A joyful road to death...
"Find the joy in your life"
Two of the best actors in the world will make you laugh and cry, in what is a 1hour 39 minutes of pure art.
Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson compete each other for the kudos. There is no image wizardry, no steamy scenes or besotting beauties but pure emotion and maginificent portrayal.
"Everybody is afraid to die alone"
The way Nicholson and Freeman help each other to find the joys in their life and the way the bucket list is completed, the director needs a praise...
The scene where Freeman goes to his house and rings the bell,instead of opening it with his own key, to let his wife open the door- how good to have someone to care for you!
The Collage where Freeman has dinner with his family and Nicholson-a multi-millionaire- smashing the boxed-food all alone in his suit and crying
Ah! Do I need to say more?
Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance....the 5 stages...
There is this one man show- will smith's I AM LEGEND,
The funky image wizardry where the Alien and Predator fight it out , with lots of human blood -ALIEN VS PREDATOR REQUIEM
Nicholas cage and the German beauty Diane Kruger's quest for the BOOK OF SECRETS,
Daniel craig and Nicole Kidman's "GOLDEN COMPASS",
and finally Johnny Depp's musical SWEENEY TODD,
all highly expected christmas releases....
but
A Medley of pure artistic display, "The Bucket List" is yet another testimony to the power of human emotions and ideas. It is not the highly expected Christmas blockbuster, but it sure will be remembered long after the christmas...
P.S: Please do watch it if you can spare your time. I can promise some laughs and tears but not the mass masala....
Dec 20, 2007
Dec 18, 2007
23 and Counting...
It is pouring down heavily...
The Kid neared his dormitory, tired from a day's work.
A Kid's day work? what! You might wonder.. He went to a nearby village to play and educate the local village boys, a funded project and a prized work for the wealthy and retired! (something that goes by the name Philanthropy)
A respite from the dialy rigours and fun for him. Afterall he is a kid! still un"adulterated": pure.
He is 12 and He is lean; lean enough to qualify for an under-nourished one. But, appearances are deceptive. Inside, he is as determined and strong as a Jew in a ghetto(reference is to those in MILA18, a must read), under-nourished
(as a choice) and desparate , for what? I wonder.
It is a long corridor, the one he is walking in, with dormitories on both sides. The Long corridor culminating in a short stair of 5 steps,leading to a level ground.
Just beside the entrance to his dormitory, nested in it's niche is a refrigerator. It's mechanical drone; strident.
He took a glass, filled it to the brim, all along reflecting...
"Why should we donate food to those farmers? Aren't they the ones producing it? Why should there be so much misery in world? Why should there be inequalities? (pardon the incoherence of thoughts, he is 12 afterall)"
and drank it all, put it back and entered the room.
"23 innocent brains are resting! getting ready to tackle yet another day, without their parents. Their hippocampi converting the daily memories into longterm ones-tossing aside those without an emotional value..storing the essentials in whatever place it is that memories are stored"
He slowly walked to his bed, and exhausted as he was, without a sideway glance, climbed to his bed amd sat there. He reflected for a moment on the day:
Woke up at 5am, took bath. Had breakfast, got ready. Loaded the school van with food and clothes and set out for the nearby village.
Served food for many and the task done, came back.
Had a snack. Rushed out to teach children of his own age and played with them till everyone was exhausted.
Too tired to take dinner and a bath..
He sat on his bed, tired and sleepy. Somewhere in the middle of his reflections- nothing clear- somewhere between the dreamland and reality, his confused brain suggested "tomorrow is a sunday(or is it?), write the diary tomorrow night.
Slowly, but firmly,notwithstanding the habituated night prayers, he started to doze off.
And then,
Mechanically and habitually he put his hand between his pillow and the matress. His hands automatically searching for the thing without which his day would never end.
...and emptiness greeted them.
"Damn you, you never put things in their right place",cursing himself, searched half-awake.
Nothing!
Somewhere in his head, the neurons started firing feverishly..
That drove his sleep and weariness away. Fully awake and a little nervous- he searched for it again.
Nothing!
Suddenly, as is it's hallmark, panic punched him in the belly.
He got down, took the pillow and threw it away, ripped the bed-sheet off and threw it away. He has to pay hell if the warden sees his bed like that, and awake at this time ! (punishment, principal's recommendation or not). He didn't care. He has to get what he wants...
Still no sight of what he was searching for.
Mad as hell, he beat the shit out of the matress and the rubbersheet.
He regared the mess he made and nowhere to be found the object of his panic. Just the Mickey mouse on his bedsheet grinning from eye to eye, embracing minnie. Donald duck on the rubber sheet(it's a DUCKBACK company product) opened his mouth to QUACK QUACK. They seem to mock his helplessness and the mounting rage: incited by the panic of not finding what he wanted.
The Kid stared to cry, but something told him to think first and then cry. With a control, impossible to adults, he controlled the tears and reflected again.
The Cupboards!
And resumed his crying. Ran to the cupboards standing as sentinels at both ends of the room. Took his key(thanking god for the good fortune of remembering where he kept them ). Opened the cupboard and started ransacking it. That something in him, told him, the object of his desire is not present there.
When you are in desperation and panic, your primal instincts take over. He made a mess of his cupboard and banged the door shut, not even bothering to lock it up.
Fortunately, everybody is asleep.
Where did it go! he screamed inwardly. I want it back, now and instantaneously, with all the stubborness that could be summonned. He looked angrily at the Lord Hanuman (picture), daring him to stand in front of him at that moment. Give it back to me, he commanded the picture... Afraid of the kid's determination? Afraid to face the wrath of a 12 year old kid, the picture remained a picture.(as pictures always do!)
But the God in the picture did answer(as he did many times in times to come)...
Just above the cup-boards,something caught his eye. The daily time-table; schedule of the students supposed to clean the room. Suddenly, the cortices suggested- it might have fallen down from under the pillow and could have been swept away. And all waste leads to.....
The dust-bin! he screamed.
Tired, Hungry and Weak as he was, He ran outside with all the energy he could muster, to the dust-bin; immobile and inarticulate to the refuses of the egotistic anthropocentric animal; at the end of the corridor beside the 5short steps(mentioned earlier).
He stood near the dust-bin and waited a second. It is a round steel container, old and stained, containing god knows what, dirty and mushy.
And the rain has made things dirtier.
But, his eyes searched for only onething. Not caring for what he was touching or would touch, he started tearing the contents of the contaoner apart...
After a few unspeakable articles and unorthodox minutes...
He found it!
Dirty and wet...
It never occured to him to wait till the morning and ask for a new one; never occured to him to wipe it with a towel...He wanted something and HE HAS TO GET IT, NOW.
He took the photo of his parents, wiped it with his shirt, glanced at the object for his midnight misery (is it?)
and kissed it , kissed it with that pure , mad love that only a kid can display, with tears pouring down in competition to the tears of God....
And the photo was both hot and cold.
Like all the contraries and equilibriums in life...
Even animals feel the pain that is physical. What better way to prove that you are a human than to feel it for nothing but an Emotion.....
The kid still feels the pain,
he still is obstinate(to the point of mulishness),
he still is impulsive.
BUT,
He lost the privileges of Childhood, where someone makes the choices for you.
Now he has to make a choice,
Between ,
The apparent stupidity( and its prevalent acceptance) and vicarious sanity,
Ideals of a country past its prime and the ideas of a country that are priming up the future;
Patriotism and pragmatism,
Simplicity of evolutionary homosapien and the "Conscientious" Higher goals.
Confirmation, Conformation(note the difference) and Confusion
for he is 23 and Counting.....
(God,if you are reading this, "a kid and a king" needs you...)
The Kid neared his dormitory, tired from a day's work.
A Kid's day work? what! You might wonder.. He went to a nearby village to play and educate the local village boys, a funded project and a prized work for the wealthy and retired! (something that goes by the name Philanthropy)
A respite from the dialy rigours and fun for him. Afterall he is a kid! still un"adulterated": pure.
