free running life

What's in the name?

2011-12-26T11:26:00.002+05:30

He's a Stanford pass out. I go to IIT. Anirudh works at Google. She is interning at HP Labs. Do I give a shit? Course, I do. Great colleges are brilliant. And all those who've been to great universities or work in great companies are popular. But for all the wrong reasons.
And for those of us who cannot make the cut into the best of stuff, there's the quintessential Tarantino line, "I didn't go to film school. I went to films."
Losers behold! We have hope.
I have immense respect for scholars. Or people who we assume to be scholars. Just because somebody goes to MIT or interning at Google, is he really great? Ofcourse he is. The fact that he's made the cut proves that he's very good at things a lot of people are good at. I sometimes wish I had gone to a good college. To begin with, its cool. People "ooh" when you say you study in MIT. But importantly, two, I'd have been in the company of some great people. That is undeniable.
What differentiates a good college from just another college. Facilities, no. Subjects, no. Faculty, maybe a little. Students, you got it. But is going to a good college a prerequisite to lead a happy, successful life? That depends on how you define success anyway.
Ok, beyond the muddle now. I'm a huge believer in tangential learning. When you try teach somebody something, if what you say is worth 10%, how and in whose company you do it defines the rest. And that is what truly differentiates mediocre students from the really good ones.
But the four years I've spent in an anonymous college have shaped me in more ways than one. Three things about me changed immensely- Confidence, Courage and Camaraderie. I've met some great people. Would things have been any different had I gone to a different college? I can't know because I didn't go to a different college.
Bottom line is, you want to learn subjects, you can do it online anytime. You want to learn how to live, any place on Earth will teach you that. Albeit in its own way.

What Steve Jobs means to me

2011-12-02T15:45:00.003+05:30

I don't like telling people what I'm all about. What invigorates me, what inspires me, what disgusts me and what affects me. Neither do I have the patience nor the conceit that I am interesting enough. But today, I feel a need to talk about what Steve means to me. I didn't really understand or mourn his death because he doesn't mean anything as a person. He's just an idea in my head. Something that exists only as long as I have the whim for it. Despite talking long and hard about Steve, I haven't really heard him speak a lot like some other devotees do. I don't use even one Apple product and I really cannot understand what he means when he talks about Microsoft not having taste. Inspite of this, I adore Steve Jobs. After accidentally coming across his landmark Stanford Commencement Speech about four years ago, I googled him out of the same curiosity as I google everything I come across. I read about him, I heard him and I was ready to launch a self-issued, solo 'Steve Jobs is God' propaganda. Looking back, I was 17, I was lost, I was arty, I was deep into philosophy and I loved Zen. For about two years, Steve was huge. And then he fell into doldrums. True, I spoke about him now and then but the manic energy was gone. And on 6 October, Raghav called me at 0600 hours IST and the first thing he said, "Arey, me odu poyadanta?". I was half -asleep but I knew 'me odu' meant only one person. I wasn't following him as diligently as I had been earlier, so I didn't have a lot of news about the cancer issue. Everything came back about a week ago when I downloaded his new autobiography, Walter Isaacson's Steve Jobs, and started reading it.

And for the first time in years, I understood a lot about him in a week than I hadn't earlier in months. A sign of maturity. He was self-righteous, arrogant, rude, mean and an asshole. But he still is my God.

1. Simple/Higher Purpose
Look at any Apple product and if there's one thing that strikes you right away, it is it's almost Zen like simplicity. Steve loved Zen, Buddhist Philosophy and that simplicity, starkness and attention to detail shines in every Apple product that he created. Its the greatest blend of functionality and aesthetics and Steve's, "If a kid cannot figure out how to use the product in 2 minutes, its a goner", rings very familiar to his idol Einstein's, "If you cannot explain it to a 6 year old, you don't really understand it." And Steve Jobs didn't make products or forge a company to grow rich. He believed there was a higher purpose to one's life and his was to make the world a better place by telling people how beautiful and useful technology could really be.

2. Intense/Driven
It was Steve's stellar intensity that separated him from everybody else. His passion for the product he created, his obsession to detail, his almost child like excitement when talking about his products and his curiosity when dealing with anything that interests him are contagious. He vied for the impossible, strived to make it happen and pushed everybody else around him to make it happen. Everything that he ever created wouldn't have happened without him. True, he never made anything. He just pushed his engineers and designers around, yelling at them, abusing them and belittling them. But he had an amazing eye for talent and where he knew something was doable, he blasted away all excuses. His passion for the end product, his vision about how it would change the world and his belief that it would turn insanely great spurred engineers and designers to overwork and proudly wear t-shirts claiming, "90 hours a week and still loving it."

3. Focus/Perfection
If Steve Jobs was hellbent on getting something done, he didn't care about anything else. So unrelenting was his focus that he could push away all distractions to encounter the situation at hand. His intense discipline, his quest for things to be right and his zeal to attain perfection all stemmed from his Zen ability to focus on something so intensely, that it had to happen. His notion that things have to be right, neither superfluous nor wanting, had the company push the reset button on a lot of products a lot of times. He postponed the dates of release of Macintosh, the iPod and the iPhone for reasons as trivial as, "I'm not sure if the glass casing is right." His need to make things right might have cost the company a lot of time but that is what Apple stands for today. Trust.

4. Charisma/Aesthetic
One thing that any person who's ever spoken to Steve would talk about is his charisma. He was the true charmer, the media dream and the country's poster boy. He could summon the right line at the right time, conveniently push away the topics he wasn't comfortable with and could cultivate such a force of drive in people that they would seem less like engineers and more like crusaders waging a holy war. His talks to Apple employees that they were artists and were truly changing the world, really did instill in all those geeky engineers a sense of worth, belief and cause. He made them understand that they weren't making boxes. They were making art and were as good as a Picasso or a Bach. Oh! boy, if that won't turn people into your devotess, what else will.

