My 3-hour romance...

It began like most such instances begin: A friendly encounter at a get-together hosted by a mutual friend. In the midst of all the laughs, I caught her glance from the corner of my eye; staring into blankness she was, as if waiting for a trigger to push her towards a sense of meaningful purpose.

I extended my hand, and she accepted. And from there started this episode of rare socially endorsed remarkability. After some more time with the boys, we headed off. But where to?
With that question still unanswered, our little steps led us to the jetty, where soon enough my memory reminded me of the urgent need to coordinate with people regarding an upcoming event. Excusing myself, I made the call which would instruct me to rush to my team, and then accompany them for a dry run of their plan.

I hung up, looked into her knowing eyes, and smiled at her effortless, though unasked consent. Taking her by the arm, I made my way to the team room. After some general chit-chat, we headed for the dry run, in the accompaniment of a few more members. All this time she was right there next to me, perhaps growing weary of the sidelining, perhaps not.

Either way, one thing was for sure. With every detached moment I spent with her, her neediness increased in very tangible terms, which translated to the way she looked at me, touched me, the works.

Passers-by and colleagues passed glances at us, owing to her slightly out-of-place presence. Nice feeling it was, somewhat reminiscent of Clapton's classic. Wonder if she felt strangely the same way.

Returning to the timeline. Event test done, went off for another little errand, before heading to a friend's room, and introducing her to her. Having kidded about the eroticity of holding one's partner for this long just a while back, I realized its true force while sitting there. I lavished praise on the little thing next to me, in a manner not unlike a champion stud's owner. Savouring every single bit of her existence, I explained to my fast-growing-confounded friend, the joys of having someone vie for one's attentions at all times. In generous detail, I waxed eloquent on how my muse tasted on my lips, on the tip of my tongue, and how the sweetness was perhaps a result of her having to fight off competition from the engagements described previously.

I wasn't sure if my uninhibited rambling displeased her. It didn't really matter though, for in accordance with the pattern thus far, her body just got sweeter still; her eyes looked into mine with a passion tinged with pleading, and for that moment, I was all that there was, is, and will be.

Eventually, we left my friend to her case study, and returned to the fateful spot where we'd met only 3 hours back. A friend was alarmed to see that I'd clinged on to her this long (and vice versa). By that time, I had pretty much gotten over as well, the glass almost empty. A brief operational discussion ensued with the encountered friend, after which I looked at her one last time, sipped from her inviting mouth once more, and bid her farewell.

That, was one amazing Smirnoff-on-Pepsi.

Cheers to all that lent themselves to the night, and to her!

PS: If at any point my blatant flamboyance had elicited a "Damn u MCP!" from her, the weak dog in me would have responded with a "Screw u b*tch!"; reflecting upon which, the purported self of mine would've passed a gentle smile, looked heavenwards, and marvelled at His works.

PPS: Being chased (rephrase: courted) is fun! Isn't it?

PPPS: The Importance of being Idle.

Evolution of the unthinking caveman

Though the title and pic really should suffice...:

1. The caveman after his daily (?) bath.

2. Dusting off the thin layers of the "Generally Accepted Desirability Practices" imbibed in 1, the caveman is now officially in his element.

3. The first signs of social infringements on freedom, deceptively concealed in the garb of pleasantness and the ilk; the caveman senses a certain sense of gloom approaching.

4. With the conclusion of the ghastly civilization process, the hapless caveman realizes the reality of it all, in one gigantic leap of trans-evolutionary thought and comprehension. The fading smile inverts to an expression of pure and absolute horror, as the poor caveman begins the long journey, of contemplating what he has gained, and what he has lost.

Hmmm...

PS:
Suresh Wadkar sings...

Sunne waale sun lete hain,
Kan kan mein sangeet ho..
Dhadkan taal hai,
Saans hai sur,
Jeewan hai ek geet..

Kya baat hai!
Kandisa!

Sleep deprivation, exams, and the feeling that is "IIM Joka" - 1

The entities enlisted in the title led to this piece yesternight.

* * *

Why Amitava Bose Rocks

Very often, when one comes across a brilliant piece of art/music/poetry, one is compelled to ask oneself, just what it is that lends said piece its characteristic excellence. In many of these cases, one is left with a wonderful sense of emptiness within, borne out of the seeming intractability of the asked question. However, there are those times, maybe rare, maybe not so, when one chances on one or two “critical success factors” that have contributed to the magic.

Such an incidence is what this piece relates to.

Stepping into the hallowed portals of IIMC, it doesn’t take one long to find one’s reasons to love/loathe this place. While some never seem to get over the raining crow shit, some get perpetually immersed in the depths of the lakes. Fortunately for me, it’s been one mushy little tale thus far, with one muse after the other enchanting my very being. Thus, what began with midnight journeys across campus, soon led to conversations with the unassuming bystanders all around, solar observations at dawn, and even arose more earthly passions such as footer. However, perhaps the greatest sense of joy and grateful satisfaction I have derived is from the incessantly awesome people I have had the privilege to interact with here. For it is my sincere belief, that people must form the core driving engine of my existence, be it my inclination to HR/BS, or experiences such as these, or anything else that speaks quintessentially of me.

And it is here, innocent passerby, where this long and winding road brings us to the door step of a certain Prof. Amitava Bose, among others, though for now we shall pause right here.

It is indeed rare, that one comes across a person of such immaculate completeness of being (at least in my mortal, unknowing eyes), that his every word and deed seems part of a larger scheme of uncountable equations, variables and dimensions. Perhaps the only other such person I have met to date is Ust. Fahimuddin Dagar, a dhrupad artiste, representing the 19^th unbroken generation of musicians in his family. It is not surprising then, that this Economics professor at IIMC, has crossed many a sea in his academic career, and has even been approached to be the RBI Governor on multiple occasions.

While the above stated factoids serve only to build the hype around the great man, they do just about enough to ensure one’s ears are pointed straight in his first class. From then on of course, each man must earn his slice of bread, irrespective of the history that may embellish his esteemed self. And did he earn it!

Waxing eloquent on the nuances of unemployment and inflation, each word he spoke shone brightly in that intricately woven fabric of inexorable logic, meaning and purpose. One oscillated between scrambling to capture every single pearl he chose to reveal, and just sitting and basking in the pure and unadulterated sunshine that he so effortlessly pulled out of his little kitty.

From that point on, one knew that this was the stuff that formed the best part of the brilliance that institutes of excellence prided themselves on. The value of human capital to any organization, educational in particular, was never this evident.

In my thinking, what makes Amitava Bose the phenomenon that he is, is the manner in which his genius tends to blend with the wonders all around him. Put another way, the way his thoughts seem to honestly radiate from the impression of his self generated in one’s mind. This sense of truthfulness ensures that his knowledge appears not as a spike in the manhattans of one’s consciousness, but more as an integral part of the entire ecosystem, seated in its rightful place in the scheme. This sense of observed oneness may be likened to what Tagore says in his introduction to “Creative Unity”:

This One in me is creative. Its creations are a pastime, through which it gives expression to an ideal of unity in its endless show of variety. Such are its pictures, poems, music, in which it finds joy only because they reveal the perfect forms of an inherent unity.

I believe one must have truly immersed oneself in one’s art to have attained a voice that resonates with the truth that the art tries to convey. Prof. Bose falls under that category for me. His lectures impart that all welcoming yet infinitely intense sensitivity previously restricted to the domain of bibles such as Resnick – Halliday, Boyd – Morrison, et al.

In conclusion, I feel blessed to be a part of IIM Calcutta owing to the many wonders that shine all around me. Along with the crows silhouetting the setting sun sky, the night lights gaining volumes of meaning in their misty lake reflections, and the innocent joys of sitting seemingly aimlessly at the jetty, Amitava Bose and his ilk do their bit in making IIM Calcutta what it truly is.

May that always thrive.