He is 12 and He is lean; lean enough to qualify for an under-nourished one. But, appearances are deceptive. Inside, he is as determined and strong as a Jew in a ghetto(reference is to those in MILA18, a must read), under-nourished
(as a choice) and desparate , for what? I wonder.
It is a long corridor, the one he is walking in, with dormitories on both sides. The Long corridor culminating in a short stair of 5 steps,leading to a level ground.
Just beside the entrance to his dormitory, nested in it's niche is a refrigerator. It's mechanical drone; strident.
He took a glass, filled it to the brim, all along reflecting...
"Why should we donate food to those farmers? Aren't they the ones producing it? Why should there be so much misery in world? Why should there be inequalities? (pardon the incoherence of thoughts, he is 12 afterall)"
and drank it all, put it back and entered the room.
"23 innocent brains are resting! getting ready to tackle yet another day, without their parents. Their hippocampi converting the daily memories into longterm ones-tossing aside those without an emotional value..storing the essentials in whatever place it is that memories are stored"
He slowly walked to his bed, and exhausted as he was, without a sideway glance, climbed to his bed amd sat there. He reflected for a moment on the day:
Woke up at 5am, took bath. Had breakfast, got ready. Loaded the school van with food and clothes and set out for the nearby village.
Served food for many and the task done, came back.
Had a snack. Rushed out to teach children of his own age and played with them till everyone was exhausted.
Too tired to take dinner and a bath..
He sat on his bed, tired and sleepy. Somewhere in the middle of his reflections- nothing clear- somewhere between the dreamland and reality, his confused brain suggested "tomorrow is a sunday(or is it?), write the diary tomorrow night.
Slowly, but firmly,notwithstanding the habituated night prayers, he started to doze off.
And then,
Mechanically and habitually he put his hand between his pillow and the matress. His hands automatically searching for the thing without which his day would never end.
...and emptiness greeted them.
"Damn you, you never put things in their right place",cursing himself, searched half-awake.
Nothing!
Somewhere in his head, the neurons started firing feverishly..
That drove his sleep and weariness away. Fully awake and a little nervous- he searched for it again.
Nothing!
Suddenly, as is it's hallmark, panic punched him in the belly.
He got down, took the pillow and threw it away, ripped the bed-sheet off and threw it away. He has to pay hell if the warden sees his bed like that, and awake at this time ! (punishment, principal's recommendation or not). He didn't care. He has to get what he wants...
Still no sight of what he was searching for.
Mad as hell, he beat the shit out of the matress and the rubbersheet.
He regared the mess he made and nowhere to be found the object of his panic. Just the Mickey mouse on his bedsheet grinning from eye to eye, embracing minnie. Donald duck on the rubber sheet(it's a DUCKBACK company product) opened his mouth to QUACK QUACK. They seem to mock his helplessness and the mounting rage: incited by the panic of not finding what he wanted.
The Kid stared to cry, but something told him to think first and then cry. With a control, impossible to adults, he controlled the tears and reflected again.
The Cupboards!
And resumed his crying. Ran to the cupboards standing as sentinels at both ends of the room. Took his key(thanking god for the good fortune of remembering where he kept them ). Opened the cupboard and started ransacking it. That something in him, told him, the object of his desire is not present there.
When you are in desperation and panic, your primal instincts take over. He made a mess of his cupboard and banged the door shut, not even bothering to lock it up.
Fortunately, everybody is asleep.
Where did it go! he screamed inwardly. I want it back, now and instantaneously, with all the stubborness that could be summonned. He looked angrily at the Lord Hanuman (picture), daring him to stand in front of him at that moment. Give it back to me, he commanded the picture... Afraid of the kid's determination? Afraid to face the wrath of a 12 year old kid, the picture remained a picture.(as pictures always do!)
But the God in the picture did answer(as he did many times in times to come)...
Just above the cup-boards,something caught his eye. The daily time-table; schedule of the students supposed to clean the room. Suddenly, the cortices suggested- it might have fallen down from under the pillow and could have been swept away. And all waste leads to.....
The dust-bin! he screamed.
Tired, Hungry and Weak as he was, He ran outside with all the energy he could muster, to the dust-bin; immobile and inarticulate to the refuses of the egotistic anthropocentric animal; at the end of the corridor beside the 5short steps(mentioned earlier).
He stood near the dust-bin and waited a second. It is a round steel container, old and stained, containing god knows what, dirty and mushy.
And the rain has made things dirtier.
But, his eyes searched for only onething. Not caring for what he was touching or would touch, he started tearing the contents of the contaoner apart...
After a few unspeakable articles and unorthodox minutes...
He found it!
Dirty and wet...
It never occured to him to wait till the morning and ask for a new one; never occured to him to wipe it with a towel...He wanted something and HE HAS TO GET IT, NOW.
He took the photo of his parents, wiped it with his shirt, glanced at the object for his midnight misery (is it?)
and kissed it , kissed it with that pure , mad love that only a kid can display, with tears pouring down in competition to the tears of God....
And the photo was both hot and cold.
Like all the contraries and equilibriums in life...
Even animals feel the pain that is physical. What better way to prove that you are a human than to feel it for nothing but an Emotion.....
The kid still feels the pain,
he still is obstinate(to the point of mulishness),
he still is impulsive.
BUT,
He lost the privileges of Childhood, where someone makes the choices for you.
Now he has to make a choice,
Between ,
The apparent stupidity( and its prevalent acceptance) and vicarious sanity,
Ideals of a country past its prime and the ideas of a country that are priming up the future;
Patriotism and pragmatism,
Simplicity of evolutionary homosapien and the "Conscientious" Higher goals.
Confirmation, Conformation(note the difference) and Confusion
for he is 23 and Counting.....
(God,if you are reading this, "a kid and a king" needs you...)
Dec 16, 2007
and more music
She was 81 when she sang this.. this is a thyaraaja kruthi....
http://youtube.com/watch?v=og0N-BPeZJc&feature=related
and this song.. SP Balasubramnyam is peerless....
http://youtube.com/watch?v=YKmwjQXA4bk
and this recent song....
it is just not a song, it is a magic worked out by SPB.
The last part of the song could never have come from an ordinary man, written by Ramdaas himself, they are the result of a life-time dedication to onething and onething alone....
http://youtube.com/watch?v=_w5eIXZH4Vg
http://youtube.com/watch?v=og0N-BPeZJc&feature=related
and this song.. SP Balasubramnyam is peerless....
http://youtube.com/watch?v=YKmwjQXA4bk
and this recent song....
it is just not a song, it is a magic worked out by SPB.
The last part of the song could never have come from an ordinary man, written by Ramdaas himself, they are the result of a life-time dedication to onething and onething alone....
http://youtube.com/watch?v=_w5eIXZH4Vg
Moonlight Sonata....
Sit back, Close your eyes and enjoy the "moonlight" by the legendary
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
http://youtube.com/watch?v=oqSulR9Fymg&feature=related
and this symphony....
http://youtube.com/watch?v=O2AEaQJuKDY
Somethings are eternal....
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
http://youtube.com/watch?v=oqSulR9Fymg&feature=related
and this symphony....
http://youtube.com/watch?v=O2AEaQJuKDY
Somethings are eternal....
Dec 12, 2007
Outrageous?
1)Caliban: A character from Shakespeare's The Tempest, an ugly creature.
2)Realism: A movement in art that stress on depicting the reality or what eye can see.
3)Romanticism: Suffice to say that it elevates the sublimity of untamed brain as opposed to the higher values and higher goals in life. believed to have resulted from French and industrial revolutions.(for detailed understanding go to wikipedia or oldtextbook)
The artist is the creator of beautiful things.To reveal art and conceal the artist is the art's aim.
The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things. The highest, as the lowest, form of criticism is a mode of autobiography.
Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are cultivated.For these there is hope. They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only beauty.
There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book.Books are well written or, badly written. That is all.
The nineteenth-century dislike of Realism is the rage of caliban seeing his own face in a glass.The nineteenth century dislike of romanticism is the rage of caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.