5. Different/Intuition
There's a really old saying about Steve that 'Steve Jobs does his market research by looking at himself in the mirror.' If there's one trait in him that catapulted him into fame as a rock star, a guru, a genius, and a youth icon, despite the youth being usually anti-capitalist, it was because he didn't care. He didn't care about what the world was like, didn't care about others' ideas if he thought they were bozos and didn't care about convention. All he cared about was himself, all he listened to was the people he respected and all he lived in was Steve's Reality Distortion Field where he could accomplish anything he willed. He had huge successes not because he predicted what people liked but figured out what he liked, "If I design a product I wouldn't want to use, I know nobody would want to use it either." He knew he was special, different and gifted and this firm belief in himself made him challenge conventions. And if there's really one thing that defines him, then its his trust in instinct. His belief that art touches people somewhere deep within.

When I look back at all this and think of Steve, I see him in his spartan bungalow sitting on the wooden floor, his piercing gaze in his black and white portraits, his obsession with all things vegan, his habit of taking people out for long walks and his wonderful speech after his return to Apple. Everything so Steve. I don't know if he's really made as big a dent in the universe as he wanted to, but he's made a huge dent in my life.

For that and everything else, thank you Steve.

Khule da Rabb

2011-11-28T22:25:00.008+05:30

I am in love with Zeb & Haniya. What a stunning album Chup! is. There's nothing like music. That's a ridiculously cliched statement to make but I'm too tired now to elaborate. I think it was Martel who wrote to Stephen Harper once about Nietzsche, cliches and how it ruined his writing and thinking prowess. A cliche is a shortcut people take to escape and like all good shortcuts, it just isn't good enough.

I'm somebody who preaches selfishness. I'd rather not talk about myself. I don't feel comfortable doing it. But then if a man is selfish, in the truest sense of the word, he will be the greatest man on earth. No, I'm not paraphrasing Madam Rand. I don't want to get into lengthy, directionless discussions about the improbable character of Howard Roark. If a man is truly selfish and respects his ego more than anyone else's, he understands how important ego is. Not just his, anybody else's too. And that will have him respect somebody else's ego, opinion, life and love. I don't really know if this makes any sense at all but the fog is beginning to clear now. A man who does not respect himself, is not confident and cannot look up to his ego is loud, bitter, vexatious and plain cruel. Respecting somebody is the beginning of a sustaining relationship.

I can't write anymore. Later.

Khule da Rabb

2011-11-28T22:25:00.006+05:30

I am in love with Zeb & Haniya. What a stunning album Chup! is. There's nothing like music. That's a ridiculously cliched statement to make but I'm too tired now to elaborate. I think Martel wrote to Stephen Harper once about Nietzsche, cliches and how it ruined his writing and thinking prowess. A cliche is a shortcut people take to escape and like all good shortcuts, it just isn't good enough.

I'm somebody who preaches selfishness. I'd rather not talk about myself. I don't feel comfortable doing it. But then if a man is selfish, in the truest sense of the word, he will be the greatest man on Earth. No, I'm not paraphrasing Madam Rand. I don't want to get into lengthy, directionless discussions about the improbable character of Howard Roark. If a man is truly selfish and respects his ego more than anyone else's, he understands how important ego is. Not just his, anybody else's too. And that will have him respect somebody else's ego, opinion, life and love. I don't really know if this makes any sense at all but the fog is beginning to clear now. A man who does not respect himself, is not confident and cannot look up to his ego is loud, bitter, vexatious and plain cruel. Respecting somebody is the beginning of a sustaining relationship. Because a personal connection between two people starts only when the respect each other.

I can't write anymore. Later.

Abbaji

2011-10-23T14:14:00.005+05:30

You know sometimes when I'm writing, I think as to why I write in the first place. And no matter how much I tell myself that I write because I want to, somewhere deep within, there is a part in me which tells me that I write not just because I want to write or want to be read but because sometime very late in my life, I might want to look back to these pieces and reflect nostalgically; Though more often than not my saner self behaves and tells me that there is no such thing as looking back in time. For one, I neither believe in the linearity of time nor in the dimensions of space. And two, I believe memories are as fanciful as dreams, we do not look back and see the life we have lived as much as look back and see the life we want ourselves to believe we lived. Garcia Marquez put it succinctly at the beginning of Living to Tell the Tale when he said, Life is not what one lived, but what one remembers and how one remembers it in order to recount it. Now, those are the words of a master, the sign of a great writer. Somebody who realises that more can be comprehended through silence than through sound and that words are just road maps for one's journey in search of his soul and that the real journey begins after the book has been closed shut. Time. Its an amazing idea. What would time have meant to us if there was no deadline, if we weren't always in a hurry to get things done, if we didn't quantify life into the number of breaths a man's taken. As far as I can see the world, life and everything they constitute, time is at a standstill. Neither does it move forward or backward but only as much as we want it to move. I have spent a lot of time with my grandparents, seeing their lives which has been mostly spent in the confines of this house and I see that apart from a few major events in their lives, their last ten years have basically been in a standstill. Everyday has been but a repetition of the previous one. Their world is confined to this house, their reality is the memories of lives they once lived, people they once knew and every time I see them distracted, looking into the empty skies, I understand that they are away, briefly visiting the worlds they once lived in. And art does just that for us. It shows us all life in a single instance, and here again the duration of single instance can be very relative. A painting may do that in a second, music in minutes, a movie in hours and a book in days. But art creates worlds right in front of us, uses our memories as the elixir upon which it survives and then takes away with it a part of our existence so that the next time we look back upon the same piece of art, we are looking at a very different piece. I have been telling Sravani for the past two days that I was feeling very low, restless, confused and helpless. I told her I hadn't been able to read or write. And now as I write this, I feel elated already. Words are our fingerprints we leave on the surface of time and that is what makes them so important. We have left our marks there, and now in a weird way it belongs to us. I might have had a very hectic day yesterday but unless I had something to show for it, I wouldn't remember anything of it. And whatever a man is capable of leaving to reclaim it years later, is art.