May Jokaland always find its light.

* * *

PS: What is it that makes exam time the most suited for creative explorations and the like?!

Photography, Expression et al

In everything man does, he seeks a certain sense of meaning and purpose. And expression forms a major part of all that drives human endeavour. Though speech and text may appear as fundamental, pedestrian modes of ‘communication’ rather than those for seemingly loftier objective of ‘expression’, one must clearly understand, that all that separates the two near identical twins, is an invisible wall of man made context. And all that lends any semblance of weight to the wall, is the coloured lens of perception that we all so gracefully adorn.
Realizing the generic flavour that my wandering mind has lent to this piece thus far, I shall embark on a quick hyperlink, straight to photography.

“Writing with light” – it is surprising how sharply accurate this etymological translation can be. For in every frame that one captures, by design or happenstance, there are inscribed a million words, each waiting for one’s eye to place them together. Every line that directs you to a higher object, each shade and colour that embellishes the developing orchestration, every single entity present, distinct or otherwise, is an ambassador of so much. From one world to another, and yet, in so many ways from one to one’s own self.

Photography lends a relatively easy-to-decipher, and easy-to-implement medium to that which poets fill pages with; which dancers use to immerse themselves in; which painters dedicate their every stroke to; photography gives wings to the mind which knows no bounds, in a manner that negates deficiencies of more physical talents.
Personally, I have observed I love pictures that don’t overtly speak out too much to you. For instance, to me, a bunch of friends snapped just after they break their pose beats the picture posed for initially. For it is when images are left alone, with little expectation of direct meaning, that they allow one to read deep into them. Every expression captured, be it human or otherwise, asks one to sit down and listen; listen, to a long and fascinating story that it has just witnessed. All that stands between our selves and that untold story, is our own willingness to lend it the ear it so deserves. Linkages may be drawn to this quote I chanced upon long back:
“What is destroying humanity today is not the lack of wonders, but that of wonder.”
(Think. Digest. Proceed.)

So the next time you chance on a picture, pause, and listen to it speak. The music it encompasses is very, very beautiful. Lakeside lens loving is indeed the stuff dreams are made of!

PS: Lakeside Lens Lovers - The Photography Club of IIMC.

On joy, sorrow, depression, and the love beneath it all

Or in one word: Placements
Being the follower of self-proclaimed abstractionism, I shall at the very outset inform you, innocent passerby, of the total disregard for stats and figures that this post holds.

Also, the views/experiences/opinions, are obviously those of the author, and may not hold true for anyone else under the sun.

(I'm not called a diplomatic rat for nothing! :-)

Continuing...
Placements are a tough time for the best of us. The scope and depth of its influence makes it one of THE most brilliant social experiments around. (Pardon the tone of insensitivity. Those who know me would realize the contrast. Either way, scientific temper requires objectivity. Perhaps not to the extent of Stanford and Milgram)
Either way though, I think "we all emerged from the experience, stronger and wiser" should fit in without much of a diplomatic hassle.

Continuing.. further.
Placements are inherently laden with such distinguished qualities that make the whole experience quite the potboiler. Even a blockbuster season leaves its fair share of highs and lows, cuts and bruises. The bleeding markets all around had got the alarm bells ringing in jokaland as well.
Eventually though, 6 days from the moment the Goldmans of the world landed on our shores, looks like we're done. We've done better than many feared. But thats just what this post is not about.

Most of us live in a world where ambition, relative competence and (the by now cliched) "competitive advantage" govern most of our actions. [Unrelated sidenote: I think (stress, owing to my respect for logic and rational thought. Empirical observations cannot be deemed facts) this phenomenon is a product of one's own choices; though these choices are often hard to see, let alone take.]
Coming to IIMC (or any other "institute of excellence" for that matter), is one milestone on the path dictated by the above decision; sitting for placements is another; you get the picture.

So.
To give a rough sketch of what these 6 days go like.
(Though my experience is only with one IIM, I am pretty sure it can be extrapolated, with no loss of generality. What may change will be the duration or flavour of the insanity, but the insanity, in essence, is everywhere the same.)

Day 1
The offers begin to trickle in. General euphoria reigns, as one by one, the next set of PGP2 idols take their place in the annals of joka's rich culture.
Those of us with no calls tend to enjoy the scene, jestering around with those not quite as chirpy. Relative ego sizes, and perceived life priorities also played their part in the whole role play assignment.

Imagine a little kid staring at a tidal wave, coming to gobble up the entire town. Typecast that, to the end of day 1, and the little kid gets personified by every unplaced candidate who started with 5+ calls. That sinking feeling, is a carefully prepared cocktail of helplessness, looming inevitablity and plain old gloom. All sense of perspective and balance gets dunked into the lake. The thought of repeating the process another day. is. sad. bad. mad.

Days 2 through 6
After the hype over Day 1 subsides, one is made to awaken to days of progressively higher levels of pragmatism. With each passing day, one learns the fine art of sprouting up new 'dream companies' in one's head, so as to put up a respectable show in the interviews/GD's. Unbeknownst to the self, one begins to sink gradually into an invisible 8th lake, that of a slowly growing disillusionment, dejection and melancholia. While this is hard to detect for the self, as one indulges in random jestership all day long, it seems the truth is all too evident for the objective bystander.
To elaborate on the subtleties that mark the 2-6 continuum:
With each passing day, small/pep talk becomes more and more forced. At times, and this is I'm sure amongst the darkest hours of the entire period, the concern shown by those out of the process before oneself, takes on pereptive colours of condescension, and general hues of unpleasantness.
People break down all around you, again, in direct proportionality to time passed by. Some keep that collapsing skyscraper within themselves, as they sit alone, staring into blankness, while others let it out after a few warning signs of the impending flood. Within or without, the sense of heavy despair that this lends to the air, is very, very palpable. Perhaps the lowest phase of the entire process is when one begins to doubt one’s own capability and worth.

And now, as is very often the case, the sole positive to emerge from such hopeless darkness, raises its head.

Before continuing with that infinitely bright, all overwhelming revelation, a partial disclaimer is in order:
As with most things in life, this too lies almost completely in the eyes of the beholder.
While this takes nothing away from the pain endured, or the injustices dealt, it does serve to add meaning to an otherwise torrid, torrid week; it is essentially symbolic of that spring of light that is part of the deal one makes with oneself, on every crossroad of faith et al. Somewhat aptly, the most pertinent example I can think of now, is that of Job.

That one light, that in retrospect makes one weep tears of joy and gratitude; that reveals one's innermost selves to the self; that embodies the one real result of the entire social experiment that so many have just endured, is love.

Love, is perhaps the one thing one can give to the beleagured many, without any overt, mis-construable action. Returning to the wonders encompassed by this blog title, 'simply being a friend' is sometimes the most one can do for a loved one in need.

When one bleeds upon seeing those around one weep, one is confirmed of the underlying humanity that forms the basis of one's existence. High concepts of dharma and the like suddenly lose much of their abstruse quality, to simplify to something elementary, bordering on the naturally obvious. Much like the way Ganga opens one's eyes to many new shades and meanings, so does this gala of figurative sordid torture. After all, the message is what counts, why discriminate by the colour of the messenger.

At the end of every single one of those morosely painted days, one looks at the moon, the stars, and the people all around; and one feels this very hard-to-put-in-words emotion, wherein one is extremely moved by the state that one's people are in, not to mention one's own self, and at the same time, the very fact that one is this deeply touched, induces a sense of objective, dispassionate, un-rejoicing bliss. It is similar to some extent, to the surprisingly profound speech Butters makes in Southpark's "Raisins" episode.

With so much drama all around, quite unsurprisingly, one almost forgets one's own plight, wishing instead to be truly free, so as to be next to one's people, unburdened and unhindered by the blues directly pertaining to the self.