The moral life of a man forms part of the subject-matter of the artist, but the morality of art consists in the perfect use of an imperfect medium.
No artist desired to prove anything. Even things that are true can be proved. No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy in a n artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style.
No artist is ever morbid.The artist can express everything.
Thought and language are to the artist materials for an art. From the point of view of feeling, the actor's craft is the type.
All art is at once surface and symbol.
Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.
Those who read the symbol do so at their own peril. It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.
Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex and vital .
When critics disagree the artist is in accord with himself.
We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it.The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.
All art is quite useless.
Oscar wilde
I wish I said this!
2)Realism: A movement in art that stress on depicting the reality or what eye can see.
3)Romanticism: Suffice to say that it elevates the sublimity of untamed brain as opposed to the higher values and higher goals in life. believed to have resulted from French and industrial revolutions.(for detailed understanding go to wikipedia or oldtextbook)
The artist is the creator of beautiful things.To reveal art and conceal the artist is the art's aim.
The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things. The highest, as the lowest, form of criticism is a mode of autobiography.
Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are cultivated.For these there is hope. They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only beauty.
There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book.Books are well written or, badly written. That is all.
The nineteenth-century dislike of Realism is the rage of caliban seeing his own face in a glass.The nineteenth century dislike of romanticism is the rage of caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.
The moral life of a man forms part of the subject-matter of the artist, but the morality of art consists in the perfect use of an imperfect medium.
No artist desired to prove anything. Even things that are true can be proved. No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy in a n artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style.
No artist is ever morbid.The artist can express everything.
Thought and language are to the artist materials for an art. From the point of view of feeling, the actor's craft is the type.
All art is at once surface and symbol.
Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.
Those who read the symbol do so at their own peril. It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.
Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex and vital .
When critics disagree the artist is in accord with himself.
We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it.The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.
All art is quite useless.
Oscar wilde
I wish I said this!
"God as my witness, let justice be served"
I remember a story by Tolstoy in our English non-detail book, "God sees but waits"
A normal, happy guy with a wife and kids is arrested for a murder; a murder not committed by him. His perfect life comes to an end....he pleads in the court and ofcourse, it is the real world and he is sentenced for some 20 odd years in prison.
Murderer, in the eyes of everyone, he takes solace in believing that his wife would atleast believe in him. One day, his wife comes to visit him in prison and asks him where he hid all the money that he stole after the murder. Crushed to the core, the guy gives up all hope and goes on his daily chores in prison, without speaking to anyone. As years pass he becomes famous in the prison as the "silent oldman".
One day a new batch of prisoners come in.
AS is customary, they sit to discuss their crimes and one guy in them starts boasting about his crimes and reveals that he escaped a life-sentence for a murder he had done and the money he stole..
U guessed it.
He is the one who committed the murder for which the "silent old man" was imprisoned for.
It is some 14 odd years and the "silent old man" is released for the crime he hasn't committed..
"God sees the truth but waits"
Moral of the story: I leave it to you readers......
Let me tell me one more story,
A happy, rich guy living a perfect life staunchly believes in god.
Somehow the omnipresent, omnipotent, supreme god, in one of his moods, gets an idea to test his faith.
He takes away his riches. He wife and kids die in an accident. His relatives shun him. He gets a terrible disease and is thrown away from the village....His still believes in God and never loses his faith...
It is a long story, but the "godforsaken" difficultied or should I say "trials of life" are faced with a determined will and never-ending faith....
Finally, he dies and goes to heaven for his faith in God.
I have only one thing to say on the two-stories
"God as my witness, let justice be served"
A normal, happy guy with a wife and kids is arrested for a murder; a murder not committed by him. His perfect life comes to an end....he pleads in the court and ofcourse, it is the real world and he is sentenced for some 20 odd years in prison.
Murderer, in the eyes of everyone, he takes solace in believing that his wife would atleast believe in him. One day, his wife comes to visit him in prison and asks him where he hid all the money that he stole after the murder. Crushed to the core, the guy gives up all hope and goes on his daily chores in prison, without speaking to anyone. As years pass he becomes famous in the prison as the "silent oldman".
One day a new batch of prisoners come in.
AS is customary, they sit to discuss their crimes and one guy in them starts boasting about his crimes and reveals that he escaped a life-sentence for a murder he had done and the money he stole..
U guessed it.
He is the one who committed the murder for which the "silent old man" was imprisoned for.
It is some 14 odd years and the "silent old man" is released for the crime he hasn't committed..
"God sees the truth but waits"
Moral of the story: I leave it to you readers......
Let me tell me one more story,
A happy, rich guy living a perfect life staunchly believes in god.
Somehow the omnipresent, omnipotent, supreme god, in one of his moods, gets an idea to test his faith.
He takes away his riches. He wife and kids die in an accident. His relatives shun him. He gets a terrible disease and is thrown away from the village....His still believes in God and never loses his faith...
It is a long story, but the "godforsaken" difficultied or should I say "trials of life" are faced with a determined will and never-ending faith....
Finally, he dies and goes to heaven for his faith in God.
I have only one thing to say on the two-stories
"God as my witness, let justice be served"
Dec 9, 2007
A Note...
People! I put a heading that life isn't worth reflecting, and all i have been doing in the blog is reflecting. I knew that nobody would notice the apparent contrariness presenting itelf so blatantly.
I know that some of my posts are hazy, and lack the flow. Well, to be frank, I wanted them to be that way. I haven't written them to say something, but to get them out of my head..."stream of consciousness" hahahha, I am not James Joyce...had I put his name , I think I would have had fairer comments..(atleast from those who know James Joyce).
As to the reflecting part, I am not stopping it. I can;t survive without reflections..it is my weakness and my strength. Nevertheless, publicly reflecting on topics(there is a beautiful phrase--Washing one's dirty linen in public, well my linen is not dirty, but it does need some washing) that are esoteric to me lead to that ambiguity. Well. I can promise to stop that.......
A last word: More and more esoteric topics are on their way...
I know that some of my posts are hazy, and lack the flow. Well, to be frank, I wanted them to be that way. I haven't written them to say something, but to get them out of my head..."stream of consciousness" hahahha, I am not James Joyce...had I put his name , I think I would have had fairer comments..(atleast from those who know James Joyce).
As to the reflecting part, I am not stopping it. I can;t survive without reflections..it is my weakness and my strength. Nevertheless, publicly reflecting on topics(there is a beautiful phrase--Washing one's dirty linen in public, well my linen is not dirty, but it does need some washing) that are esoteric to me lead to that ambiguity. Well. I can promise to stop that.......
A last word: More and more esoteric topics are on their way...
Dec 8, 2007
"నా"
చిన్నప్పుడు మా నాన్నగారు సైకిలు మీద మా అన్నయ్యని పాఠశాలకి తీసుకువెళ్తుంటె , మా అన్నయ్య తెలుగు పుస్తకం మీద చదివినట్టు గుర్తు .
ఏ దేశమేగినా, ఎందుకాలిడినా,
ఏ పీఠమెక్కినా, ఎవ్వరెదురైనా,
ఫొగడరా నీ తల్లి భూమి భారతిని నిలుపరా నీ జాతి నిండు గౌరవము.
నన్ను చూసి నా దేశాన్ని మెచ్చుకునేంతగా నేను ప్రవర్తించానొ లేదొ తెలీదు, కాని నేను ప్రవర్తించిన తీరు నా దేశం విలువలను తగ్గించలేదన్న ఆత్మానందం మిగిల్తె చాలు.
వివేకానందుడు పాశ్చాత్య దేశాల పర్యాటన ముగించుకుని భరతభూమిలొ అడుగు పెట్టిన వెంటనె, గట్టిగా గాలి పీల్చి కిందపది దొర్లాడుట, కన్యాకుమారి ఇసుకలొ. ఆయనంతలా నేను నా ఆనందాన్ని ప్రకటించలేకపొవచ్చు కాని మాత్రుభూమిలొ అడుగుపెడుతున్న ఆ అనందంలొ ఏ మాత్రం తేడా లేదు.