Its actually pretty funny, why this piece got started and what's in it. I think I really do believe that there is no one absolute world, the world exists how you want it, and only as long as you want it. And that erases the need for envy, greed and loathing. But I started writing this because after hearing about some people, listening to various musicians, I wondered if there is really something as prodigious talent. Again, it wasn't envy as much as disgust. Because I don't like comparing myself with others as much as I love comparing myself with somebody I could have been. If I had gone to guitar classes regularly two years ago, I'd have been a great player by now too. Now, I see that there is no point comparing and worrying about it. I didn't do it back then and that is all that that matters. And if I want to play the guitar now, I take it out and start strumming it. That's how you live life, not by wondering what life would have been but by realizing that there are no would haves. If we had a redo button in life, all we'd be doing was press it all the time because we're never really happy with our past. But that is what makes it so wonderful. The moment I am happy with my past, I'd grow into a pompous idiot and forget that present is a lot more than learning from the past. It is also about applying it. I know I'm digressing like crazy but I want all this to flow out. I want to write, not because I want to look back at it in some point in the future but because this moment in my life, right now, I don't want to do anything than write this.

Yea, that's about it then.
Later.

Chuck's lane

2011-10-17T23:00:00.006+05:30

I've seen Peter Sarsgaard only play Chuck Lane and I've turned into a huge fan of his. From what I understand of people, their characters, actors, and performance, Sarsgaard is every bit himself to cinema what Lane is to journalism. He fits perfectly into the role of the editor of a magazine which takes itself very seriously; he is not charming like his predecessor, does what he thinks is right for the magazine and does not care to explain himself to people who do not bother to understand him.

Sarsgaard, in his portrayal of Lane, has turned the tenacious, dogged, dry, unassuming and highly principled family man into somebody who is to be admired and respected. One thing that is certain of Lane is the immense respect he has for his profession, the holy way in which he treats it and his high moral standards which expects himself and those around him to follow. One of the movie's finest moments is the conversation between the two editors where Lane swallows his self-respect to save the face of the kid. Another poignant scene is the one where he walks home after a long, arduous day at work and sleeps in the lap of his wife, betraying his true emotions only to his closest confidant.

I've always been inspired, awed and invigorated by highly talented people, those who are the star kids, who've been pampered all their lives and change rules as per their bidding. But now I realize the importance of people like Lane and Dravid, those who respect their profession, who see themselves only as a minuscule part of a greater heritage and those who can do anything just to keep the torch aflame, even if that means to sacrifice themselves. Like I was reading a wonderful Roebeck peice yesterday about Sangakkara, sometimes character, principle, idealism and humility can do things that even immense talent cannot.

dusting the soul

2011-10-15T23:15:00.003+05:30

As luck would have it, the first and the third participants in Micromax MTV Unplugged are Rabbi and Indian Ocean. Can it get any better than this; than seeing musicians of the highest caliber tweak their masterpieces and perform on stage. Boy, do I thank God. Right now I'm listening to Bulla Ki Jaana tweaked version and I bow down to the flutist. Love the interludes. Bilqis and Shunya are buffering. Ruddy Brilliant! I don't think I can accept other versions of songs that are so close to my heart but I'm sticking to it and repeated listening is paying off. That's about it then really. And yea, I'm dusting my guitar.

Listen to Rabbi's new song, Ganga.

Chahat

2011-10-02T23:24:00.002+05:30

One of my friends, Prabhat, an ICICI Fellow who I met in Darewadi, wrote this poem which I just read. It stunned me into awe and left me speechless that somebody as hilarious as he is, somebody I'm beginning to know is such a good poet. I'm a believer in the power of poetry and this poem reinstates it.

--

Ek sama jalana chahta hu,

Logo ko jagana chahtu hu,

Aasma ke upar apna ghar banana chahta hu,

Har dard ko apnana chahtu hu,

Khusiyo ko lutana chahta hu,

Har ghar mai gyan ki jyoti jalana chahta hu,

Apne Ma ke dard ko bhulana chahta hu,

Har gaon tak aspatal pahuchana chahta hu,

Bihari Marathi ke bhed-bhav ko mitana chahta hu,

Ek sasakt Bharat banana chahta hu .

--

Here is the link to his blog.

"If you think you can live without writing, do not write."

2011-09-22T19:46:00.004+05:30

Rahul Dravid. That's one name a lot of our conversations reach to. The kind of admiration and respect we, both Deekshith and I, have for the great man is unparalleled. The gentleman's attributes of honesty, hard work, fair play, tenacity, discipline and dignity that he symbolises are something that we crave to reach up to. Like Deekshith just pointed out in his latest post, talking to him for me is one of the very few ways to get back to being what I was not so long ago, dreamy, irreverent, idealistic and arty. Having been bowled over by Gabriel Garcia's talk about his early writing days in Living to Tell the Tale, I wanted to talk to somebody about all that. Somebody who would not judge me, ptch me or preach me but would listen to me and respond correspondingly. All that pointed to Deekshith and it was not before long that we fell into the comfortable wavelength of the good old days. I will not write much about it since Deekshith's succinctly done all that very, very well in his post but will end with an idea that we both agreed upon. That writing is an obsession, a lifelong addiction to the world of fiction and writers write not because they want to but because they have to. Deekshith, looking forward to all those conversations in the Galli, again.

stargazing below the banyan tree

2011-09-18T22:35:00.007+05:30

The last two weeks or so have been marvelous. A five day trip to Darewadi where I met Crispino Lobo and Dr. Marcella D'souza and now a three day trip to JingareddyPalli, Kottala Cheruvu and another village near Narayanpet with Bhavana Rao and Dr. Subhedar. The least I can say about these trips is that they have been eye-opening in more ways than one and more importantly, stunningly picturesque.

As I sit with all those notes which I wrote during those trips, I can't help but relive all those moments like the one when I first crossed Takali Dhokeshwar towards Darewadi which felt so much like the opening sequence of Lakshya, when I climbed two stories up to see the spellbinding view of 1500 hectares of greenery around Darewadi Training Centre, when I walked the talk with Dr. Marcella for a long time, when after having spoken to him for fifteen minutes I asked the Managing Trustee of WOTR who he was, when I stood by the board in Jingareddypalli writing the methods of preparation of Amrith Pani and Amrith Khad and when I walked barefoot through the fields talking to farmers. It's been one hell of a fortnight and I'm sure I'll flaunt all those photographs of all those places for a long time to come.