Anyway, one manages to hold oneself together, enough to survive a near breakdown just prior to the critical interview. Of course, the nameless volunteers present to fulfill "good begets good" do come in handy.

Eventually, the show gets over.

One is done, and so are the others, or pretty much at least.

And one looks back at what was lost and won.

An alumnus once claimed that the batch loses its happiness after this week. This can only be verified with time, though I sincerely hope and pray that it is disproved.

Though many a tear were shed, and many a bleeding hour lost, one and all did emerge stronger for sure.

And not to mention, I was blessed with the added boon of realizing all the aforementioned; of experiencing that lofty ideal which makes up a big, big part of humanity, that is both compelling yet liberating at the same time, that is, my favourite four letter word, love.

And that I believe, is the first and last duty assigned to us, as we fly down to take our places on stage.

Cheers duniya.

Be happy.

You are loved.

PS: From a conversation during the week:

sometimes i stop and stare,
and see the pain all around.
and in that feeling raw and bare,
i search for that which cant be found.

as i gaze at the people i so love,
the wounds appear to lose their meaning,
is this not the gift from up above,
that lifts us up thru every leaning?

Edit PS1: It seems to me that the joys that embellished the process were somehow lost in the course of the post. Thus a clarification, there were several instances of great, great happiness, for the good news of one's peers. But I guess those were after all tiny, twinkling stars, in the oceanic, black, shrouding sky. Still, worthy of a mention they are nonetheless, given that love shone through then as well.

Also, equally importantly, happiness, sorrow's twin sister, though easier to appreciate, loses none of its artistic/poetic sheen.

:-)

Love the mother as well

Very often these days, in the manic, fast-paced lives that we live, we find ourselves looking for something to hold on to; something structured, and visibly well defined. At such times, it is generally not easy, even thinking of relating to the subliminal and abstract. One moves from one goal to the next, leaving little time to pause, think, and wonder at the many little invisibles that embellish our bland existence.

In such a situation, it is perhaps natural to go for the quick-fix, finger-snap source of respite. The one that plays catch with you, and then feigns absolute ineptitude, just so that you feel better. The one that picks you up, without you having to ask for it, just when you think you are down and out. The one that can show you a thousand suns, on the slightest such wish from your very being.
He is the one that knows every rule in the book, and also how each can in fact be used to maximize your utility. He is the one ever prepared to throw the world at your feet; to lighten up a dark alley, hasten a dreary dream into oblivion.
He is, the father. Love him.

The times, being as they have been described above, tend to take their toll on our relationship with the other half of our universe. She is the one who, from the background, has been the single deepest influence on your life thus far, and onwards from now as well. Her contributions to one’s well-being and happiness are far less tangible, as compared to those by the father. While the father lifts one up in a twirl of ecstatic emotion, she chooses to caress you, and love you in a way that sets you afloat, on a journey that could take you across a thousand galaxies in the blink of an eye. While he gives you a near-numerically accurate solution to most things, she has the infinite power to paint in front of your eye, the answer to any question under or above the sun.
While he pumps you up in front of the enemy, she helps you on, when you bleed in despair, staring at your nemesis in the mirror. She is the one entity in this world, who knows exactly when it is time to switch from one shade to the next, just to keep you happy.
She is, the mother. Loving her takes a little bit of effort, unlike the case with the father. This need for extra effort, may be attributed to the aforementioned characteristics of our lives today, and is in no way reflective of any shortcomings in her unbounded love, of which there are none.
She wants to give you the entire universe, and all its limitless wonder. All that stands in the way, is the neo-uptight-ness that we have come to endorse.

“Samay pita, Shruti mata”
Time is the father, sound is the mother.
Rhythm and symphony form the root in everything.

Easier comprehension of one does in no way make the other less deserving of your love and respect.

To meet the father, feel free to browse through any of today’s contemporary music (Bollywood in particular). As stated previously. Today’s market conditions favour him to an obscenely partisan extent. A more genteel interaction shall perhaps be the 1st of the embedded tracks below. Do meet him there.

The mother needs a much longer introduction. Embedded is track 2 for the same; she awaits you in all her glorious solitude. Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream. Nothing remains incomprehensible.

Further, my views on the relative (in)significance of lyrics, may be gauged from the post here.

If you have been, thanks for reading. Listen to the tracks below, you deserve to know. Don’t be afraid.

The IIMC Effect

Its 4:05 in the morning.
I awoke out of thirst.
I opened my laptop and checked mail.
I then checked the campus notice boards.
I went on to check the kut as well.
And now I'm downloading music.

Enough said.
This, is the IIMC effect.

Cheers duniya!
Feels nice to be back.. (pretty much! ;-)

Perpetual giving... or The infiniteness in expression

Its amazing, and really very much at that, how sometimes meaning and significance become clearer when they are superficially hidden. The seeming paradox that exists within this situation, may be resolved by invoking the rudimentary logic present in signal quantization error.

For the technologically averse, quantization error refers to the inaccuracies introduced into the analysis, when a naturally continuous signal, is represented in terms of a finite number of discrete values. To give a crude example, if I want to quantize values in the range 1-10, and allot values in steps of 1 (i.e. 0,1,2,...,9,10), then a value of 4.15 would be taken as 4, and thus incur a quantization error of 0.15.

Anyhow, returning to the case at hand.

Very often, things are best expressed by the seeming lack of tangible expression. I feel, at the risk of being snobbishly presumptuous, I have found the logic behind it, to some extent.

Universal expression (of which human expression is a subset) goes beyond the petty realms of words and their ilk. Words, are little more than a feeble attempt by our (relatively) handicapped selves, to give some emblance of meaning to the infinite wonders that surround us.

It is ironic, how when one feels helpless without a medium to express one's inner most feelings, it is words that come to one's rescue. It is words that enamour and court us at our every turn. A world without words becomes unimaginable, incoherent, and insane in its very conception.
However, in this whole process of growth and romance, unbeknownst to oneself, one becomes bound by the invisible, intangible boundaries of those very words.

However, all is still well and good. As in The Matrix, one remains comfortably numb, as long as one stays ignorant to this enchanting imprisonment.
THEN,
one day, the truth is revealed.
And from that day on, one traverses the length and breadth of one's campus, looking at EVERY single thing in a state of "to-the-world-inane", wonderstruck, amazement. Every SINGLE thing, from a coconut tree, to a dilapidated old building, to a smiling 4 year old kid, to even the carcass of a crow, tries to tell one SO much. So much, that one feels loved in a way never ever before. The cosmos seems like one song, made just for oneself.

One point worth noting here.
It is NOT, that one suddenly begins to understand all the messages one receives in this newly discovered dimension. Rather, one has JUST realized its presence. One knows of the existence of something vitally important being transmitted to oneself, but knows not what it means exactly. One's logical mind, in the backseat all along, quips in now and then, with mortal interpretations of the immaculate light all around. Feeble attempts these may be, but one is still overjoyed, to levels, and in ways unprecedented.

A statuatory disclaimer of sorts.
Words ARE important.
They are vital, in the way they give shape to an amorphous concept residing within oneself. They are important, because without a minimum degree of respectful adoration of words, it would perhap be difficult to 'graduate' to the next level. Of course, there ARE always the brilliant exceptions among us, who see the light even without the aid of words et al.
They, I believe, are truly, truly blessed.

Anyhow,
re-returning, to what this post was originally supposed to convey.
The 1st pic is of an inscription by Tagore, and the 2nd is the same stone at night, PARTIALLY illuminated by a street light standing in the distance, knowing nothing of its superlative contribution.

"Perpetual giving up is the truth of life"
becomes
"Perpetual giving"

And therein, lies the point elaborated upon till now.
Giving (up), is all there is (with all due respect to Ayn Rand).
It is not "the truth of life", it is in fact everything, to the extent of rendering everything else, null and gloriously void.

And it is when one is left in that state of seeming incompleteness, and surrounded by a million resounding elements united in their silence, that one's belief in the infiniteness of expression is born, reborn, and relived.