ఆమ్మ కలిపి నోట్లొపెట్టే పప్పన్నం ఆవకాయ ముద్ద,
మడిగట్టుకున్నప్పుడు ముట్టుకుంటె తిట్టే తిట్లు,
ఆమ్మని ఎత్తుకుని తిప్పుతున్నప్పుడు నాన్న నవ్వులు,
డబ్బు విలువ తెలుసుకొమ్మని అన్నయ్య మందలింపులు,
కళ్ళు కనిపించకపొయినా డాక్తరుకి భయపడి చెప్పని నాన్నమ్మ
దేవుడు దిగి వచ్చినా దినచర్య మార్చని తాతయ్య.
"ఉన్న ఊరే నాకు చెన్నపట్నమ్ము కన్న తల్లే నాకు కల్పవ్రుక్షమ్ము" అన్న నార్ల వెంకటెశ్వర రావు గారి మాటలు ఎంత నిజం.
సంక్రాంతికి ఇంటింటికి వచ్చె గరగ, గంగిరెద్దుల మేళం ,
డబ్బుల కొసం వాడు చెప్పె "గందరగోళ జాతకం"
పొద్దున్నే పెట్టె భోగి మంట.
వీధంతా పెట్టె రంగు రంగుల ముగ్గులు, మధ్యలో ఉండె గొబ్బెమ్మలు,
కనుమనాడు జరిగే జాతర,
రాత్రంతా జరిగే వీరుళ్ళమ్మ(గ్రామదేవత) ఊరేగింపు.....
"దూరమైపోయేంత వరకు తెలీదు మన దగ్గర వాళ్ళ విలువ, మన సంప్రదాయాల గొప్పతనం"
పండగనాడు పెట్రెగిపొయె పిల్లమేళం,
అన్నయ్యలు,బావలు, వదిన, మరదళ్ళు, అక్కలు,
ఆప్యాయంగా ఇబ్బంది పెట్టె మావయ్యలు,అత్తయ్యలు, పెదనాన్న, దొడ్డమ్మ(మూడు చోట్ల భోజనం చెయ్యాలంటె కష్టం కాదా?) ,
అందరం సరదాగా రాజమండ్రికి వెళ్ళి చూసే పండగ సినిమా,
"ఆనందం వచ్చినప్పుడు పంచుకోవడానికి, కష్టం వచ్చినప్పుడు సర్ది చెప్పడానికి నలుగురు లేని జీవితం ఒక జీవితమా?"
పెట్టిన వెంటనే మాయమయ్యె రేగొడియాలు,
నూనె రాసి,నలుగుపెట్టి, కుంకుడు రసంతొ స్నానం చెయిస్తానని అమ్మ,
పొద్దున్నే ఇదేంగోలరా అని పరిగెత్తె నేను ,
ఇల్లంతా పెట్టె పరుగులు, ఊరంతా వినిపించే కేకలు,
రారా దున్నపోతు వెధవ అని అమ్మ అరుపులు , నూనె వల్లుపై వేసే దెబ్బలు(చెడ్డీ తో నేను వేసె చిందులు, హహహ),
"అంతటా సాధ్యమా ఆ దేవుని ఉనికి అందుకే ఇచ్చాడు అమ్మని మనకి"
అమ్మాయిల అందానికి అర్థం చెప్పె పట్టు పరికిణీలు, చీరలు,
భారతీయ స్త్రీ కి మాత్రమె అర్థమయ్యె ప్రెమలు, విలువలు.
అర్థం కాకపోయిన అర్థవంతమయిన సంప్రదాయలు,
కాలగర్భంలో కలిసిపోతున్న భారతీయ గురుతులు,
"జననీ జన్మ భూమిశ్చ స్వర్గాదపీ గరీయసి"
మాత్రుభూమి, మాత్రు భాష , మాత్రు మూర్తి
వస్తున్నా........
ఏ దేశమేగినా, ఎందుకాలిడినా,
ఏ పీఠమెక్కినా, ఎవ్వరెదురైనా,
ఫొగడరా నీ తల్లి భూమి భారతిని నిలుపరా నీ జాతి నిండు గౌరవము.
నన్ను చూసి నా దేశాన్ని మెచ్చుకునేంతగా నేను ప్రవర్తించానొ లేదొ తెలీదు, కాని నేను ప్రవర్తించిన తీరు నా దేశం విలువలను తగ్గించలేదన్న ఆత్మానందం మిగిల్తె చాలు.
వివేకానందుడు పాశ్చాత్య దేశాల పర్యాటన ముగించుకుని భరతభూమిలొ అడుగు పెట్టిన వెంటనె, గట్టిగా గాలి పీల్చి కిందపది దొర్లాడుట, కన్యాకుమారి ఇసుకలొ. ఆయనంతలా నేను నా ఆనందాన్ని ప్రకటించలేకపొవచ్చు కాని మాత్రుభూమిలొ అడుగుపెడుతున్న ఆ అనందంలొ ఏ మాత్రం తేడా లేదు.
ఆమ్మ కలిపి నోట్లొపెట్టే పప్పన్నం ఆవకాయ ముద్ద,
మడిగట్టుకున్నప్పుడు ముట్టుకుంటె తిట్టే తిట్లు,
ఆమ్మని ఎత్తుకుని తిప్పుతున్నప్పుడు నాన్న నవ్వులు,
డబ్బు విలువ తెలుసుకొమ్మని అన్నయ్య మందలింపులు,
కళ్ళు కనిపించకపొయినా డాక్తరుకి భయపడి చెప్పని నాన్నమ్మ
దేవుడు దిగి వచ్చినా దినచర్య మార్చని తాతయ్య.
"ఉన్న ఊరే నాకు చెన్నపట్నమ్ము కన్న తల్లే నాకు కల్పవ్రుక్షమ్ము" అన్న నార్ల వెంకటెశ్వర రావు గారి మాటలు ఎంత నిజం.
సంక్రాంతికి ఇంటింటికి వచ్చె గరగ, గంగిరెద్దుల మేళం ,
డబ్బుల కొసం వాడు చెప్పె "గందరగోళ జాతకం"
పొద్దున్నే పెట్టె భోగి మంట.
వీధంతా పెట్టె రంగు రంగుల ముగ్గులు, మధ్యలో ఉండె గొబ్బెమ్మలు,
కనుమనాడు జరిగే జాతర,
రాత్రంతా జరిగే వీరుళ్ళమ్మ(గ్రామదేవత) ఊరేగింపు.....
"దూరమైపోయేంత వరకు తెలీదు మన దగ్గర వాళ్ళ విలువ, మన సంప్రదాయాల గొప్పతనం"
పండగనాడు పెట్రెగిపొయె పిల్లమేళం,
అన్నయ్యలు,బావలు, వదిన, మరదళ్ళు, అక్కలు,
ఆప్యాయంగా ఇబ్బంది పెట్టె మావయ్యలు,అత్తయ్యలు, పెదనాన్న, దొడ్డమ్మ(మూడు చోట్ల భోజనం చెయ్యాలంటె కష్టం కాదా?) ,
అందరం సరదాగా రాజమండ్రికి వెళ్ళి చూసే పండగ సినిమా,
"ఆనందం వచ్చినప్పుడు పంచుకోవడానికి, కష్టం వచ్చినప్పుడు సర్ది చెప్పడానికి నలుగురు లేని జీవితం ఒక జీవితమా?"
పెట్టిన వెంటనే మాయమయ్యె రేగొడియాలు,
నూనె రాసి,నలుగుపెట్టి, కుంకుడు రసంతొ స్నానం చెయిస్తానని అమ్మ,
పొద్దున్నే ఇదేంగోలరా అని పరిగెత్తె నేను ,
ఇల్లంతా పెట్టె పరుగులు, ఊరంతా వినిపించే కేకలు,
రారా దున్నపోతు వెధవ అని అమ్మ అరుపులు , నూనె వల్లుపై వేసే దెబ్బలు(చెడ్డీ తో నేను వేసె చిందులు, హహహ),
"అంతటా సాధ్యమా ఆ దేవుని ఉనికి అందుకే ఇచ్చాడు అమ్మని మనకి"
అమ్మాయిల అందానికి అర్థం చెప్పె పట్టు పరికిణీలు, చీరలు,
భారతీయ స్త్రీ కి మాత్రమె అర్థమయ్యె ప్రెమలు, విలువలు.