A detailed report of my travels with Dr. Subhedar is coming out soon. I might post all the detailed accounts then but now I want to talk about the people I have been meeting this fortnight. Crispine is the guy to know, an extremely knowledgeable person who has the ability to spin a great story while holding the listeners in rapt attention. It is a true tribute to the character of the man that he is so humble, so much so that when I apologize for not recognizing him, he laughs away saying, "That's ok. Why do you have to know me?". Marcela Ma'm epitomizes the idea of a really sweet and affectionate grandmom who has a gracious smile across her face all the time and amazing experiences to narrate. I spoke to her for a long time on my second day in Darewadi and soon began to realize that beneath the all encompassing exterior lies the deep well of experience. All the people I met in Darewadi Training Centre, all those field officers from Maharashtra and Andhra Pradesh, the IT guys, the ICICI Fellows including Bhushan and Prabhat, and Romit have time and again had me realize that the dimensions of life are infinite.

I was sent back to Hyderabad in a hurry and without spending any time on the fields of Maharashtra by Kishor because Dr. Subhedar was visiting AP. Having heard lot about him from Romit, I was excited to meet the man and once we started talking on our way to Mehboobnagar I realized the giant wisdom and gentle humility of the man sitting next to me. Here was a man who was highly reputed, extremely knowledgeable and heavily occupied listening patiently to the ravings of a twenty one year old who was trying to show off his knowledge of Organic Farming and Masanobu Fukuoka. After listening to all that I had to say, Dr. Subhedar smiled at me and said, "Abhi hum aur aap baith rahe hain naa, aise hi hamari aur Fukuoka ji ki mula kaath hui thi." I thought, Holy Cow. Three days later while returning back to Hyderabad, alone and lost in my thoughts, I realized the privilege and the good fortune I had to be studying under one of India's most verbal propagandists of Organic Farming. Like Dr. Subhedar kept on repeating, "It is about revisiting the roots. We have to learn to work with nature. Agriculture is not a losing proposition, provided it is done systematically and scientifically." It is also important to mention here about Bhavana with whom I will be working closely. The kind of guts it takes for her to walk into a group of men, tell them what she's there for and interchangeably convince and order them for what all that is to be done.

Also, in the last fortnight or so, I met a Caucasian, a Stanford pass out, a corporate guy who left his job to try something new, the Sarpanch of a village who invited us to his house for lunch and a farmer who experiments with various methods of farming. I have also understood how Climate Change Adaptation works, what exactly Watershed is all about, what constitutes good soil and how to prepare Amrith Pani and Amrith Khad. I have visited places as diverse a training centre in the middle of nowhere where all I could see around me was greenery and hear nothing but the sound of electric lines, villages with open drains and lots of pigs, households with large front yards containing tens of cows with the smell of fresh dung permeating across space and the sounds of 'Ambaa' reverberating across time. I have walked the talk with an Executive Director, the Chairman of the Watershed of a village, 8 year old kids, an Agricultural Scientist and a big fat goat. I thought all this was Deja Vu because it is everything I've always dreamt of.

When I was walking barefoot through the swamps and the ploughed fields of Kottala Cheruvu, right at the foothills of Nallamalla Forests, Anand told me something that epitomizes all this. "You are walking with your chappal in your hands. This means you are ready for this."

vagabond me

2011-09-13T12:56:00.011+05:30

With Eddie Vedder singing Society in my ears, hung over with memories of all those who knew Christopher McCandless, ideas and ideologies of London, Tolstoy and Thoreau encompassing me, I sit down to write a brief account of what Into the Wild has done to me and why every image in the book and film connects so deeply with me. But Into the Wild came pretty late into my life, when Anirudh mentioned a film where "a guy walks into the forests to live there alone", way back in September 2009. But I've always fancied myself as a traveller, as long as I can remember, not just physical, but if you allow my obnoxiousness, also intellectual, emotional and spiritual. Travelling is a boon endowed on animals. It is a pity that plants cannot move but as far as animals are concerned, migration happens to be a very important part of their lives. If one were to allow the Darwinian Theory to answer this queer animal ability to move constantly, one would understand that the primary motivation in case of all animals has always been survival and protection from other powerful animals, weather and wilderness. But ever since man ceased living as a nomad and sought out for places where he didn't have to be uprooted from all the time, travelling for some men has meant the quest for oneself. Any teenager who has ever been restless enough to read, dreamy enough to believe and idealistic enough to imbibe all that he likes in a character will understand what I mean when I say, The Quest to Find Oneself. It's a very romantic phrase, really is; so much so that it has pushed young men out of their comfort zones and made him do things so 'unnecessary' just to make peace with oneself, atleast for a while.

Any seer, saint or a writer will tell you how great a metaphor a journey is to life. And that is probably why all those idealistic vagabonds with unkempt beards, fiery eyes, dreamy faces and intense attitude capture the imaginations of teenage kids who are trying to figure out what life is all about exactly. I was no different. My idea of bliss has always been me hitchhiking on empty roads, climbing mountains, reading masters, strumming the guitar, meeting new people everyday and seeing a new sun every dawn. I'm no more an arrogant, idealistic, truth speaking, poet-quoting teenager but then that streak in me is yet to disappear. But yes, I'm still looking out for answers and that is probably why I travel to various places in search of my true self.

Since 2009, I've hit the road harder and more often than I can remember. These two years have been highly eventful for me, I've met people I'd never thought to have met, done things I thought I'd never have done, read people who've broadened by horizons highly and who've inspired me on growing out of my shell and all this has changed something deep in me. Thankfully, the fire gets rekindled now and then thanks mainly to the books I read. Books mean a lot to me and maybe one day soon I'll write my experiences with those books that have struck a deep chord with me.