Perpetual giving

The saddest part....(?)

Note: This post should ideally be read in conjunction with the post previous to this ('Her Majesty').
************************************************************************************

I had introduced you to my first love a few hours back, the one who deserves the title of 'Her Majesty'.
What then, one might ask, could be the saddest part that clouds over a post of such high-ness?
Well, the power share mechanism touched upon previously, to me, that is THE saddest part of the entire fairy tale we call life. Of course, perceptions are free to change, as always.

To elaborate:
One has found a certain degree of consummation in one's exquisite relationship with one's royal muse. Good.
One sees every colour under the sun in her clear eyes, as she serenades to one's soul asking nothing in return, but an intent existence. Very Good.
In one's darkest hours, one turns to her, and she lends a succour that is hauntingly unconditional in nature; and she does so without any explicit requests or demands required. The beauty of this automated system is awe-inspiring, to say the least. Brilliant.

BUT,
the stark raving mad dog that hides underneath our couth, refined garbs, incentivizes a continuous hunt for a running mate, EVEN while the muse continues its silent, yet infinitely potent service.
Thus, on one hand, we receive the fruits of a very sumbliminal kind from that all powerful and all understanding spirit, while at that same moment our other hand goes wandering, in search of more personified company.

If a sense of dealt injustice hasn't hit you yet, perhaps (or perhaps not) it shall be so, when one considers the inherent correctness of this infidelity. Procreation and the works are essential to life et al. (The not-straight sections require a separate forum, another page, another day.)
So the situation now is:
The muse knows of our inherent weakness, and the consequent inevitability of our pursuit for the 'other one', and STILL, she loves us, and allows us to love her, in a bond of immaculate perfection.

BUT,
as the old saying goes, foretelling that the darkest hour of the night is that which just precedes the glorious sunrise, one finds a glimmer of overwhelming meaning and purpose (that goes beyond population increase).
And that is, as follows:
We have traversed the paths of untouched high-ness shown by the muse. We have seen, heard, felt beauty and love in so many forms.
If in spite of all this, the essential experience of being human remains INcomplete,
IMAGINE the returns that one is entitled to upon the personified consummation,
IMAGINE the beauty of a system of endless marvel and wonder, which takes one on serial and parallel rides of joy and high-ness, and with infinite feedback loops to go with them!
IMAGINE, the potential power of all that remains to be seen, heard, felt and lived, in the face of all that one has been blessed with already.

If imagination seems to be getting clouded by 'realistic doubt', one may please revert to that which forms the basis of all progress:
"The fact that an experience/fact/truth hasn't been found/perceived yet, does not mean it doesn't exist; rather, it may just be waiting around the corner when one decides to call it quits."

I know this is overflowing with insane idealism.
But to end on a slightly contrarian, sobre note:

1. Yes, one will NEVER find the answers to ALL the questions that haunt our species and beyond.
2. Yes, the chances of such a fairy tale playing out sans detours and blockades are next to none. But Theory Y rules doesn't it? :)
3. Yes, one might be doomed to an existence of eternal melancholia, for it is human nature, to search for the deepest answers whilst in the said state. Thus the quest for joy, and joy itself is seamlessly integrated with the blues that fuel it. More here.

Thus, the saddest part, inspite of its essential sadness, is also the point before one embarks on a voyage of idealistic, untouchable and eternal high-ness and bliss.

Sigh...
Once again,
I want you, she's so heavy!

PS:
"Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst."
-- John 4:13

Her majesty

Getting bored waiting for big-little-nothings to take place, I decided to go give the party downstreet a shot.

My love for my phone and camera, coupled with the signs of impending inclement weather, meant I was adorning my trademark bag and head phones, TO a party.
Not that it really matters, given my incredibly skewed preference for the less animate, less tangibles of the world.

So I entered the bustling NH Quad, and a faint smile escaped my high lips. The sight, of countless swaying unabashedly, uncontrolled and unrestrained, to the beats of music and the boundless twirlings of wine, always inspires a sense of near-impersonal confidence and gratitude.
Thus I entered that cauldron of joy and a thousand in vino veritas-iacs.
After bumping into a few of my comrades, I soon picked my spot, and my date.
She was easy to spot, she always is, standing next to the DJ.
I perched myself in front of her, and smiled at the DJ, whose magic makes her alive every single time. And thus started by short stint as the giant speaker's paramour, for what I saw in her then, was enough to send me rushing back to my room.

As I stood there, and gazed into the near infinite depths of her eyes, I noticed the shadows of all the people dancing behind me, dance on her face as well. I saw the collective pulse beating in front of me at the mercies of one man at the turntables; in that one moment, the DJ was THE man. Upon further extrospection though, I realized:
1. My date was in fact not she who stood in front of me,
2. Rather, it was the spirit that chose to flow through that physical embodiment.
3. The power that the DJ excellently exercised, was in fact endowed on him, by the very, VERY free will of that same spirit. If tomorrow she chose to bounce off the dead walls that surround us, we would be worshipping those unsuspecting uprights, and the DJ would be left in the cold.
4. Thus, not only was my date beautiful and intelligent, she was also powerful in a scale beyond the limits of mortal imagination.

A million power equations were created, solved and decimated in my head at that instant. I turned around, and examined the scene once more for what it truly was, turned back to the speakers, and saw her eyes smiling a knowing smile.

It was at that point that I knew I was at the wrong place, at the right time.
The importance of it being the 'right' time, makes it worthy of being mentioned twice.

Therefore, I bid my date a grateful goodbye, and paced back home to embark (as closely as possible!) on the following quotable from The Beatles' "Love you to", with my beloved:

Make love all day long
Make love singing songs

Thus, in conclusion, I present to you, Her Majesty, the ruler and empress of all of humanity, in an 'as-of-now' incomprehensible power share setup with the forces that be!
My love..
My muse..
My music.

Sigh...
I want you.. She's so heavy.

When the music's over - The Doors

You are advised to scroll to the bottom of this post, play the song embedded therein, and then resume reading the post from here.
--------------------------------------------------------------

This is my second attempt at transliteration, after the experience that was “Melancholic Ecstasy”. And its REALLY hard preventing the transliteration of a lyrical work from degenerating to a review. But lets see.

Hmmm…
This is another masterpiece by The Doors, that centres on the theme of ‘The End’.
Enough of the globe preview, now to the transliteration!

The start seems a bit casual (yes, strong words indeed!), in comparison with the seeming weight embedded in the title. But of course, as always, the journey to ‘the best part’, is as important, if not more, as the part itself. (Considerations of relative subjectivities are out of the window for the time being,)

So, it starts off telling you to turn out the lights when the music ends. With every passing moment, one feels the burden of meaning and purpose growing on the back of one’s mind. A point worth clarifying here – not all burdens are burdens per se. It (the one mentioned above) may be likened to the sense of sweet helplessness that (I guess) precedes any momentous dive, be it love, life, or death.

So, with the truckloads of meaning getting heaped on one, one looks at the work with an ever evolving view. This evolution continues through the song, and then on repeated listenings, and perhaps from the point on to eternity as well.

One may very easily fall for the Literal Manifestation Error, under which one mistakenly attributes the meanings of every word to every word of a composition of this stature.

Anyhow, returning from the digress!
The familiar unpredictability and general gamut of pure sound that hits one, is very, very beautiful.
The n layers of sound, each try hard to tell their own tale, of heroism, camaraderie, melancholia, inevitability and a gnawing sense of impending nothingness.
In fact, I think the work changes in character, from a haze room anthem, to an all transcending, omnipresent, omnipotent stream of truth realized, and waiting to be discovered. The change occurs at a point that need not be elaborated on, for it is the change that matters, not its embodiment.

It is at that same point, that one sees that growing shadow of a constant inevitability; the tones that underlie the lyrics, speak a million volumes all at once. In that one instant, one catches a fleeting glance of everything; e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.

