10 years from now : What would it take to sit across a table and confess ?
I had a thing for you. You’d made your choice; so I made mine.
I was infected. I loved you too much then, to let you go.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Moral Gumption
Dead Giveaway
She had intended to scissor out all superfluity but there was an explosion of rancid irony. A spurt of loquacity gushed forth, rendering her assailable. The only redeeming feature perhaps was, that she was not present in person, or her humiliation would have been "total". Her face would have then been vulnerable to scrutiny - it could have threatened to divulge everything, sometimes unintentionally and more often, comically.
Fie on 'Us'
There are no free lunches in the world - We pay a price for everything.
But why is that some people pay, more than their due? As blind as we've always been,we fail to realize,its because 'They' want to enrich our lives in more ways than one.
How many times have we heard people quote 'Ghalib' and especially when they seem to have just no hope; only despair? Umpteen times! But again, how many of us actually know what went into making 'Ghalib' the most forlorn lover and the most wretched man who ever trod this earth? Why is that every inch of ground he walked upon, has become so hallowed?
Because it was Ghalib who knew what sorrow was, if anyone did. The death of his father and after that his guardian uncle when he was still a child, of his seven children one after another, of his dearly-loved brother, and still more dearly-loved adopted son in young age, the scourge of poverty and constant danger of debtor's jail, non-recognition of merit and vulgar vilification over literary controversies, the torture and disgrace of gambler's prison, the pain and suffering of half a dozen diseases and, above all, bitter domestic life. what could be more miserable for a sensitive mind like Ghalib's. But Ghalib did not succumb to his miseries not in his poetry at any rate. In fact, he turned his grief into poetry.
Need I say anything more?
Just one more thing - We are over-privileged. Lets not crib and be irreverent towards 'HIM'. Lets not be 'that beloved' of Ghalib, who with a mirror in her hand,remained transfixed in her place, intoxicated with her own beauty. We have just one Ghalib and lets just keep it that way.
I end this by dedicating his own quote to him -
"Yeh masaail-e-tasavvuf yeh tera bayaan Ghalib;
tujhe hum vali samajhte jo na(h) bada(h)khvar hota"
(These maxims of mysticism and your sublime oration
Ghalib;
We would have taken you for a saint had you not been a
wine-drinker)
But why is that some people pay, more than their due? As blind as we've always been,we fail to realize,its because 'They' want to enrich our lives in more ways than one.
How many times have we heard people quote 'Ghalib' and especially when they seem to have just no hope; only despair? Umpteen times! But again, how many of us actually know what went into making 'Ghalib' the most forlorn lover and the most wretched man who ever trod this earth? Why is that every inch of ground he walked upon, has become so hallowed?
Because it was Ghalib who knew what sorrow was, if anyone did. The death of his father and after that his guardian uncle when he was still a child, of his seven children one after another, of his dearly-loved brother, and still more dearly-loved adopted son in young age, the scourge of poverty and constant danger of debtor's jail, non-recognition of merit and vulgar vilification over literary controversies, the torture and disgrace of gambler's prison, the pain and suffering of half a dozen diseases and, above all, bitter domestic life. what could be more miserable for a sensitive mind like Ghalib's. But Ghalib did not succumb to his miseries not in his poetry at any rate. In fact, he turned his grief into poetry.
Need I say anything more?
Just one more thing - We are over-privileged. Lets not crib and be irreverent towards 'HIM'. Lets not be 'that beloved' of Ghalib, who with a mirror in her hand,remained transfixed in her place, intoxicated with her own beauty. We have just one Ghalib and lets just keep it that way.
I end this by dedicating his own quote to him -
"Yeh masaail-e-tasavvuf yeh tera bayaan Ghalib;
tujhe hum vali samajhte jo na(h) bada(h)khvar hota"
(These maxims of mysticism and your sublime oration
Ghalib;
We would have taken you for a saint had you not been a
wine-drinker)
Go Blotto
I positively resent intellectual truths which make demands
upon the mind, without being verifiable in immediate
experience. Like they say, even axioms are not axioms until
they are proved upon our pulses.
What is it then that makes us do, all that we do? Our emotions
are not isolated responses; they are conditioned as much from
within as without. 'Acquired' knowledge thus becomes the main
casus belli and life becomes nothing but a prolonged anathema.