My Bombay trip way back in June, 2009 is somehow etched into me as the time when I started growing up and gave my ideas enough importance. A very distressing period of time. I was lost, I was disgusted, I was a coward and I didn't know where to take refuge from the truth I didn't want to hear. I went to spend a week with Chinakka and through the week, though I was depressed, it was there that I managed to bring a lot of hurt and pain out. And since I'd already had read Shantaram by then, Bombay held a deeply romantic aura in my head and so I travelled in local trains, visited Churchgate and Leopald's and ate lots of Vada Pav. In fact, it was in Bombay that I started experimenting with music, turning into fans of Dylan, Marley, Mike Oldfield among others. In fact, in retrospect, I feel that I turned into some sort of a willful social outcast there, cursing society for hypocrisy, for all the wars and injustice, growing my beard, honouring truth and quoting writers. I still sometimes think that a lot of me that is now, all the ideas in my head, were for the first time ignited there in Bombay when I went through the painful process of longing for someone. My pictures of that time show me thin, gaunt, with a patchy beard and long hair. Though I was going through a real bad patch, I think I was having real fun because I saw myself to be growing up into an adult, using pain as the hammer to forge my idea of life on the anvil of travelling.

My latest trip to Darewadi taught me quite a few things. I realize how important travelling alone is. The tranquility of sleeping under the sky, the long duration of silence while waiting for a bus, our ability to listen and pay heed to the deep whispers coming from within us, the heightened sense of us turning ethical are all parameters of how rewarding the journey has been. The road is the home, not because it leads you anywhere but deep within yourself, to the unknown and unheard corners of your soul, and has you do all those things you never knew you were capable of and meet all those people who you are.

It's been great fun

2011-08-31T19:33:00.003+05:30

Long since I posted. Been a little hung up with quite a few things on the plate. For one, the plate got so loaded that I had to push away some things, like the SEO Stuff; I had been so saturated having written content for about 50 days that I couldn't write no more for shit, even at the cost of losing all that I made scraping my ass off. But I feel much better now. Apart from that, I got my degree and have been visiting Government Schools in the city to prepare for a report on SMC Meetings for Pratham. More on that later, when I write a detailed article about it. Got through my TFI first round but got kicked out after the Phone Interview. No surprises there. Officially became a part of Grameen Bank's PPI Certification Reserve Corps. Hmm, what else. I know this sounds like a sad post full of accomplishments and rejections but that's pretty much what's been happening of late. Went to Ooty for a couple of days with Amma, stayed in a lovely resort called Glyngarth Villa but came back before the scheduled time. On the LSP front, working on YBI's magazine and will start working for FDR from Friday. Really excited about it, to be working for Karthik, Dr. JP and now Abhishek. Watched Cinderella Man and half Requiem for a Dream. Lux Aeterna is the composition of the month. Despite Chammak Challo giving tough competition. Watching OCW Single Variable Calculus lectures, 18.01. Aiseech. Reading Said Sayrafiezadeh's When Skateboards will be Free. Loving it. I mean that apart from, FDR material on Lokpal and DVVS Varma's booklets Janarajakiyam and Madhya Niyantranaku Mahodyayam. I know this sounds like a lot of boasting but to hell, I'm in the mood now. Amma wants me to cut all this and start preparing for the IBPS exam. Oh! yea, btw, Ram wants me to learn Drupal and I haven't started it yet. Will tonight. Starting a running regime. I don't know, that's about it really then, lots more to do though. The work schedule of these people I'm getting associated with is jaw-dropping and I can help myself immensely if I try working half as hard as them. Applied for IRMA, waiting for TISS notification. Before I leave, yea, spoke to Ragini Atha about agricultural NGOs and she's promised to get me associated with a lot of ones she knows. Great great stuff. Especially, DV Sridharan's story. Google pointReturn.

Of leaves and Plato

2011-08-11T18:04:00.003+05:30

Today, after a long time, I lived the wonderful sensation of reading a prose so powerful that I felt maybe this is the reason I'm still alive. Let me paraphrase Bradbury here who said, Art does not stop battles or feed the hungry. It does not solve our problems but then it doesn't have to. Because art gives us a reason to live on despite all that. That piece in case was Will Durant's preface to his second edition of The Story of Philosophy on which I quite accidentally lay my hands. I am yet to read the book but I recommend the prologue heavily to anyone who's ever felt his hands quiver when reading a paragraph so powerful that time ceases to exist and space contorts itself into nothing but those words.

If you've ever noticed a huge tree at the roadside and were jobless enough to think about it, you'll see that the leaves at the top bask in the glory of sun and rain but also suffer from the excess of breeze and the glare of the burning afternoon sun. Similarly, the leaves at the bottom are secure in that way but are the first ones to give in when some bystander decides to cure his itching hands by pulling out the leaves and the twigs. The leaves in the middle, those lucky folks, do not get a bidding of both extremes but what existence is life when one weren't to experience Rain and Sun or feel the miraculous touch of human fingers. Think about it.

There is nothing in the World worse than a bad teacher.

an ode to longing

2011-08-03T23:59:00.005+05:30

its cruel, ruthless, life is
it is all that but mostly life is a sadist

it is like a maze, a great birds eye view
but nothing makes sense FPS

it throws you into a situation
you'd do anything to get out of

it keeps you there, stuck
and just when you start realizing

it leaves you gaping, sobbing
clutching the shards of memories

all those memories that once didn't exist
and will never except in the bygone past

to all those philosophers and saints
who understand life the way it is

they realize that life is all illusion
a paradox of incidents that never could have been

they are strangers, then friends
partial hatred with unsubstantiated longing

kammula made happy days and
living like that stuck to us

now that we are done, none of us
I believe, can manage to watch it

it is a funny thing, life,
where once in a while you accept

you realize that the entourage
has changed, so has the superstar

a heavy heart is a one full
of happy memories but

is there anything as a happy memory
or are memories plain heart-wrenching moments

because all that matters is the present
and only a loved one or a fool wants his past to relive

to all those who've ever felt
the pain of longing, here is an ode

I have no clue what this is about

2011-07-27T14:32:00.010+05:30

True, like it is said, a man toils all day just to be able to eat his food, sleep securely and give his family all that they ask of him. That is the reason a man, or a woman for that matter, wakes up everyday early, prepares breakfast for the kids, cleans the house, gulps down coffee without noticing the taste, gets ready in a hurry, looks into the mirror not to look cherish the existence of oneself but to ensure that nothing is out of place, hurries to the bus stop, stands in an overcrowded bus stuck in traffic jams, and walks hurriedly into the office he hates. All through the journey, the man does not notice the world around him, nothing either beautiful or morose, but his thoughts linger on the need of his kids, in his will to fulfill their every need. And the teenage kids stay out all night, cuss their parents, hate being home and yell for not being pampered enough. The man hates his job but feels insecure about losing it, the woman denies herself every little whim to ensure that the kids get the best of everything and they take the family out to a restaurant where the self-proclaimed 'grown-up kids' mutter all the way home for not letting them go out with friends.