అర్థం కాకపోయిన అర్థవంతమయిన సంప్రదాయలు,
కాలగర్భంలో కలిసిపోతున్న భారతీయ గురుతులు,
"జననీ జన్మ భూమిశ్చ స్వర్గాదపీ గరీయసి"
మాత్రుభూమి, మాత్రు భాష , మాత్రు మూర్తి
వస్తున్నా........
Tuesday thoughts(written on )
Played racquetball for 2 hours.
Finally I am winning...
First snow of this winter, missed all of it, ofcourse.
Been reading and tossing around till 5 in the morning.
I remember dancing in snow last year on the Jefferson avenue.
Got so excited that I carried my Alienware laptop outside, without a coat and shoes on, so that my parents could see the snow falling.
Ironically,My body withstood the subzero temperatures but the laptop couldn't, the webcam froze(actually it is because of the bad internet connection in our village), but I did show them something white and something falling; hope they synchronized it.
(and for that adrenaline rush, I had to sleep the whole day next day with running nose, body aches and headache)
I could have watched the snowfall. sitting cozily in my room, through the window. Afterall, I live in the basement and have a perfect view.
But, there is so much joy in sharing....especially when it is a moment you want to capture and save- a moment you want to remember for life-time. Well, I did save it and capture, but on virtual memory.
This year, Snow is a nuisance. Makes your pants filthy, reduces the friction between the ground and your feet(or whatever u have on them). I still like to watch it, from inside.
First times are always a joy...
It is the novelty of the unknown that captivates and bewitches you.
If only I could record everything I see
Finally I am winning...
First snow of this winter, missed all of it, ofcourse.
Been reading and tossing around till 5 in the morning.
I remember dancing in snow last year on the Jefferson avenue.
Got so excited that I carried my Alienware laptop outside, without a coat and shoes on, so that my parents could see the snow falling.
Ironically,My body withstood the subzero temperatures but the laptop couldn't, the webcam froze(actually it is because of the bad internet connection in our village), but I did show them something white and something falling; hope they synchronized it.
(and for that adrenaline rush, I had to sleep the whole day next day with running nose, body aches and headache)
I could have watched the snowfall. sitting cozily in my room, through the window. Afterall, I live in the basement and have a perfect view.
But, there is so much joy in sharing....especially when it is a moment you want to capture and save- a moment you want to remember for life-time. Well, I did save it and capture, but on virtual memory.
This year, Snow is a nuisance. Makes your pants filthy, reduces the friction between the ground and your feet(or whatever u have on them). I still like to watch it, from inside.
First times are always a joy...
It is the novelty of the unknown that captivates and bewitches you.
If only I could record everything I see
Dec 6, 2007
And then there were none
Ten people from diverse backgrounds are invited to a remote, isolated island for a party(more like a get-together).
Nobody has any idea who the host is....
Everybody, lost in their own thoughts, arrive on the island, confused and pumped-up for the party. They find nobody in the host's place and are welcomed by a little poem about Ten Little Indians, on an island.
Ten little Indian boys went out to dine;
One choked his little self, and then there were nine.
Nine Little Indian boys sat up very late;
One overslept himself and then there were eight.
Eight little Indian boys traveling in Devon;
One said he'd stay there and then there were seven.
Seven little Indian boys chopping up sticks;
One chopped himself in halves then there were six.
Six Indian boys playing with a hive;
A bumble-bee stung one then there were five.
Five Indian boys going in for law;
One got in Chancery then there were four.
Four Indian boys going out to sea;
A red herring swallowed one then there were three.
Three Indian boys walking in the zoo;
A big bear hugged one then there were two.
Two Indian boys sitting in the sun;
One got all frizzled up then there was one.
One Indian boy left all alone;
He went and hanged himself and then there were none."
And true to the poem, at their first dinner, a person chokes and dies.
Afraid and Suspicious, they go to bed. One of them never wakes up ,
And then there were eight......
Ends with the last person committing suicide
And then there were none....
Written by Agatha Christie, It is a joyous ride, filled with anticipation and murder mystery.
A small book worth a read.
A remote island, no outside help, ten people, dying mysteriously according to a poem and no motive....
What more do you want from a book?
Nobody has any idea who the host is....
Everybody, lost in their own thoughts, arrive on the island, confused and pumped-up for the party. They find nobody in the host's place and are welcomed by a little poem about Ten Little Indians, on an island.
Ten little Indian boys went out to dine;
One choked his little self, and then there were nine.
Nine Little Indian boys sat up very late;
One overslept himself and then there were eight.
Eight little Indian boys traveling in Devon;
One said he'd stay there and then there were seven.
Seven little Indian boys chopping up sticks;
One chopped himself in halves then there were six.
Six Indian boys playing with a hive;
A bumble-bee stung one then there were five.
Five Indian boys going in for law;
One got in Chancery then there were four.
Four Indian boys going out to sea;
A red herring swallowed one then there were three.
Three Indian boys walking in the zoo;
A big bear hugged one then there were two.
Two Indian boys sitting in the sun;
One got all frizzled up then there was one.
One Indian boy left all alone;
He went and hanged himself and then there were none."
And true to the poem, at their first dinner, a person chokes and dies.
Afraid and Suspicious, they go to bed. One of them never wakes up ,
And then there were eight......
Ends with the last person committing suicide
And then there were none....
Written by Agatha Christie, It is a joyous ride, filled with anticipation and murder mystery.
A small book worth a read.
A remote island, no outside help, ten people, dying mysteriously according to a poem and no motive....
What more do you want from a book?
Dec 5, 2007
Wise Cracks
http://www.orkut.com/AlbumZoom.aspx?uid=13036331502443163505&pid=5
World is a fucked up place, don't you think?
Whenever you are screwed , it's a screwed up place. When you screw someone..........?
Sometimes I wonder, if having a brain to think is a gift or a glitch.
So difficult to understand people.
Say something directly: they say you are immature.
Say something tactfully:they say you are selfish.
Say nothing: they say you are an introvert en route to being a pervert.
"Maturity is not avoiding mistakes but accepting them"
Whatever happens Life goes on...
My ass it will.
But it is how it goes on that is important.
I can cavil about all the lost opportunities or grab them whenever they present.
Give anything your best shot.
If you fail, you can smile and say "I tried"
But when you give it a shot, make sure you are giving it everything.
So that you don't regret on what might have been.
Had I done that, For god's sake "had you done that you wouldn't be complaining"
Sure life wil go on ,
but I want it to be a life with what I want, a life of wanting to want the wants I want.
Godspeed.
World is a fucked up place, don't you think?
Whenever you are screwed , it's a screwed up place. When you screw someone..........?
Sometimes I wonder, if having a brain to think is a gift or a glitch.
So difficult to understand people.
Say something directly: they say you are immature.
Say something tactfully:they say you are selfish.
Say nothing: they say you are an introvert en route to being a pervert.
"Maturity is not avoiding mistakes but accepting them"
Whatever happens Life goes on...
My ass it will.
But it is how it goes on that is important.
I can cavil about all the lost opportunities or grab them whenever they present.
Give anything your best shot.
If you fail, you can smile and say "I tried"
But when you give it a shot, make sure you are giving it everything.
So that you don't regret on what might have been.
Had I done that, For god's sake "had you done that you wouldn't be complaining"
Sure life wil go on ,
but I want it to be a life with what I want, a life of wanting to want the wants I want.
Godspeed.
Dec 3, 2007
For Job-- Essay or Assay?