That point on, the work takes you on an elevated journey, where one starts to see enlightenment dawning, whilst the self begins to sink into a bottomless expanse of seemingly opposite darkness.
Of course, perceptions too change over time.

At the point when butterflies begin to scream, one comes face to face with the exquisite insanity that pulls the strings of this piece. Not Jim Morrison, but that which coloured his mind, at the instant this thought took birth in him; or perhaps the light which willed for such a dark luminance to take shape in a form just about humanly expressible. The fact that thoughts such as these are VERY easily lost in the forests in intangiblia; and even if not lost, often left in a state of comfortable suspended animation, while man tends to the niceties all around, is testimony of Morrison’s extreme giftedness.
Of course, LSD, soma, and their progeny might have something to add on that.

Anyway..
There comes a point where our hero hears a gentle yet clear sound. That sequence serves, in effect, to elaborate in detail, on the extremities of light-antithetic darkness that one reaches before the sun dawn.

Soon after that, the sounds combine, regroup, and continue on their march of essential conveyance of the relative intangibles.
But this time, one senses an invisible, but clearly perceptible shift in their gears. Nothing much has changed in the embellishing voice or instrumentals, but one sees an approaching train of finality. One waits for it to arrive, but before one realizes, it speeds up right in front of one, precariously poised, as if to gobble one into its gallows of raw and eternal axioms.
One successfully side steps the raging animal, just about. One is also privileged to identify a hint of super human virtuosity beneath the brash exteriors of the beast.

And just as one starts to get comfortable marveling at the wonders being worked in front of one’s eyes, there flies in a silent knife, from behind a face that you had thought you had got figured out decently well.
That knife pierces the curtains in front of any and everything that was concealed ever.

ANY semblance of a misinterpretation owing to the aforementioned Literal Manifestation Error stands sliced and diced and trashed to where it belongs.
One realizes the infinite openness that lay concealed in the garb of what was one of the most definite lines of the piece.
Thus, the erstwhile pedantic proclamation of music as one’s only real friend, suddenly finds meaning in every hue that colours our lives and beyond.
One realizes the depth of music, in word and in deed. And this one point, reveals to one that which is one’s own music. THE music, that one has immovably and unaboundingly subscribed to. What is revealed to one in that one instant, is in no way smaller in significance to the best of the more tangibles of the world.

And then, everything becomes clear. The knife comes to rest, owing to the fulfillment of its one purpose.
The intriguing layers of meaning and counter-meaning lie in tatters, as one is left to stare into the eyes of a formless, colourless, odourless entity. Very subliminal, yet very, VERY strong in its presence.
The message becomes all too clear.
When one’s music ends, one loses the very spirit that defines one’s purpose; one reaches, and eventually recognizes, the end of all substance and meaning. For all real purposes, one ceases to exist.

What then, will the lonely burning light hope to achieve, when that which was to be lit, leaves the show.

And as all this was being assimilated, one could almost see, from the corner of one’s eye, the carrier of this final message, standing there, breathing heavily, in and out, to fuel the process that it must complete now, and then onwards again and again, for every unsuspecting passer-by that chooses to tread by this path. With a sense of a detached responsibility, it checks your name off of its list, turns around, and disappears into the darkness. And you are left there, all alone, with yourself, and your ‘only friend’ for company.

It is now, as it should be. One, with that which makes one, one.
May we never lose our music. May our music never stop.
May the light remain.

Post ideas

As always, exams provide a good breeding ground for new post ideas.
Hopefully, the following 2 shall feature in my list of 'significant actions', among many others He willing, come exams end...:
1. "If the world ends tomorrow"
2. "The hand in green"

Hmmm...

Now back to FinAcc.

Cheerio!

Love - les signifique

To quote the Video Description itself:
"Excerpt from BBC's "The Story of India" series. Here love is described, in the context of its role and significance in India.
Very, very beautiful.

Listen, carefully. "

The video's last line lends many things, to many things.

Melancholic Ecstasy - Indian Ocean

Firstly, please make yourself less scarce of the track that forms the basis to this post, by clicking here.
* ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** *

This post is my first 'significant action' after my exams ended today.

Melancholic Ecstacy, the piece, has a lot more depth than just the seemingly oxymoronic title, which has become pretty much the norm these days.
It is primarily divided into two parts, the second at a faster tempo than the first.

However, before we get into that, let us proceed in order of chaotic inanity.
Every single moment that this piece spends with you, is filled with a world of boundless emotion (not that anything by the name or nature of bounded emotion exists under or above the sun). The beginnings are reminiscent of what we would call a blissful, aloof kind of joy. But if you look carefully, you would find the underpinnings of a very potent, inescapable moroseness.

Yes, I know my perceptions are coloured by the lens that the song title so easily places on me, but that shouldn't really matter. MAYBE I'd have found a logical conformity to a title like "Endless highs in a time unkempt", I guess that would just prove the adage of all things coloured lying in the (coloured lens adorning) eyes of the beholder.

Anyhow, returning to the issue at hand.
As I was saying, every syllable hits you like a multi layered mass of varied emotions. At this point I must add, the starting guitar work pretty much spells out melancholia, before the hues get enmeshed in their beautiful kaleidoscope worlds. That point on, every once in a while you chance on this voice (invisible, yet louder than many that one hears) convincing the elements around it, of the wonders that surround it, and the many reasons one should be happy happy happy. The appeals get more and more plaintive with each passing second. And then, the camera takes a gradual zoom out, and you see just why the blues are so immovably attached to the little unassuming drops of joy. Every little spirit that had thus far been romancing its domain-mates with the tender and pure affection of a little child, suddenly realizes the rhetoric of it all. As the hopelessness, and sheer inevitability of the situation comes crashing down on them, one can't help but feel that little pang of blue coloured compassion.

But,
as the scene progresses, one is surprised to see the little muses picking themselves up, dusting the invisible overalls on their invisible bodies, and getting back to that which they have been doing since time immemorial; that which is their duty; that which defines the very purpose of their existence.
Back come the sweet-little-nothings, and the entire entourage. Now, the second part has arrived. The camera has zoomed out on the time and the 5th dimension. Viewing the play from here, one observes the underlying beauty of this tender conflict. One sees the two sides for what they truly are. One sees the essential meaninglessness that both would be reduced to without the other. One sees a hand labelled X, playing its part behind all this commotion. It is a carefully balanced ecosystem, both infinitely intricate and self sustaining at the same time. One sees the eternally blissful children tugging away at their mother's skirt, pointing away at every little butterfly/frog/chocolate/shinchan that catches their fancy; one sees why Tagore had said that true happiness is that of the children, for they make up for the deficiencies in what they see, with the music of their innocence and bliss (Thanks Akshay, and pardon the inaccurate quote); one sees the inevitability of "reality" dawning on the cheery little minds, and the process of "learning" getting about its job; one then sees the eternal strivings of that child, to see the world for what it should/could/would be; its tireless efforts at keeping itself alive in the face of all adversity; the potential for eternal futility rearing its paralyzing head, and YET, the little bachche getting up, dusting the soil of despair's worst debris off their brightly hued t-shirts and shorts, and checking for damage to their squeaky sandals, and getting on with their business, the business of keeping one alive.

One is alive, as long as one is alive. The moral of the epic drama played out in this piece is, simply, take a long hard look at your self, and treasure it, embrace it, love it, in due cognizance of its real worth.

Its amazing how in the course of writing this post, I've been blessed with one more definition for that virtue of virtues, Hope.

Hope, is "Melancholic Ecstacy - Indian Ocean".

Listen to it do.

A thousand sighs...

My Hazy Dream

Unfortunately, all I remember is the following transcript:

*^*^*^

(With a friend, sitting/walking around campus)
All of a sudden,
Justin: Hey! Look at that.
Friend: (looks here there, finds eventually) Wow...
Justin: (sigh...) Now thats something worth blogging about! (content smile - within and without.)