And to argue that a man works for his food and shelter. In fact, fear is what drives all these people, the fear of sleeping hungry, of being homeless, of being proclaimed as bad parents and the fear of rejection from the children. Of being turned away and down by the society, friends, falling down from the higher pedestal. These are all important factors, true, but the most unrealized factor that creates a happy man is the feeling of importance, of self-respect. A man works, truly works, not because of all these but because he wants to be able to earn his food, to be worth the soil that he's eaten and the earth he's sleeping on. It is a feeling of extreme confidence and security when a man realizes that he's earned his place to live here, to borrow this piece of land until it is time for him to leave. When people say hard earned money stays long, they don't mean money figuratively. What they mean is that the ability to earn money has been learnt, that means a man who's tasted the sweetness of his sweated out, hard earned food, knows that nothing can beat it. And if you think people who do not know how hard it is to earn, waste money, then the people who've earned money, those who really deserve it, would throw it away much easily. If, the clause here, the man understands that he's not earned money but the ability to earn it. Its actually magical, because when one knows how to get something, he can conjure it up whenever he needs it. That will not be the driving force of his life anymore. It would just be a commodity. Its like people would not have wanted money if it didn't buy them anything. Money here is not the prize. It is what money can buy. But for wizards here, it is what money cannot buy that is more important.

Money is just a metaphor for self-respect. And that is probably why people are so insecure nowadays because there's a lot of easy money and that is what exactly self-respect is turning into, a cheap commodity. I once read a story about an old man who never ate until he had worked that day so as to earn his food. Money is not worth anything. Its those things that money affects, unconsciously, that are really worth it. Earning money is an art. Just because you ain't pursuing now doesn't mean you wouldn't know how to do it later. But until you do it everyday, you wouldn't have created anything that only you could have created. Money is work that you would procrastinate unless you had an incentive. That is why it is important to earn it because then you would be going out of your way, expanding further, opening newer horizons, becoming more complete. Playing the same delivery over and over again will take you nowhere. Not test your grey cells. And that in turn would lead to your slumped self-esteem. You want to earn the food you eat, wake up and earn it. Because food is not what is important here, living a new moment every moment is.

The greenest of moist leaves at the fingertips

2011-07-22T20:30:00.014+05:30

Honestly, what more does a man want? In one of his interviews, Tanikella Bharani talks about one of his friends who lives in his one acre farm and writes poetry. And there was this recent article in The Hindu about Lucky Ali, growing his own food and creating his music. And to top it all, Pico Iyer's masterpiece essay in the New York Times stirs up more than a few hearts.

"I have lived through much, and now I think I have found what is needed for happiness. A quiet secluded life in the country, with the possibility of being useful to people to whom it is easy to do good, and who are not accustomed to have it done to them. And work which one hopes may be of some use. Then rest, nature, books, music, love for one's neighbor. Such is my idea of happiness. And then, on top of all that, you for a mate, and children perhaps. What more can the heart of a man desire?"- Alexander Supertramp

Ignorant of the above quote, I almost said the same stuff to Kaushik a little while ago when we were returning from Bhavana Rao's sprawling house which triggered this post in the first place. And there's the immortal Holden line, "I'd just be the catcher in the Rye and all. I know it's crazy.." True, a man cannot change anything that does not directly affect him. One doesn't have to be a Gandhi to make the world a better place, one can just be an Hazare and make his village a fine one. The whole act of society well being might look a bit contrived at first but then can any man be able to eat well when his neighbour is starving? It's a selfish motive really, Nemo vir est qui mundum non reddat meliorem.

A small wooden house overlooking a lake, your friends your neighbours, an occasional movie with the family, dinner together, growing your own food, swimming in the lake every morning, watching test matches leisurely with friends, strumming a ballad to your loved one at sunset, helping people you can, taking your kids out hiking, writing poetry. You know, the usual stuff. And money, how would you make money like this? With your hands, carpentry, writing, mending stuff, inventing. The kind of lives our ancestors once lived. A life where breaking news is really breaking and where nobody'd give a shit if sensex drops by 2000 points.

Three hours after I saved this draft here, I come back a more exposed man. About the need for a social responsibility.

Let me talk about in the next posts, about the need for a social conscience.
But for now, adios.

Picture this.

The camera is placed to the extreme left end of the screen, on an empty highway, pointing straight at the sun; Emptiness. And as time passes on, the back of a man emerges, walking away from us, barefoot, holding a guitar onto his right shoulder, humming a tune to himself. Totally oblivious of the gaping viewers. He walks away into the sunset.

Think about it.

ఈల వేయండి, నిద్ర లేపండి

2011-07-17T22:21:00.011+05:30

Politics is omnipresent, omnipotent and omnirelevant.

మూడు రోజుల political penance తరవాత acknowledge చేసిన core truth ఇది. What started as a chance meeting with Narasimha in a city bus, 6 months later converted into one of the finest experiences in my life. I was going to NDOrange for my internship in January and one day, I see this guy sitting next to me and deeply involved in his reading. After contemplating if I knew him for about half an hour, I gently tap him on his shoulder and ask him, "నువ్వు నరసింహ కదా?". He looks up from his book, while I notice it to be లోక్ సత్తా టైమ్స్, and says, "శిరీష్ అన్న." We talk for sometime and I get off the bus. But the thought of a serious Narasimha keeps getting back to me. All I can think of are the complaints he always received back in school.