I had to write an issue essay for getting a job, CAN U BELIEVE THAT? Hope I get it, I am feeling VERY workless right now...... This is the essay I wrote, (The Topic is the first line)
(This was written 4 months back when I applied for an UCIT job. I have four blogs, so trying to unify them , this was in another blog till now.....again a repost)
Yes, The greatest griefs are those we cause ourselves. Infact I would stress that most of the griefs are caused due to our inability to face the consequences of our choices. The griefs I am talking about are, in addition to the everyday burdens we bring upon ourselves, the all-pervasive but latent grieves: the constantly pestering feeling that we can be better than this, that our talents are not being appreciated, that we are but a tiny grain in a world that is the sandy beach. Believe me when I say it, there is nothing more painful than your conscious eating you away.
So, what causes all this? Choices- because, our choices are what we are. In hindsight every choice we haven't made appeals more to us. The real test is to stick to your choice, whatever the consequence. But, to do that you need to really make sure it is YOUR choice, not a choice affected by others or the extant fad. And once you make your choice, never regret it; never look at a more successful actor and think, had I been an actor? because you are not. Realize that you can be successful in what you do too. As the cliché goes “One's own work, though defective, is better than other's, well done". The real happiness is not when you are famous or rich but when you are at peace with yourself.
What I am saying, in effect is this- For a student, for example, procrastination is the most mundane problem, result of which are the late submissions and poor grades. Obviously, this leads to many nightless sleeps and solitary ponderings. Ask yourself who caused it?
So why bring it on yourself when all you need to do is make the right choice? Of course, it’s easier said than done. So, either procrastinate procrastination or take whatever grade results from the sloppy work without remorse. Just remember that “As you sow, so shall you reap”. Directly or indirectly you are responsible for the consequences. So, instead of feeling sad about the results, assure yourself that you are responsible for them. I can promise you can avoid many a personal griefs that way (Grades are only an example; apply this to any realm of your life).
Moving to the latter part of my second paragraph, there’s more to life than a single choice. Like a chain reaction you need to follow up on your initial choice to choose where you end up. Chances are that you could have made a wrong choice, but then the real courage is in admitting that you DID make a wrong choice and start making choices that would best it. Life is a living hell when you start thinking of all the other choices you could have made and all the other places you could have ended up in or all the endeavors you could have pursued. Instead realize that what you are are what you chose to be. That way you will never feel insignificant or feel all those latent griefs I mentioned.
Like in a Fractal, these griefs are encompassed into the smallest of our activities to the whole chain of events that is our life. They are omnipresent; as they are the result of a population that is, may be, acting in the Freudian self-denial. They are the greatest griefs, because they are us, our dreams; haunting and unfulfilled. Time might heal the momentary griefs but these reside deep within you, gnawing you. Take a moment and think(the benches beside UC Tennis courts would be my suggestion)-
Who brought them upon you?
(This was written 4 months back when I applied for an UCIT job. I have four blogs, so trying to unify them , this was in another blog till now.....again a repost)
Yes, The greatest griefs are those we cause ourselves. Infact I would stress that most of the griefs are caused due to our inability to face the consequences of our choices. The griefs I am talking about are, in addition to the everyday burdens we bring upon ourselves, the all-pervasive but latent grieves: the constantly pestering feeling that we can be better than this, that our talents are not being appreciated, that we are but a tiny grain in a world that is the sandy beach. Believe me when I say it, there is nothing more painful than your conscious eating you away.
So, what causes all this? Choices- because, our choices are what we are. In hindsight every choice we haven't made appeals more to us. The real test is to stick to your choice, whatever the consequence. But, to do that you need to really make sure it is YOUR choice, not a choice affected by others or the extant fad. And once you make your choice, never regret it; never look at a more successful actor and think, had I been an actor? because you are not. Realize that you can be successful in what you do too. As the cliché goes “One's own work, though defective, is better than other's, well done". The real happiness is not when you are famous or rich but when you are at peace with yourself.
What I am saying, in effect is this- For a student, for example, procrastination is the most mundane problem, result of which are the late submissions and poor grades. Obviously, this leads to many nightless sleeps and solitary ponderings. Ask yourself who caused it?
So why bring it on yourself when all you need to do is make the right choice? Of course, it’s easier said than done. So, either procrastinate procrastination or take whatever grade results from the sloppy work without remorse. Just remember that “As you sow, so shall you reap”. Directly or indirectly you are responsible for the consequences. So, instead of feeling sad about the results, assure yourself that you are responsible for them. I can promise you can avoid many a personal griefs that way (Grades are only an example; apply this to any realm of your life).
Moving to the latter part of my second paragraph, there’s more to life than a single choice. Like a chain reaction you need to follow up on your initial choice to choose where you end up. Chances are that you could have made a wrong choice, but then the real courage is in admitting that you DID make a wrong choice and start making choices that would best it. Life is a living hell when you start thinking of all the other choices you could have made and all the other places you could have ended up in or all the endeavors you could have pursued. Instead realize that what you are are what you chose to be. That way you will never feel insignificant or feel all those latent griefs I mentioned.
Like in a Fractal, these griefs are encompassed into the smallest of our activities to the whole chain of events that is our life. They are omnipresent; as they are the result of a population that is, may be, acting in the Freudian self-denial. They are the greatest griefs, because they are us, our dreams; haunting and unfulfilled. Time might heal the momentary griefs but these reside deep within you, gnawing you. Take a moment and think(the benches beside UC Tennis courts would be my suggestion)-
Who brought them upon you?
Dec 2, 2007
Love. Truth and Tears (reposted)
"Men don't cry? I would rather cry and be a kid than to miss shedding tears on what I miss"
P(re).S: The content might be edited in the future.
I am not known for my culinary prowess; if at all. But, duressed, in an unorthodox recess of reclinary state, I embarked on the trifling task- a tactful torture-, to trick the taste out, of taters(or tubers), sufficient enough to stimulate or atleast satisfy those most-ungourmetic buds biding their time on the strongest muscle in the body.
Not to know what the outcome gives a kind of thrill- starting on this premise- I mauled the potatoes with the razor-sharp knife to geometrically impossible shapes-after all what goes in comes out, right?- with a glint of pithy (as to the outcome) and without a hint of pity. Washing those eccentric elements, I subjected them to the dipole disaster, the one where heat is produced due to the realignment of the dipolar-molecules that are sugar, fat and water(essential ingredients in food). Immediately I literally forced them into the frying pan, with unproportionally large amount of oil in it.
Born and brought up in a place prominent for it's pickles(red-hot, If I may add), I like spicy, red-hot recipes. Consequently, I put a large amount of chilli powder, without a sense of "chef-man"ship( believe it or not cooking is a men's art). Subjected the medley to a torturous twenty minutes of heat. Not exactly sure if I am supposed to put a cover on it when frying, but I went for it ; twenty minutes with occasional stirring, and the cover was hotter than the fires of hell. And with the infinite wisdom bestowed upon me by the infinite, I removed it with my bare hands: and believe me, I realized infinity( may be I am the "MAN WHO KNEW INFINITY"), and spoke to him, in those moments of "ecstacy" in not so kind a manner.
And after my "monolouge with the almighty", I glared at the finished product; like the eyes of sauron, black and red; like the coal embers, half-spent; like a man beaten black and blue. But I took solace, as we always do, through selective memory, in an adage "One's own work, though defective, is better than others', well done.
Forgot to mention: Just to be sure that the "thing I cooked" is spicy enough I added "not so little" chilli powder again.
And finally sat down to devour the delicacy "delicately" done.
I never knew Newton's third law includes inanimate things, and who would not like to pay back if a chance comes- and payback they did: the poor potatoes prodigioulsy punished by me.
It was scotching hot outside, my stomach acids mirroring the same effect. So, with the drone of the AC providing the background score, I put a piece of the mix(rice+potato) in my mouth. Yummy, said my thinking centers, the cortices,result of the inter-play between the basic urges and ego; contradicting the danger signals emitted by the real contact centers. When human will wills it, you can create any contrasts, in opposition to the real sensual experiment. The heat, outside and inside, struck a synchronous chord with the spice, and tears welled up in my eyes.