*^*^*^

And after that point, my memory draws a highly disappointing blank, though I distinctly remember that feeling of blissful highness upon sighting 'it'.
Thus, as had been declared by my very own self (inter dimensional boundaries, FADE!), I must do what I must do. Thats the least a forgotten experience deserves.

Here's my tribute to that which I cannot name.
For of course, it is the feel that truly matters. Instances of the feel just give it a name, a shape; the feel remains ever free, ever unbounded, ever present, waiting always and only, for the one.

Feel ke pujaari for life!

A Million Corpses on My Head, at first...

A rather geometric, semi circular moon reminded me tonight, of the inevitable two sidedness of all things in life. It was shining its normal self, following every rule in the book. But beyond its innocent knowledge, the clouds had schemed to bare the macabre just this once. Aligned in parallel curves of handsome length and enlivened by the unconditional grace of the moon, and perhaps a distant sun, they brought to life images of the holocaust, on their infiniteness bounding screens. Gracefull rows of blackness became the all too visible ribs of the lucky survivors. The mass closest to our monthly time keeper took the shape of a face disfigured.
Whilst witing this, sprawled on maohanda's rooftop, I tried in vain to find some semblance of life in the midst of death and all his friends. Unable to do so, continued writing.
THEN,
3.14159 minutes later, glanced upwards, and saw the ribs fading. Stretched my neck, and behold!
In front of my eyes was a baby developing in its mother's womb. The image that is produced by ultrasounds, it almost seemed to move with a life waiting to find its place in an inviting world. My original message, when I got down to writing this, was the essential duality that spares not even the celestial moon; how even that harbinger of things of love and longing, was made to witnesss the worst the world had seen; how its usually inspiring actions had today, in a personally unprecedented manner, opened my eyes to the darkest moments man has known. How, nobody is destined to a life of eternal, idyllic bliss. Bliss must be earned. Its value must be in realized and comprehended. Then came along that cheery little humanling!

Fading death and approaching life HAD to convey that universal message, which has formed the basis of man's existence at its lowest, most pathetic states; that, which from the time of Pandora had been His eternal gift to us. The essential beauty that enveloped every facet of our existence; that makes every day a song of praise; that which is visible in His eyes. That child, is HOPE.

From the Sun, with love...

Captured after a particularly grueling session of tutorials, this just made my day (night?).
Sitting in front of Mohanda's closed shop, staring at the spectacle captured in a moment of gleeful exuberance by my unassuming camera, wonderfully reminiscent of this, I couldn't help but let out that beautiful tear. Times such as these indeed are special.

Coming to what I read in this little scene.
The moon has been picked out of the void that had enveloped it since its birth. Its been shaken up, and in it has been breathed life; a life which it has just tasted for the first time ever. Imagine, that which has inspired a myriad poets and ballad-eers down on mortal earth, now finds itself looking upon us, with a sense of unprecedented belonging.

ANYHOW, inching ever closer to that which is the crux of this post.
So who in his right mind (or not) would have the audacity to do this with THE moon. The obvious answer is the Sun. Having done what it just has, what we have in front of us is a celestial flower, with the most graceful of stems, leading up to that halo-angelic body.

The Sun has found its match.
It has plucked up all the courage its fusing atoms could muster, and the moon along with it.
Flower in hand, it approaches the dame that has captured its imagination. It could be this, this or any one of those countless 'little' twinklers that adorn the sky and beyond.

To find out who, sleep tight, and maybe all will be revealed.

Cheers duniya (and you too Sunny boy! :)

On Work...

"The work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives and the dreams shall never die."
Thus spake Edward Kennedy.

I'm PRETTY sure thats exactly how those magically well aligned emptied bottles also felt, as they watched from the shadows, the scene of unadulterated fraternity and true worship of that which I call the 'feel'. The feel of course, is the single most influential player amongst all the wonders that make life alive, with meaning, purpose and beauty embellishing our every step.

I can imagine them breaking for the night, with a moment of perspective loaded introspection:
Alpha: "Look at them..."
Bravo, Charlie: "... Sigh"
Delta: "What was it that that Bachchan chap had written about us...?"
Echo: "Yes, our work here is done."

---

Cheers, to the feel that is the ras of our lives. Whatever it may be.

The light beckons

Enough said.

Awe...

stands defined.

At iimc

Outside the MCHV (Management Centre for Human Values), stands a tree.
At its base is a stone with the inscription:
"Perpetual giving up is the truth of life - Rabindranath Tagore"

And the tree stands there all day, all night, blissfully unaffected by the infiniteness that it stands upon. Not to mention, making a magnificent spectacle out of the blue evening sky.

Sigh.. Itna pyaara..

We Never Change

2 days to go before I head off to Calcutta for a new life, in a new place, with new people. and I'm here, living it up at the Allahabad Bank branch, waiting for my loan sanction. The odd call/sms enlivens the mind from time to time, but nothing helps quite like what follows.

Sitting there haplessly, one couldn't help but overhear ambient conversations.
An eager voice starts the cult 'Deewar' dialogue, and apparently nobody notices. It starts off again, this time louder, and succeeds in reaching the rather flimsily 'edited' punchline. A real bad PJ it was, but still elicited the geedar-kutta laughter that I and my guild so pride ourselves with.
At that moment, I believed in the essential constancy of our being, transcending boundaries of position and time. To elaborate, if I'm a dog by nature, then by all probability and by His grace, no matter where I end up in life, the people I join, my tail shall find a way to flex itself doggy style. Comforting this thought is, when mortal transience seems to rule the mind.

The Cloak of Days Gone Past

Standing at the passport office queue at 7:43am for a counter slated to open at 9:30 can be daunting for the best of us. So, as is very often the case with lifelines thrown by Him, along came something majorly insignificant to add value to the whole experience. Standing 2 steps in front of a Nidhi Razdan look alike girl, perhaps I was perfectly placed under a sepia tinting hemi-cylindrical plastic roof. Viewing the sky and other objects through it added a sense of antiquity which made the flying by planes reminiscent of man's first flight; the building in front of it a reflection of Victorian heights, and in all, produced a sense of the past in a very living equality with the present.

For perhaps obvious reasons this led me to the case where this might have been true with things more animate than those mentioned before. A look back at life, floating between many time dimensions, yet retaining its essential character; at us, moving beyond yesterday's boundaries, yet remaining essentially us.

Hawas Ras!

Submerged we were today, in this glorious 10th ras!

Details in later edits. Last minute paints beckon me, part of my shot at functional immortality.
Yes, more, much more, later!

---
Edit-1
''''''''''''''
These are stolen moments from my wonderful days at iimc! Hecticity runs in the veins of those who dare to 'manage', so here i am; high on a sense of academic diligence coupled with genuine camaraderic bliss. Not to mention sleep deprivation, with all its fascinating charms. :)

Returning to my encounter with hawas ras:
Contrary to any sacrilegious/scandalous views that may be popping in ur head, this was a journey with 2 of the most amazing people I've known; people whom i've been blessed to have as part of my extended family. And Hawas = lust = point 1.a) or 3.a)b) here.
(Lost in translation? Maybe.)

After previous yaatras to chandni chowk and CP, it was now karol bagh's turn to face our music. The food (albeit the 'ganesh ki machhli' cutting!) was nice, and the sights, sounds, the spirit and all that encompasses the senses, were brilliant.

Hawas ras arrived in its custom made thass coated self, with a hypothetical situation analysis of the 3 of us being 'kutte ke pille', followed by ''hawasi kutte ke pille", and then "kutte ke hawasi pille". We were all kinda high on the significance of the event, the history, and all that remains. So little and also so much.
The pinnacle of hawas rasiya-giri was the introduction of our latest imaginary friend, Mr. (H)awasthi.
With that, we knew the maxima was reached, we knew, to quote from that other most wonderful time of my life, "The moment shall soon pass us; after that we will be mere mortals."

