able to look past that paradigm i am able to experience balance equilibrium, and this fleeting feeling that maybe life is not an ordeal after all, that it can be pleasant, that there are squares of light in the dark. But like all things, this too will pass, and it leaves you again with the uncertainty of doubt, the vulnerable feeling in the morning, the pain on seeing someone you don't wish to speak to anymore, the hundred things that make existence a roller coaster, and they keep washing on over you and spinning you around in an unstoppable vortex of change. I am desperate to get out of it, to be in it, yet be outside it watching myself be in it and not feeling numb, feeling things yet realizing the futility of emoting about something that is entirely out of your hands, yet I realize that that very desperation also keeps me very firmly in it.
Unfortunately, I fail to see the point in many things these days,love perhaps being the only exception, because it has some good benefits as far as mental health is concerned, other emotions,anger,rage,despair, they come, they stay, they go, and i still stay the same. I won't say i don't care..i do care, but there is only so much you can do for yourself and others. The exhaustion that follows the realization of futility is indescribable. I feel it pretty heavily now, so I think I'll spare you the torture of reading more of this tripe, not because I am kind, but because I can't go on without sounding like a complete charlatan.
“I wanted to clear our misunderstanding…”
The pain shot through me like an arrow. An intense, searing arrow straight to my heart. ‘This can’t be right’ I thought, as I turned to face her. That misused, shriveled up mass of hard lead shouldn’t have been able to feel anything. And yet it did.
The initial shock gives way to numbness as further words assail my ears. A twist here, a shove there, a delicate slice elsewhere – the conversation progresses.
Not that I didn’t have my part to play. But the numbness had spread to my mind by then.
“So yea. I just thought you should know how I feel. Goodbye.”
She left, leaving me on my knees, bleeding. From the kitchen knife sunk in my chest.
..................................................................................
I wrote this quite a while back. To those who know what I'm talking about, this has nothing to do with recent events. If anything, I am the one left holding the knife today.
The pain shot through me like an arrow. An intense, searing arrow straight to my heart. ‘This can’t be right’ I thought, as I turned to face her. That misused, shriveled up mass of hard lead shouldn’t have been able to feel anything. And yet it did.
The initial shock gives way to numbness as further words assail my ears. A twist here, a shove there, a delicate slice elsewhere – the conversation progresses.
Not that I didn’t have my part to play. But the numbness had spread to my mind by then.
“So yea. I just thought you should know how I feel. Goodbye.”
She left, leaving me on my knees, bleeding. From the kitchen knife sunk in my chest.
..................................................................................
I wrote this quite a while back. To those who know what I'm talking about, this has nothing to do with recent events. If anything, I am the one left holding the knife today.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Out here in the living planet
“Out here in the Living Planet we come to grips with life in all its ferocity… we see all the majestic power of God’s creatures… the Living Planet… out here, with me, we will meet life itself in the Living Planet…and…”
I watched, entranced, as the little man shouting these words leapt from continent to continent. Sometimes wading across the cold waters of Siberia. Now slashing his way unconcernedly through the forests of Africa. Now again, somewhere on the plains of India, surrounded by idiot natives gaping at his antics, and the colour of his skin.
And yet, while I watched, something in what he was saying bothered me, like a discordant note being played repeatedly by the idle finger of some musical madman.
A discordant note…what was it?
“Out here in the Living Planet…”
Where was I then? And where he?
As I sat there, watching him cross continents at the whim of an editing machine, I realized that to him, I and all the others who were moments ago getting our daily dose of indifference, and are now being subject to him, are not in the living planet. To him, we’re the ones through the looking glass. As surely as he is the same to us – ethereal, made of light.
But isn’t there more to it? Has he ever been a part of this ‘living planet’ to which I have membership?
Oh sure, he must have been living at some point. When he was struggling to reconcile his parent’s expectations with his dream of being an actor. When he was wandering the long road to success, with obscurity and failure awaiting his every misstep. Sure, he must have known what it is to live once.
Or have I got it all wrong? Is he truly the one living now? Living his dream. Wandering from place to place, with the firm conviction that millions across the world tune into his words and are affected by his view of life in some way, never realizing it to be a figment of the producer’s greed and the statician’s necessity.