Are we so hamstrung that we have to reach out for a blueprint
each time? Whatever happened to 'independent' learning? Why
cant we draw our own conclusions? Why cant we be an
experimentalist in our own right? Is there an inflexible rule
that we must adhere to, whereby it becomes imperative that we
reproduce everything verbatim?
We must begin to accept things and people as they are and not
intellectualize them into something else. Submission to people
as they are, without trying to indoctrinate or improve them -
could be instrumental in kissing away a lot of your anguish.
Stop hankering after concrete logic all the time. Do not lust
after fact and reason. Instead, sit back and luxuriate in your
new- found sense of doubt and ambiguity.
The worthwhileness of life does not lie in ensuring
continuity. The ethereal truth of life actually resides in the
"ephemeral". It is the transience that’s most exquisite.
When has "beauty" been known to survive the ravages of time?
Bask in the glory of the "moment" and let it pass, for there
is no pause in the progression of time.
upon the mind, without being verifiable in immediate
experience. Like they say, even axioms are not axioms until
they are proved upon our pulses.
What is it then that makes us do, all that we do? Our emotions
are not isolated responses; they are conditioned as much from
within as without. 'Acquired' knowledge thus becomes the main
casus belli and life becomes nothing but a prolonged anathema.
Are we so hamstrung that we have to reach out for a blueprint
each time? Whatever happened to 'independent' learning? Why
cant we draw our own conclusions? Why cant we be an
experimentalist in our own right? Is there an inflexible rule
that we must adhere to, whereby it becomes imperative that we
reproduce everything verbatim?
We must begin to accept things and people as they are and not
intellectualize them into something else. Submission to people
as they are, without trying to indoctrinate or improve them -
could be instrumental in kissing away a lot of your anguish.
Stop hankering after concrete logic all the time. Do not lust
after fact and reason. Instead, sit back and luxuriate in your
new- found sense of doubt and ambiguity.
The worthwhileness of life does not lie in ensuring
continuity. The ethereal truth of life actually resides in the
"ephemeral". It is the transience that’s most exquisite.
When has "beauty" been known to survive the ravages of time?
Bask in the glory of the "moment" and let it pass, for there
is no pause in the progression of time.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Sleepy Saturday
"There are still double standards. A man can sleep around and sleep around and nobody asks any questions" :DThe feminists better not look for any propaganda here. The above statement is rather harmless and deals with a man, who puts Saturday to a wonderful use!
Friday, April 18, 2008
Fatigued Friday
Today was certainly not the best day of my life. A passerby friend, who was using my 2 bedroom flat as an inn, jolted me out of my peaceful sleep. I woke up with a start, only to realize she wanted to know where the iron was kept. Pointed out the useless object - wondered why people never shook off that extra water after washing clothes - that way the creases ease out, sparing us the use of the IRON. Fixed myself and her, 2 cups of steaming hot tea - an aphrodisiac. I hope some of you, tea drinkers will know what I mean, when I assign such an epithet to it. Soon enough, we exchanged goodbyes and I shut the door rather smugly.
Played my favorite CD - "Hey there Delilah" is a pleasant song, to start a day with - its not the lyrics of the song that matters as much, but the soul of it. As the tracks kept changing, I got down to my daily chores. Yea, I had a maid till about a week back - but she went on leave (funerals and weddings in their village, being the top two excuses) Did the dishes - using "Pril" frugally - not miserly, just making judicious use. I somehow like to smell the dishes after I have cleaned them - and only after I inhale a whiff of that lemony liquid, do I proceed to place them on the rack. Scrubbed the slabs - why does it happen that the day, you cant really afford to spend so much time paying attention to details, we end up doing it inevitably? Surveyed the kitchen - it looked neat - didn't sparkle though. Gave it only one star.
Swept the house, lay down flat on my belly, to sweep under the bed - found my missing Osho chappals and two 2-rupee coins. Wondered how the coins got there. Must have been my habit of folding my denims, with the pockets downwards. Soaked the clothes and the pulses - not together of course. Chopped onions and smiled to myself recollecting the poem - "Ode to an Onion". Prepared lunch - Woke up a hungry sister, who thought it was her prerogative to expect to be served in bed. Why are younger siblings so thoughtless? I skipped lunch on purpose. Don't ask why - being Indian and sedentary is a bane. Spruced up the kitchen one more time. The memory of those pretty white shirts, tarnished after having been soaked for way too long was haunting me all the while. Ran to the bathroom to rescue my clothes. Washed them - marveled at how wonderful an invention "The Detergent" is. And for once, believed in a TV commercial. The new Surf Excel quickwash removes stains 10/10 and saves 2 buckets of water. But I wish these detergents were nails-friendly. Two of my fingernails became brittle and by the time I hung the clothes to dry, they gave way! The demise of two also meant killing the other 9 (Yea, I have a double thumb, just in case you were thinking I didn't know basic counting).