Respectfully we bid adieu to our visiting ras, and promised it we'll meet again, and again, and again.

The rest of that day was nice, as it should've been I'm sure.

Oh and yes, almost forgot.
Hawas ras is that which adds a sense of loving, longing, living to every passing moment of our existence. It is that which frees the mind to see a million lights wherever He chooses. It is all that lends meaning and purpose, with a sense of graceful perspective.

That, is my hawas ras.
And I hope to bump into Mr. Hawasthi again, sometime, somewhere.


Cheers duniya!

My SPIC Farewell...

Today was a red letter day.
We (the senior members) knew we were in for something nice and worthy of space in our internal memory registers. And I must say, the thass, the people, the coming together, the music, the admin, the college, the balls, the grass, the misunderstood wicked tree (not necessarily in that order), all made sure it was just that.

Life I've always felt is prone to 'degenerate'(?) into a sequence of oscillations.
In every single plane of human sensitivity, there is scope for many extremes. And I believe its easy to get carried away towards one, and then come rushing back in a desperate attempt to maintain sanity, and in turn overshoot to the opposite end.
Events such as the day that was today, have the power to push one in a particular way with absolutely no limits. And in spite of the relative un-advisability of extreme living, I think such 'spikes' in the (relatively) moribund curves of our individual existences ARE important.

For due to the inertial nature of our consciousness, it is again very easy to slip into any given comfort zone, upon sufficient continuous exposure.
Today's event serves to wake oneself from the 'comfort' zone of a routined life which is 'doomed' to an existence of passive spectator-ship. Today was the symbol of all things alive and abounding; of energy and a sense of comfortable ease bursting at its seams; of a thought simple in its airs, but with the might to shake a thousand earths.

While all the love was all too evident, so was the sense of potent mortality. The transience that underlines our every role in life; the fact that nothing (except hopefully this(!)) really will survive the test of "infinite-dimensional time"; the unnerving feeling that this indeed is one of THE last times that I'll meet you, ABC dearest; the sense of an inevitable shift in all life coordinates fast approaching, all these diversely (and BEAUTIFULLY) hued emotions were beautifully etched on the perfection that was lived today.

Indeed, today really IS all one has between a (potentially) nagging past and a (potentially) unreal, uncertain, unknown future. More on this later.

For now, today was simply, very, very beautiful.

Sigh.. So much love.

Aanandam...

The Greatest Gift of all...

What is the best treat one can give to oneself? I shall not venture into gift ideas for friends, simply because thats fraught with risks of subjectivity, specific likings, relationship levels, et al, very very et al.

To arrive at the answer that I have in my head already, here is my concocted derivation.

The aim of our every action is to experience happiness &/or bliss. It goes without saying, that not all lead to instant gratification, but to an extent, the hope for the future can be seen as part of today's joy in the face of difficulty.

Anyhow...
Now I turn our attention to the world we live in today. Being a member of the privileged sections of society, we are prone (dutifully?) to be buried under heaps of hecticity. In the cocktail of exams, parties, TV, Email, SMS, Man_U and other such, one is often forced to mould oneself in a way so as to accommodate all said activities. Living in a world thats growing faster and faster, its easy to lose sight of one's self from time to time.

So, you've just found out you've won the FGH Thingamajig. You're at home, all alone. Or at least, the moment you found out said news, you were alone in essence. In that one moment, what is the single most valuable thing you can gift yourself?

I feel, the answer is VELLAPANA.
I say so because I believe being vella and indulging in thass goes beyond the externalities of sheer time pass et al. Being vella, in effect is being alone with your self. Your self being, more often than not, the most neglected member of your social circle.
Imagine, upon finding out the news, just feasting on a double serving of vella; doing what you really want, to be happy, irresponsible if need be; to listen to music, to read up on randomness, or even to write this post.

Yes, the social functions of a get-together followed by gorging and guzzling are important. They're part of our social-ness I guess. But before we entertain anyone else in the world, is it too much to ask, to spare a moment for your own self? (Here of course the dynamics of time are such that a moment may effectively be equivalent to hours and hours of unbridled thass...)

I hypothesize, that a social celebration without adequate merriment with the self would invariably lead to a hollow(er) experience overall.

Thus, I'd request all of you to try your hands at good ol' fashioned "nothing-in-particular"ness, the next time you feel the need to splurge.

I can assure you, this gift isn't as easy to present as one might think. The challenges in sticking to one's void guns are surprisingly tough.

Good Night!
Catching up on sleep is next on my list of things to do, after 'nothing'.

Cheers!

Cho Chweet 2 - High on...

All hail, Anthon Berg!

To quote from this beautiful poem, albeit GLORIOUSLY out of context (subjective?):

In small proportions we just beauties see;
And in short measures life may perfect be.

Cho Chweet 1 - My latest gadget!

I love it. Its colourful, it speaks, and even has neo-techno music!

PS: pardon the horizontality!

My recursive dream!

Its the night of 30th (;-) April, and yes, I had the IIM results induced butterflies in my tummy.
Knowing that the results are due that night/next morning isn't a very tranquil feeling.

Anyhoo...
There I was, lying on my bed, 5:15am, watching the curtains gradually brighten up. I had already had 3 dreams, of myself going through the respective institute sites and google news too, in the hope of getting my hands on the result, all in vain.
Tired of living the same dream over and over, I got up. On my way to the computer, I glanced at my mobile. 2 missed calls and a message.
Hmmm.
1 missed from Debasish (co-IIM hopeful), and one from Ashish.
Hmmmmmm.
And Ashish telling me to listen to Alanis Morrisette's timeless 'One hand in my pocket'.
Hmmmmmmmmmmmm....
Am I supposed to read into random symbolism here?
The only way to know was to make a dash to the comp and literally live those haunting dreams.

And I did just that. Listening to Coldplay's 'Violet Hill' on a loop was a nice accompaniment.
Sadly enough, all the dreams actually did come true. No results out yet (of the ones I'd been interviewed for: A,C,I,K). Half "I've HAD it with this!" and half asleep, I messaged Debasish about the futility of my early morning exercise, and Ashish about the millions of times I'd heard the song already.
With that, I went back to sleep. It was now 6:20am.

Now, the recursion begins.
The first dream I had in my 2nd innings asleep:
I'm at R.K. Puram. The point where a road used to end, has now magically been transformed into an idyllic hang out place. Architecturally superior (and similar) to the courts of Dilli Haat, with a food court and a big Pizza place (Name not revealed due to lack of coherent memory, and not trademark issues!).
Anyhoo..
I reach there, and am awe struck by the wonder of its new look. And there I find the gang, waiting to surprise me. I distinctly recall Manish, Vidya, Akshay and Ashish. Though there were quite a few more there, who somehow missed by dreamy view. I can assume the rest of the list, but for the sake of 'factual objectivity', I shall keep it to this (i LOVE the irony here! :-)
Continuing.
So I reach this amazing place. I'm in a slightly pensive mood, owing to the hanging nature of the results. I catch hold of Vidya and tell her just how crazy things have been, relating to the three-petition of the futile result hunt dream. I'm happy to see the holistic grandeur of the ambience... my place, my people, all the works, but the gnawing sense of magnified uncertainty is all too evident, and leaves me huffing and puffing.
Next thing I remember, I'm away from the party scene, and with some nameless, faceless companion. The location is still in the vicinity of the venue of the 'still fresh in memory' get together, but not quite there. I am now relating the amazing "Renovated RK Puram get together" dream to this person. I explain to him/her all the nuances of what was there first, and what was there in the dream; I tell him/her the people I'd met, and even the despairing rant shared with Vidya.