To bring a man down hit him when he is at his weakest, and believe me, you are the weakest when you are curbed of your basic needs. A Man in hunger- haven't you heard of people eating people- A Man with lust- Exempli gratia not needed, A Man in fear and a Man in rage- they bring out the core that is madness in us. They don't think. They act; with those undeveloped animal brains(we call it the unconscious)preferring survival and ferocity over the morals that are human.
Hunger, lust, fear and rage- ha! but haven't I forgotten one more thing?- that is essentially human but enigmatically animal; the emotion that is the plot driving and inspiring all the arts; the emotion "whose pattern is similar to madness"- as Agent Smith puts it; the emotion that has destroyed many a lives at the same time rendering beauty to many others; the emotion that "conquers all"(Virgil); the emotion that is the worst undoing of anyone yet the most essential- The emotion that is LOVE.
Excess of spicey ingredients resulted in Tears, but it's the lack of ingredients that broke the dam; that rocked my 6foot 1 inch frame. It contained all the ingredients to satisfy my taste buds but missed the one that is essential for the triangular shaped thing:"mother" of all troubles and triumphs.
Often, you miss a person when he is not around; and 11 years of hostel life had exactly that effect. Somehow instead of being accustomed to their absence I was bound to them soul and skin(Ah! and you know not the repercussions when you look for motherly love everywhere) What I eat and when I eat was never in priority for me (You can ask my roomies for proof), because when there isn't the magic touch, food looses its appeal, atleast for me. (You might accuse me ofratiocination but the fact remains).
We are warm-blooded animals and we have Homeostasis to regulate body temperature. But, I know of a place, which without homeostasis maintains a constant temperature that is comfortable and soothing even when your heart is cold and crying; a place that stays warm whatever the weather be-internal or external- you would have taken refuge in that place- when gloom dooms your spirits, when you are stripped of all the courage to face the mundane- you would have placed your head in your mother's lap and have rejuvenated and healed. And I had the honor to know about the perennial source of that warmth- the source which with the mother's touch transfers and completes the cuisine- A Mother's love.
And it's love I miss and love I crave
though people think I am naive.
That's what I missed that day.
And this medley of hunger and piled up repression of emotions aggressively stimulated the limbic system- it in turn firing the Acetylcoline and thus the lacrimal glands
and I cried..........
P(re).S: The content might be edited in the future.
I am not known for my culinary prowess; if at all. But, duressed, in an unorthodox recess of reclinary state, I embarked on the trifling task- a tactful torture-, to trick the taste out, of taters(or tubers), sufficient enough to stimulate or atleast satisfy those most-ungourmetic buds biding their time on the strongest muscle in the body.
Not to know what the outcome gives a kind of thrill- starting on this premise- I mauled the potatoes with the razor-sharp knife to geometrically impossible shapes-after all what goes in comes out, right?- with a glint of pithy (as to the outcome) and without a hint of pity. Washing those eccentric elements, I subjected them to the dipole disaster, the one where heat is produced due to the realignment of the dipolar-molecules that are sugar, fat and water(essential ingredients in food). Immediately I literally forced them into the frying pan, with unproportionally large amount of oil in it.
Born and brought up in a place prominent for it's pickles(red-hot, If I may add), I like spicy, red-hot recipes. Consequently, I put a large amount of chilli powder, without a sense of "chef-man"ship( believe it or not cooking is a men's art). Subjected the medley to a torturous twenty minutes of heat. Not exactly sure if I am supposed to put a cover on it when frying, but I went for it ; twenty minutes with occasional stirring, and the cover was hotter than the fires of hell. And with the infinite wisdom bestowed upon me by the infinite, I removed it with my bare hands: and believe me, I realized infinity( may be I am the "MAN WHO KNEW INFINITY"), and spoke to him, in those moments of "ecstacy" in not so kind a manner.
And after my "monolouge with the almighty", I glared at the finished product; like the eyes of sauron, black and red; like the coal embers, half-spent; like a man beaten black and blue. But I took solace, as we always do, through selective memory, in an adage "One's own work, though defective, is better than others', well done.
Forgot to mention: Just to be sure that the "thing I cooked" is spicy enough I added "not so little" chilli powder again.
And finally sat down to devour the delicacy "delicately" done.
I never knew Newton's third law includes inanimate things, and who would not like to pay back if a chance comes- and payback they did: the poor potatoes prodigioulsy punished by me.
It was scotching hot outside, my stomach acids mirroring the same effect. So, with the drone of the AC providing the background score, I put a piece of the mix(rice+potato) in my mouth. Yummy, said my thinking centers, the cortices,result of the inter-play between the basic urges and ego; contradicting the danger signals emitted by the real contact centers. When human will wills it, you can create any contrasts, in opposition to the real sensual experiment. The heat, outside and inside, struck a synchronous chord with the spice, and tears welled up in my eyes.
To bring a man down hit him when he is at his weakest, and believe me, you are the weakest when you are curbed of your basic needs. A Man in hunger- haven't you heard of people eating people- A Man with lust- Exempli gratia not needed, A Man in fear and a Man in rage- they bring out the core that is madness in us. They don't think. They act; with those undeveloped animal brains(we call it the unconscious)preferring survival and ferocity over the morals that are human.
Hunger, lust, fear and rage- ha! but haven't I forgotten one more thing?- that is essentially human but enigmatically animal; the emotion that is the plot driving and inspiring all the arts; the emotion "whose pattern is similar to madness"- as Agent Smith puts it; the emotion that has destroyed many a lives at the same time rendering beauty to many others; the emotion that "conquers all"(Virgil); the emotion that is the worst undoing of anyone yet the most essential- The emotion that is LOVE.
Excess of spicey ingredients resulted in Tears, but it's the lack of ingredients that broke the dam; that rocked my 6foot 1 inch frame. It contained all the ingredients to satisfy my taste buds but missed the one that is essential for the triangular shaped thing:"mother" of all troubles and triumphs.
Often, you miss a person when he is not around; and 11 years of hostel life had exactly that effect. Somehow instead of being accustomed to their absence I was bound to them soul and skin(Ah! and you know not the repercussions when you look for motherly love everywhere) What I eat and when I eat was never in priority for me (You can ask my roomies for proof), because when there isn't the magic touch, food looses its appeal, atleast for me. (You might accuse me ofratiocination but the fact remains).
We are warm-blooded animals and we have Homeostasis to regulate body temperature. But, I know of a place, which without homeostasis maintains a constant temperature that is comfortable and soothing even when your heart is cold and crying; a place that stays warm whatever the weather be-internal or external- you would have taken refuge in that place- when gloom dooms your spirits, when you are stripped of all the courage to face the mundane- you would have placed your head in your mother's lap and have rejuvenated and healed. And I had the honor to know about the perennial source of that warmth- the source which with the mother's touch transfers and completes the cuisine- A Mother's love.
And it's love I miss and love I crave
though people think I am naive.
That's what I missed that day.
And this medley of hunger and piled up repression of emotions aggressively stimulated the limbic system- it in turn firing the Acetylcoline and thus the lacrimal glands
and I cried..........
Dec 1, 2007
Freaky Friday
Before you read this, if you don't understand what is said here, that's not my problem. I give a lot of thought to what I write. These are things only a few can understand, hope you are one of them...
Rules rule you, unruly though it might sound, it is the rule.You can try to live a life unaffected by rules; but there is a rule- you have to live without rules within the rules. Like the chaos theory suggests there is an "order in randomness" and that is the rule.
You can aspire and dream all you want; but you have to live on the harsh reality that is ground. Sky is your limit yet your feet ought to be on terra firma- that is the limitless limit that limits the lot. People use all kinds of things to motivate you. Yeah, nothing is impossible, Impossible takes a little longer but what they leave out is "the Impossible"- you can't push the impossible -it's impossible.
You might mistake me for a nihilist, No I am not; There is a difference between probably impossible(PI) and impossible. Probably impossible are those you can achieve by will, courage and determination. Impossible is ...just impossible.PI is the impossible people motivate and talk about. Those are the impossibles possible by possibly impossible effort.