Then, to create an illusion of relaxation, soaked my feet in a tub of hot water with a li'l shampoo and 2 drops of Dettol - wanted to just keep descending down till, I was immersed in it. But Delhi has severe scorching summers - just the tap water could have scalded me. Checked a coupla mails meanwhile , replied to a few and logged into my social lives. Btw, I don't quite like the contemporary rage - Facebook. The interface is also depressing ( Many of you may not agree, I know) . Plus, with the passage of time and countless privacy options, one goes about it very ritualistically. Don't get me wrong - I guard my privacy quite fiercely too. But I'm sure some of you'll agree that the fun about these social networking sites were the pre-privacy days, when you could indulge in mindless browsing - and laugh, smile, smirk while flipping through the "unguarded" pages.
Its almost 6. Tea time again. I'm hoping the night is not very predictable. Expecting surprises after 6 in the evening is foolish I know, for the courier boys must have retired a long time back - in fact much earlier today to try and have an extended weekend. But what the heck! Do only mails bear surprises! Waiting ...
Played my favorite CD - "Hey there Delilah" is a pleasant song, to start a day with - its not the lyrics of the song that matters as much, but the soul of it. As the tracks kept changing, I got down to my daily chores. Yea, I had a maid till about a week back - but she went on leave (funerals and weddings in their village, being the top two excuses) Did the dishes - using "Pril" frugally - not miserly, just making judicious use. I somehow like to smell the dishes after I have cleaned them - and only after I inhale a whiff of that lemony liquid, do I proceed to place them on the rack. Scrubbed the slabs - why does it happen that the day, you cant really afford to spend so much time paying attention to details, we end up doing it inevitably? Surveyed the kitchen - it looked neat - didn't sparkle though. Gave it only one star.
Swept the house, lay down flat on my belly, to sweep under the bed - found my missing Osho chappals and two 2-rupee coins. Wondered how the coins got there. Must have been my habit of folding my denims, with the pockets downwards. Soaked the clothes and the pulses - not together of course. Chopped onions and smiled to myself recollecting the poem - "Ode to an Onion". Prepared lunch - Woke up a hungry sister, who thought it was her prerogative to expect to be served in bed. Why are younger siblings so thoughtless? I skipped lunch on purpose. Don't ask why - being Indian and sedentary is a bane. Spruced up the kitchen one more time. The memory of those pretty white shirts, tarnished after having been soaked for way too long was haunting me all the while. Ran to the bathroom to rescue my clothes. Washed them - marveled at how wonderful an invention "The Detergent" is. And for once, believed in a TV commercial. The new Surf Excel quickwash removes stains 10/10 and saves 2 buckets of water. But I wish these detergents were nails-friendly. Two of my fingernails became brittle and by the time I hung the clothes to dry, they gave way! The demise of two also meant killing the other 9 (Yea, I have a double thumb, just in case you were thinking I didn't know basic counting).
Then, to create an illusion of relaxation, soaked my feet in a tub of hot water with a li'l shampoo and 2 drops of Dettol - wanted to just keep descending down till, I was immersed in it. But Delhi has severe scorching summers - just the tap water could have scalded me. Checked a coupla mails meanwhile , replied to a few and logged into my social lives. Btw, I don't quite like the contemporary rage - Facebook. The interface is also depressing ( Many of you may not agree, I know) . Plus, with the passage of time and countless privacy options, one goes about it very ritualistically. Don't get me wrong - I guard my privacy quite fiercely too. But I'm sure some of you'll agree that the fun about these social networking sites were the pre-privacy days, when you could indulge in mindless browsing - and laugh, smile, smirk while flipping through the "unguarded" pages.
Its almost 6. Tea time again. I'm hoping the night is not very predictable. Expecting surprises after 6 in the evening is foolish I know, for the courier boys must have retired a long time back - in fact much earlier today to try and have an extended weekend. But what the heck! Do only mails bear surprises! Waiting ...
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