I have always been interested in the works and activities of Lok Satta and wanted to get involved with them somehow. So, a week later, I ping the guy on Facebook and we keep talking about it. About this, his, organization called Youth for Better India(YBI) and the kind of activities he is involved in. Then something happens and I don't talk to him for a long time. But fifteen days ago, I go to the Lok Satta office in Hyderguda and there we talk about his wish to develop a website for the organization. I promise him I'd work on it, take a Lok Satta Primary Membership and walk out. He calls me the previous Wednesday and tells me about their latest training program starting this Friday.

I sign up and so walk into the first session on Friday at 9.00. There are brief introductions, a little fun activity and Mr. Naresh from HMTV walks up and talks about Corruption in India and as to మనం లంచాలు ఎందుకిస్తాం? I'm speechless at the end of it. The fact that he could identify the core primary reasons as to why we bribe was to me a masterstroke. Nobody had been able to do it before. After sessions by various eminent speakers on issues like the meaning and the state of politics, the need and the contents of RTI Act, and about the reforms needed in politics by people, I walk home at 9.00 in the night, spent but dazed. The kind of people I met all day were nothing like I expected. Ranging from 17 year old kids interested in the Defence Services to elder guys from the deeper parts of the state who had already set up their Youth Organizations, it was an eclectic mix. Initially, I was alienated but then somehow I got mingled into the group and I learned a lot about the state of rural affairs that I had ever been aware of.

The second day was awesome, thanks majorly to Karthik Chandra, who's background I do not share because I want to adhere to his principles. My idea of a genius, of somebody who carries his laurels easily without fuss and ado, Karthik fulfilled all of them. The perfect example of a wonder kid growing up to be a sensible, idealistic one. It will suffice to say that he inspired me into being composed and dignified. And today ended on a high note with all of us being addressed by Dr. Jaya Prakash Narayan, the man who inspired all of us into wanting to live life at a higher pedestal with a higher importance given to conscience and morality. There's nothing like listening to him talk. Jaw-dropping.

But the three days were grey cell invigorating not just for the experiences. They were worth every second because the speakers convinced us into something I always believed was not true. I've never been political as such, or maybe everyone is but I took the idea of a social life easily. I didn't care. Simply put, I lived in the isolated, protected bubble of a middle-class Indian family for who politics was a dirty business and protesting against corruption, something far too trivial to be considered. Three days later I don't know if I have changed much in terms of my ideology but I understand better the impact of a small action by a group in a larger perspective. The Government మన యజమాని కాదు, మన నౌకరు and వాడబ్బ, నేను కష్టపడేది వాడెవడో తినడానికి కాదు. ఈ మాత్రం చాలు మన చుట్టూ ఉన్న సమాజాన్ని మార్చుకోడానికి.

I'll write more about this again, soon. About the kind of impact politics will have on us and how we are responsible and creditable for everything that goes around in the world. My ignorance is not reason enough for me to escape the consequence. It is extremely important for people to be involved in politics, to know the kind of laws and policies our elected representatives are making and to be totally involved in the social life as individuals. Living is not an solitary process. మనము తినే పళ్ళు మనం నాటిన చేట్టులోంచి వోచ్చినవి కావు. And like somebody once said, "It is amazing what you can accomplish if you do not care who gets the credit." That really rings true, especially when you consider the kind of unsung heroes everyday produces.

There's nothing like a free world where every man gets an equal opportunity to rise to his full potential. Importantly, there is no better world than a place where people live with a clean conscience and realise that మనం చచ్చిన రోజు, మనం దేనిని తీస్కుకేళ్ళం కాని మనల్నే నలుగురు మోసుకెళ్ళ తారు.

Of Spirit and Harmony

2011-07-11T22:21:00.004+05:30

Robert Twigger's Angry White Pyajamas probably ranks among the finest books I've ever read. I've always considered writers to be dreamweavers, storytellers of the highest order. People who inspire, who instigate people into moving out of their houses and towards the wide worlds beckoning them. They are the greatest of our explorers, people who enter the realms of uncharted territory and get back to tell us the story. There are very few people out there who've written biographical content and inspired their readers into emulating the lives of their subjects. For me, the list would include, Robert Kanigel, Masanobu Fukuoka, Laura Hillenbrand and now Robert Twigger. Never before was any Martial Art made so romantic. Even when he describes the insurmountable pain undertaken, you still want to be there, to experience, to understand Ki, to sit in Seiza and to be kiai-ing.

Its a wholly different experience, reading Twigger. I can't seem to write no more now; rusty as hell.

Later. But if you ever get a chance to lay your hands on this book, you're in for the book equivalent ride of Enter the Dragon.

far eastern philosophies

2011-07-06T23:13:00.004+05:30

A quick note up here. Been reading Robert Twigger's Angry White Pyjamas since yesterday, started reading Hagakure and watched Sarvanand's Andari Bandhuvayya today. There's something about a totally clean conscience you know. About using your instinct more than your head, about letting your intuition guide you. The soul is cleansed only after it passes through the fire of pain, after the realization that sacrificing all that you have is easier than sacrificing all that you are. De-cluttering, unlearning is a million times tougher than doing the opposite. Like the famous Zen koan says, "As long as the cup is not empty, all the water will only spill out." The sheer insight of ancient wisdom. There's a line in Orange, in the end, when the hero says, "I've given up everything for her. All that I can give her now is me." The self-effacing freedom in giving up everything for the one thing. Maybe that is moksha. Giving up everything for your simple minded belief in bliss. Talking all this, understanding all this, like Twigger says, intellectualising all this is far easier than experiencing all this. But talking will take us nowhere will it? Or maybe it will, because, like the Hagakure discourses, "First intention, then enlightment."

Like Ray said, Our films and their's.

2011-06-27T14:53:00.017+05:30

I've been meaning to do this for quite sometime now. Whenever I want to watch movies made in other languages, I Google for a list of films I, as a newbie, am supposed to begin with. And then it struck me that I could do the same with Telugu movies for all those who want to watch them but don't know where to begin, just as I started watching Tamil MA or Pithamagan because I found them to be the finest works in Tamil popularised by it's own people.

So, here's my list of two films for every year. There are a few disclaimer points though.