But perhaps that is the life. It may not be the ‘real living planet’ but where is that to be found anymore? All of us live our dreams in one shape or another. The chosen few, like him, live a beautiful one. The ordinary, like you perhaps, are trapped in their nightmares.
And then there are the rest, who merely flip channels when the commercial’s done.
"We now return you to our regular programming..."
I watched, entranced, as the little man shouting these words leapt from continent to continent. Sometimes wading across the cold waters of Siberia. Now slashing his way unconcernedly through the forests of Africa. Now again, somewhere on the plains of India, surrounded by idiot natives gaping at his antics, and the colour of his skin.
And yet, while I watched, something in what he was saying bothered me, like a discordant note being played repeatedly by the idle finger of some musical madman.
A discordant note…what was it?
“Out here in the Living Planet…”
Where was I then? And where he?
As I sat there, watching him cross continents at the whim of an editing machine, I realized that to him, I and all the others who were moments ago getting our daily dose of indifference, and are now being subject to him, are not in the living planet. To him, we’re the ones through the looking glass. As surely as he is the same to us – ethereal, made of light.
But isn’t there more to it? Has he ever been a part of this ‘living planet’ to which I have membership?
Oh sure, he must have been living at some point. When he was struggling to reconcile his parent’s expectations with his dream of being an actor. When he was wandering the long road to success, with obscurity and failure awaiting his every misstep. Sure, he must have known what it is to live once.
Or have I got it all wrong? Is he truly the one living now? Living his dream. Wandering from place to place, with the firm conviction that millions across the world tune into his words and are affected by his view of life in some way, never realizing it to be a figment of the producer’s greed and the statician’s necessity.
But perhaps that is the life. It may not be the ‘real living planet’ but where is that to be found anymore? All of us live our dreams in one shape or another. The chosen few, like him, live a beautiful one. The ordinary, like you perhaps, are trapped in their nightmares.
And then there are the rest, who merely flip channels when the commercial’s done.
"We now return you to our regular programming..."
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
And then the ink ran dry
On nights like these, I feel equally close to greatness and insanity. On the brink of madness, I fling my arms out, ready to take flight. Or plunge to everyone’s doom. Is this delusion of grandeur? Or the elixir of Supermen? Perhaps it’s whatever I want it to be, and I don’t have a clue.
On the halfway point between insanity and greatness, I pause. The forks clear but my path isn’t. I hear it in every empty laugh sent echoing across the deserted house. I see it in the monsters lurking in the dark corners. I recognize it in the fly I just killed. I drink it out of my fridge everyday.
My pen says “Experience the Power Within” and the ink has run dry. I still continue to write. The patterns on the floor fascinate m…
On the halfway point between insanity and greatness, I pause. The forks clear but my path isn’t. I hear it in every empty laugh sent echoing across the deserted house. I see it in the monsters lurking in the dark corners. I recognize it in the fly I just killed. I drink it out of my fridge everyday.
My pen says “Experience the Power Within” and the ink has run dry. I still continue to write. The patterns on the floor fascinate m…
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
8 steps to being a better corporate whore
These are some random guidelines i have compiled that might help you be a better employee/manager, and might help you prolong your stay with your company, for upto two weeks at a time.
a) Kiss your director's ass thoroughly, reaching into every cobwebbed nook and cranny, make sure there is no kidney stone left unturned.
b) Never turn down a promotion by saying "i hate the people, i would rather work in my old group because atleast i didn't want to die everytime i opened my eyes in the morning". It will cause people to say untrue things about you..like "he is negative. unnecessarily mean, rude. not a team player" that last sentence is pretty much the nail in the coffin by the way. if you get that not a team player tag around your neck, you may as well go shoot yourself.
c) Never ever ever ever say "dude this code is totally gay man!" to a gay guy who has stopped by to help you with some fuckup. It will make a serious difference in both your day(s).
d) If some senior management guy has no teeth and happens to be gay, do not make statements in public relating the two *seemingly* disjointed facts together. Sorry, i can't be plainer without being disgustingly explicit.