Now to some serious shit-
When you are in a friendship, your brain controls your heart. When you are in love, your heart controls the brain. So, how do u control your heart when the very guiding seat is being controlled by the uncontrollable? huh! that is impossible, but probable. That's the PI. If all you know is friendship and think only with your brian, LOVE is impossible. Eliciting love from those who think only with brain: that is "the impossible".
But there is one new and enchanting concept that is in netherworld. As all the emerging new "geek" words, it hasn't been named yet. It's the thingie you do in orkuts and facebooks. If I may go technical, it's the "extended phenotype of desperation". It's the loneliness in you trying to desperately seek consolation in what is virtually real. If you really feel lonely, try hanging out with friends and be with "real" persons.
How true are these words "I am tired of using technology, i need you right infront of me"(these are lines from Timbaland's AYO TECHNOLOGY)
My all time favourite is V fo Vendetta, because it stresses on the importance of ideas.
"It is the idea that is important, not the man"
I wanted to say this for a longtime--India is great because it represents an idea. An idea of helping, loving and caring: people. India is not sweets, cuisines and traditional dresses. It's the ideas and ideals these sweets and cuisines represent that are important.
We meet in a functions, dance, fun, frolic. Click pics in a frenzy, orkut them or picasa them , show them proudly to everyone we know and think we have accomplished something.
I would never suggest not to do the things mentioned. It would be very foolish of me. It is the way you celebrate life. But, what I am pointing out is, after all the fun don't forget what the functions are meant for. Don't leave the function with 2GB of pics and full stomachs, leave the functions with a handful of friends. Remember, for one second, all the things that made it possible for us to enjoy the function. Remember, for a second, all the persons responsible( not the function volunteers but your parents and friends). Spare them a moment, it gives them enormous joy that you remembered them.
If you have 100dollars and give 1 dollar away, that is not charity.
When you have 1 dollar,you want it desperately, and still you give it away- that is charity.
Same goes with people.
Sounds fucked-up, doesn't it?
There were people who did it and it's this importance given to people that's what gave India it's greatness. (and that's what thrown us into oblivion)
India is just a word. We, the Indians, give meaning to it
An average human being is the confluence of all the things that are extant in the society. The way he reacts to a situation, the way he behaves and talks- there is always a limitation to what a person want to do and what a person can do. My point is to rise above the limitations and do what you want to do, no matter what.It takes courage to be truthful to yourself but it takes mulish magnificence to face the consequences.
One might argue that it is "insane" to go after everything you aspire. That is just a perspective. After all it is the choices of a man that define him.I think its worth mentioning the saying "A Man's character is what he does when nobody watches him". It's the reality that changes everyone. I always wondered what hypocrisy might mean, and I hit the bull's eye one day. It's not backstabbing your friends, it's not the unharmful gossip behind the back, it's not the mindless yet harmless rumouring. The biggest hypocrisy of all is "cheating yourself". Society is what it is, people who go with it don't change anything. Change is the driving factor. Afterall, if it isn't for mutations we would not be here.
I would like to quote a wonderful dialouge from The MASK
"We all wear masks, Metaphorically speaking, We supress our darkest desires and adapt a more socially acceptable image"
Pragmatism and Maturity; the great words that is driving the world.
Pragmatism:
It's not what is right that matters but what is considered to be right that matters.
"Maturity is the cover people give to their mistakes".
I never respected these definitions...
People wonder when I walk to UDF at sub-zero temperatures and eat a 3 scoop
Banana-split.
If "Sanity IS Statistical", then I am , for sure, Insane.
"Somebody Stop me"
Rules rule you, unruly though it might sound, it is the rule.You can try to live a life unaffected by rules; but there is a rule- you have to live without rules within the rules. Like the chaos theory suggests there is an "order in randomness" and that is the rule.
You can aspire and dream all you want; but you have to live on the harsh reality that is ground. Sky is your limit yet your feet ought to be on terra firma- that is the limitless limit that limits the lot. People use all kinds of things to motivate you. Yeah, nothing is impossible, Impossible takes a little longer but what they leave out is "the Impossible"- you can't push the impossible -it's impossible.
You might mistake me for a nihilist, No I am not; There is a difference between probably impossible(PI) and impossible. Probably impossible are those you can achieve by will, courage and determination. Impossible is ...just impossible.PI is the impossible people motivate and talk about. Those are the impossibles possible by possibly impossible effort.
Now to some serious shit-
When you are in a friendship, your brain controls your heart. When you are in love, your heart controls the brain. So, how do u control your heart when the very guiding seat is being controlled by the uncontrollable? huh! that is impossible, but probable. That's the PI. If all you know is friendship and think only with your brian, LOVE is impossible. Eliciting love from those who think only with brain: that is "the impossible".
But there is one new and enchanting concept that is in netherworld. As all the emerging new "geek" words, it hasn't been named yet. It's the thingie you do in orkuts and facebooks. If I may go technical, it's the "extended phenotype of desperation". It's the loneliness in you trying to desperately seek consolation in what is virtually real. If you really feel lonely, try hanging out with friends and be with "real" persons.
How true are these words "I am tired of using technology, i need you right infront of me"(these are lines from Timbaland's AYO TECHNOLOGY)
My all time favourite is V fo Vendetta, because it stresses on the importance of ideas.
"It is the idea that is important, not the man"
I wanted to say this for a longtime--India is great because it represents an idea. An idea of helping, loving and caring: people. India is not sweets, cuisines and traditional dresses. It's the ideas and ideals these sweets and cuisines represent that are important.
We meet in a functions, dance, fun, frolic. Click pics in a frenzy, orkut them or picasa them , show them proudly to everyone we know and think we have accomplished something.
I would never suggest not to do the things mentioned. It would be very foolish of me. It is the way you celebrate life. But, what I am pointing out is, after all the fun don't forget what the functions are meant for. Don't leave the function with 2GB of pics and full stomachs, leave the functions with a handful of friends. Remember, for one second, all the things that made it possible for us to enjoy the function. Remember, for a second, all the persons responsible( not the function volunteers but your parents and friends). Spare them a moment, it gives them enormous joy that you remembered them.
If you have 100dollars and give 1 dollar away, that is not charity.
When you have 1 dollar,you want it desperately, and still you give it away- that is charity.
Same goes with people.
Sounds fucked-up, doesn't it?
There were people who did it and it's this importance given to people that's what gave India it's greatness. (and that's what thrown us into oblivion)
India is just a word. We, the Indians, give meaning to it
An average human being is the confluence of all the things that are extant in the society. The way he reacts to a situation, the way he behaves and talks- there is always a limitation to what a person want to do and what a person can do. My point is to rise above the limitations and do what you want to do, no matter what.It takes courage to be truthful to yourself but it takes mulish magnificence to face the consequences.
One might argue that it is "insane" to go after everything you aspire. That is just a perspective. After all it is the choices of a man that define him.I think its worth mentioning the saying "A Man's character is what he does when nobody watches him". It's the reality that changes everyone. I always wondered what hypocrisy might mean, and I hit the bull's eye one day. It's not backstabbing your friends, it's not the unharmful gossip behind the back, it's not the mindless yet harmless rumouring. The biggest hypocrisy of all is "cheating yourself". Society is what it is, people who go with it don't change anything. Change is the driving factor. Afterall, if it isn't for mutations we would not be here.
I would like to quote a wonderful dialouge from The MASK
"We all wear masks, Metaphorically speaking, We supress our darkest desires and adapt a more socially acceptable image"
Pragmatism and Maturity; the great words that is driving the world.
Pragmatism:
It's not what is right that matters but what is considered to be right that matters.
"Maturity is the cover people give to their mistakes".
I never respected these definitions...
People wonder when I walk to UDF at sub-zero temperatures and eat a 3 scoop
Banana-split.
If "Sanity IS Statistical", then I am , for sure, Insane.
"Somebody Stop me"
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