And the next thing I remember, I'm awoken by my brother at 9am. Debo's message tells me B's result is out. I rush to check the others. And after the initial blankness of purpose, C comes, and thats all thats come as of now. Not the point that.

SO, to conclude:
I have a series of 3 identical dreams.
After an hour's break of consciousness, I have a dream in which I relate the 1st series in a fantasy, and then relate the fantasy in a more normal setting. And finally, I have related this entire drama to you, dear patient and considerate reader. I hope the figure at the beginning makes more sense now.

Violet Hill is still on.
Some things shall stay the same, transcending boundaries of n dimensions. At least one can hope so.
On that seriously concocted philosophical note, I end my account of my "Triple Level Cojointed Recursive Dream".

Good Morning!

The big fat NSIT farewell..

Written at 1:18am on farewell night.
Retrospective afterthoughts the morning after are in [this style].

Be warned, this is a pseudo-drunken rant. Expect nothing, and you shall be happy.

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It would be harsh to try and force this stream of random thought into some semblance of order et al. Therefore, I shall proceed with whatever comes to my head whenever.

Farewell done.
After all the arbiticity in the official going away ceremony in the audi, and the mad house scribble sessions prior to that, we arrived at the climax for the day - the rain dance.

No, this isn't the crux of my trailing mind streams at all.
Is it the gradually growing sense of dispassion that grew with every passing moment on this day of acknowledgments and wishes?

Or the feeling of being close to people who are innately distant; who shower you with choicest and most meaningful tokens of appreciation, but always stay 2 steps away otherwise?
[afterthought, the morning after... chill it frikatwad! Human nature is beautiful in its variety... Good is better than bad. So shut it!]

Or is it the fact that, nullifying the point above, i have begun to see the remainder of mankind as little more than a sum of disparate transient phenomena, all coming into and going out of our black box existences, FOR a reason? Blood being thicker than water, is true, but may be more a result of social bondages, than anything more fundamental. Like with wolves, perhaps it isn't too impossible for a day to come when we get kicked out of our abodes at the slightest sign of independence. Of course, human infants being as incompetent at survival as they are, this means a good 5-8 years of mutuality in existence. And blessed as we are with the gifts of "think-ability", "something as insipid as love", among others, it is only natural for the two parties involved to form bonds that go beyond existential dependence.
Perhaps this is similar to the concept of maya, wherein the world is an illusion, created for reasons currently incomprehensible (for me at least), from which we are to break free to attain oneness with the One.
In such a situation, it would be only foolish to expect anything from others. However, expectations form the core of all human relations. To inaccurately quote an old friend, 'though expectations form the root of all pain, without them it would be impossible to have tangible relationships'.
Such a case is when i am redirected towards Him. The answer to all problems seems to be the path to Him, but as is the case with all things worth doing, it is a Herculean task to even try to walk on that path.

Ok, wait. Another possibility comes flying in.
The fact that my general gloom arises from the fact that my days at my beloved NSIT are dearly numbered.
Was it this which compelled me to be more reflective at the Jam, rather than hyperactive. To a great extent, I would attribute that to my intrinsic fascination for all things audio-visual. Thus while the crowds may have moved to the beats of a chartbuster, I found it more stimulating to zombie pose in front of the big speakers, as always. And the more I think of that glorious coming together of the tones, the beats, those delightfully naughty elongations; of the magic and brilliance engrained in unique permutations of the aforementioned elements, the more I feel justified in choosing such physically inanimate companions.
Tho i AM convinced on the fact that maya must have a purpose; and that the aforementioned all too form a part of maya only, Thus all parties involved and not so, remain in my convenient domain of "appreciated and respected".

Oh and by the way, just thinking of a seminar of "Cryptography and mankind" (or some such), is fascinating. That, along with Glomosim needs to be looked at long and hard.

And my net's died on me again. I'm sleepy after days of sleep deficiency.
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This is nice.

We shall lead a million lives, and none lesser than the other.
I'll see you later. For now I embark on life no. 1342!

Gumorning!

On inevitability and the immortality of hope!

हर मुलाक़ात का अंजाम जुदाई क्यों है?

This one question has haunted me ever since a wonderful song chanced by me a few days back. The song in question, "Zindagi jab bhi.." from Umrao Jaan (of 1981!), can be streamed from this page (4th track).
For the bandwidth un-challenged, here's a download link.

Returning to the line. I don't quite know how and where to start, so here goes.

Why does every meeting result in separation?

"meeting": an instance of time-space coordinates intersecting for 2 or more people desirous of a rendezvous. A duration of time spent together, in a state of mutual sharing.

"result": The end product obtained from a process or operation.

"separation": An act of detachment or distancing between two previously closer entities.

All the above definitions have been taken from the my handy copy of the Standard Daily Usage Mental Dictionary.

On the face of it, the inevitabilities are overwhelmingly obvious. The very concept of meeting may (a certain degree of possibility) be seen a dual for separation, and thus semantically dependent mutually for real significance.
Also, the constancy of change angle may also be brought in to prove the truth behind this lemma/axiom/theory.

However, as I'd mentioned to the unsuspecting gtalker I'd bumped into that night, it is the scope of finding an exception to this rule, which makes this all the more fascinating.
To elaborate, the clouds of gloom that may appear by the helpless inevitability of this scenario, suddenly find linings in every possible hue, by the possibility of circumventing this trap of circumstance. The very idea, that there MAY be a day, when one could break free of this deadlock; when the shackles of logical conformity may get replaced by those of the most pristine forms of freedom, has the potential to inspire and alleviate beyond measure.

It is in this direction, that I shall perhaps attempt to grow all my remaining days. For now though, a few baby steps...

In the definition of 'meeting', the mentioned time-space dimensions are assumed absolute. That needn't necessarily be the case always. Being of the truly scientific temper, one can never rule out the existence of another latent dimension, waiting for our selves to grow out of our current cocoon. Perhaps such a discovery (at a VERY individual and personal level) would lead us to a realm where it would be possible to function perfectly parallely. Perhaps upon this finding, we would begin our journeys toward The Omnipotent.
Also, on a more earthly level (or maybe not!), the definition of 'together' is again rather subjective, and heavily dependent on various growth level parameters et al. So perhaps we may one day evolve to a state where we can be together in spirit, while on different continents/planets/galaxies.
I see this option shall eventually trail on to the first one only, so I'll leave it here.

Coming to 'result'. It isn't quite fair to restrict the scope of a word as momentous and significant as this, to just that which is observed/obtained in the end. Perhaps, the result of an exercise can sometimes be obtained at the very beginning, with the rest of the activity required to complete the shell in which the new born chick had grown.
{Pause.}

'Separation' now. To defy the physical boundaries set, I shall take the obvious route of questioning the predominance of physical perception. I shall hope that one day, the less tangibles within and without us, shall rise and claim their rightful place in our consciousness. This of course is a reversed way of hoping that we'll all grow and raise our selves to that level.

And I see, that the saar/crux of all the distinct points I've made till now, are immovably common. There always had been just one very slippery little point. One answer to all the stated issues, but with a million little faces, each overlapping with a billion others.

I can't quite put my finger on it yet, but it does have something to do with consciousness, love, peace, you and Him. The links among these variables, are part of the oh-so-convenient "To-be-Determined" list. But I believe, that the very fact that such a line was composed, and such a question crossed the minds of many thereafter, is part of the answer revealed (an immensely minuscule part, but still!).

It is this hope, against what at first glance seems to be a doomed walk in the park of eternal inevitables, that proves its essential immortality. "Hope springs eternal", they say. I feel it is one of the n core elements that live in us, beyond the realms of time and space.

And as long as there shall be paradoxes and conundrums as "hopeless" as the 1st line of this post, we shall know that hope has enough fodder to feed on; and that there is still present, a gloriously infinite reserve of untapped inspiration and bliss, waiting for the unassuming and unsuspecting simpleton to stumble upon!

Sigh...