e) If big bitchy senior lady asks you why you have turned down a promotion, focus on the positives, the positives of being in the older group as opposed to the newer group, never ever say, "There wasn't enough work". you won't appear honest. you will simply be looked at with the "too good for himself" lens, which as you know, is notoriously misty, and will get you fired before you can say "hello HR guy. how are you today?"
f) If someone in the toilet did their big job all over the floor instead of in the pot (as people are apt to do when they simply forget the purpose of a toilet, a common enough occurrence in IT companies, owing to people being too full of it), make sure to send a lot of company wide emails lamenting the fact that you've never had to write an email like this in your entire career. If you are a manager, and you want a headcount of all the kiss-asses in your company, simply wait for the Reply-to all mails you get from various employees who say "Well Said!" or "Hear Hear!" and do a brief count, and there you have it.
g) Fire those bastards the coming friday, because they wasted company resources saying well said and hear hear when they could have used the bleach and the mop.
h) The HR manager in every company is usually a sub-human product of his parents' lust, often a symbol of failed family planning programs. Have him do it. This will also give you a chance to glow from within, and feel warm and happy when you picture him muttering to himself.. "chief recruiter..and i am fucking cleaning up shit. This wasn't in my job description you goddamn sons of bitches"
That's about all i can think of. I might add to it from time to time, but don't count on it. I have a job to keep too.
a) Kiss your director's ass thoroughly, reaching into every cobwebbed nook and cranny, make sure there is no kidney stone left unturned.
b) Never turn down a promotion by saying "i hate the people, i would rather work in my old group because atleast i didn't want to die everytime i opened my eyes in the morning". It will cause people to say untrue things about you..like "he is negative. unnecessarily mean, rude. not a team player" that last sentence is pretty much the nail in the coffin by the way. if you get that not a team player tag around your neck, you may as well go shoot yourself.
c) Never ever ever ever say "dude this code is totally gay man!" to a gay guy who has stopped by to help you with some fuckup. It will make a serious difference in both your day(s).
d) If some senior management guy has no teeth and happens to be gay, do not make statements in public relating the two *seemingly* disjointed facts together. Sorry, i can't be plainer without being disgustingly explicit.
e) If big bitchy senior lady asks you why you have turned down a promotion, focus on the positives, the positives of being in the older group as opposed to the newer group, never ever say, "There wasn't enough work". you won't appear honest. you will simply be looked at with the "too good for himself" lens, which as you know, is notoriously misty, and will get you fired before you can say "hello HR guy. how are you today?"
f) If someone in the toilet did their big job all over the floor instead of in the pot (as people are apt to do when they simply forget the purpose of a toilet, a common enough occurrence in IT companies, owing to people being too full of it), make sure to send a lot of company wide emails lamenting the fact that you've never had to write an email like this in your entire career. If you are a manager, and you want a headcount of all the kiss-asses in your company, simply wait for the Reply-to all mails you get from various employees who say "Well Said!" or "Hear Hear!" and do a brief count, and there you have it.
g) Fire those bastards the coming friday, because they wasted company resources saying well said and hear hear when they could have used the bleach and the mop.
h) The HR manager in every company is usually a sub-human product of his parents' lust, often a symbol of failed family planning programs. Have him do it. This will also give you a chance to glow from within, and feel warm and happy when you picture him muttering to himself.. "chief recruiter..and i am fucking cleaning up shit. This wasn't in my job description you goddamn sons of bitches"
That's about all i can think of. I might add to it from time to time, but don't count on it. I have a job to keep too.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Disjointed
It's like awakening from your dreams. Except things aren't the same as they were when you went to bed. It's like awakening from your dreams, into a different world. It's like awakening for the first time.
This world was built for giants, not squirrels. But life makes squirrels of us all.
So busy gathering twigs to build the shelters for old age, the summer of youth passes away. Unnoticed and unacknowledged. All that I could, or almost could be, lost in the pages of books never written, lost in the verses of songs never sung.
The lands have been discovered, the stars breached, the elements conquered. Where do I turn to for inspiration? For divine intervention?
I wish I were alive.
This is no story. Nor yet a piece of poetry. This is a plea for help. This is a dark room, a strange bed. This is a mind struggling against itself. This is not me. This is not you. This is us.
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