One, this is no extensive and exhaustive list. These are the movies I'd recommend to my non-Telugu friends and I'm only dealing with those movies made in the last decade because that is where my best knowledge is and also because they would fare better with the younger audience.

Two, I've avoided dubbing films and have searched for those films which have truly reflected our people and vice versa.

Three, I've analyzed the movies as to how an outsider would be able to best appreciate it. We make some fine comedies, but then I'm not sure they would really strike a chord with those who do not understand the language. So, the following films are basically those which I believe can be universally appreciated.

And yes, most importantly, the following list below contains only those films that have made me proud for being a Telugu speaker.

Let us begin.

2000
1. Dollar Dreams- Kammula's debut and Tollywood's first real Indie film.
2. Manoharam- Great performances from the lead cast.

2001
1. Kushi- The film that made Pawan Kalyan an overnight demigod and cultivated here a whole new idea of heroism.
2. Murari- Watch it for the sheer Telugu-ness of it.

2002
1. Aadi- If you've ever seen a Telugu action film and wondered why Sumo's flew, watch this. A perfect example of a commercial hit.
2. Idiot- An unexpected bumper hit that catapulted the idea of rugged heroism.

2003
1. Okkadu- What Kushi did to Power Star, Okkadu did it to the Prince. Heroism never looked more appealing than when it smoked clad in black and black.
2. Johnny- A flop, nevertheless a very aesthetic film from a mass darling.
Special Entry- Aithe- Nobody expected this to reach the cult status it did. A must watch for any non-Telugu audience.

2004
1. Anand- A sleeper hit which again changed the idea of a hit movie.
2. Arya- A formula changer by an ex-Mathematics lecturer.
Special Entry- Grahanam- I am yet to watch the film but many say it is one of the finest Telugu film's ever made.

2005
1. Anukokunda Oka Roju- After a stunner called Aithe, Yeleti came up something so technically rich and intellectually taut that people couldn't get enough of it.
2. Athadu- Considered the greatest dialogue writer in Telugu films, Trivikram and Mahesh Babu transformed the morose, quiet guy into a cult figure.

2006
1. Godavari- A true romantic offing loosely based on the super hit Andala Ramudu.
2. Rakhi- Over the top at best and hypocritical at worst, watch it for NTR's ferociously honest performance.

2007
1. Jagadam- Considered an equivalent to The Godfather and Nayagan, the idea of a 5'7", cute looking gangster seemed so plausible.
2. Operation Duryodhana- A mockery of the system, probably the first of its kind in Telugu.

2008
1. Gamyam- Just when the going went bleak again, Tollywood got a taste of a world class effort from a supremely gifted storyteller.
2. Jalsa- The fact that Jalsa is here proves the kind of mediocre film's we've been producing. No other reason apart from the combination of Pawan Kalyan and Trivikram.
Special Entry- Ashta Chemma- You'll love it if you understand Telugu.

2009
1. Magadheera- Enough of the Enthiran extravaganza. This came a year earlier and is in a lot of aspects, better than that.
2. Arya 2- To the sheer genius of Sukumar's craft.
Special Entry- 1940 lo oka gramam- Won the National award for best film in Telugu for the year.

2010
1. Vedam- The Telugu equivalent of Babel. Anthology, ensemble cast, amazing acting and a magnificent screenplay. A true mirror to the kind of society we live in.
2. Prasthanam- A truly dramatic, intense film that took all the liberties it had to to make the film more appealing and succeeded doing it.

There goes the list. Before I leave you with it, I'd like to discuss a few things.
If you've noticed, I've used the word heroism a lot of times. Telugu film industry has a predominant fixation with the idea of Hero, the demigod, the all-encompassing one who can fight 50 people, sing and dance in the rain, save the life of his ailing father and turn Don to safeguard the society. We've been accustomed to that idea so much that anybody who doesn't do all that is not an hero for us. We cannot accept flawed people to be protagonists because they are far too real. Real, that has been this industry's biggest problem. It all happened when Megastar Chiranjeevi's succession started after Khaidi. Though a totally great, complete actor, he got stereotyped into an image of the perfect man and Indra sealed that fate for him. Sad because it had an adverse affect on the kind of people's expectations of their heroes. Pawan Kalyan was God in Kushi but two years later when he made a very fine film called Johnny, it flopped because we could not handle our heroes getting depressed or not being able to dictate their fates.

The other big probem is that for far too long, we've had only two genres in this industry; Love Stories or comedy-centered ones. True, we have outstanding comedians but then there is a limit, ain't there? We haven't been making films that people could identify with. True, Rajni has an image in Tamil Nadu as well but then surprisingly, Enthiran fared far better than Sivaji. That shows the kind of quality films Tamilians have been making. Directors like Bala, Selvaraghavan, Samutirakani, Ram and heroes like Dhanush, Jeeva, Karthee and Arya, to name the very few I know, have been creating a steady output of alternative cinema which surprisingly have been turning into hits like Tamil MA, Aadakulam, Ko and Paruthiveeran. Despite being mainstream actors competing with Ajith, Vijay and others, these actors have been making great cinema. All that apart, their two most popular stars Vikram and Surya have become superstars though they've been popularised by niche films.

I've been talking so much about Tamil films because I know more about them than other language films, because most of their films are dubbed into Telugu and because their directors and technicians are considered one of the finest in the country. PC Sreeram, Ravi K Chandran, Mani Ratnam, Anthony, Peter Heins, and Kamal Hassan for that matter.I'm not denying we aren't making good films, to hell we have writers and directors of equivalent prowess, if not better. Trivikram, Radhakrishna Jagarlamudi, Deva Katta, Sekhar Kammula, Puri Jagannath, SS Rajamouli and actors like Allu Arjun, Manoj and NTR Jr. not to mention Mahesh Babu and Pawan Kalyan. And then there is our very own inimitable RGV. With the advent of the NRI directors, there's been some change. But we need more real cinema, more real heroes. Gritty, to the ground, gut wrenching and exhilarating.

Telugu cinema for me now is a lot like what Hollywood was five years ago. Popular and money making but lacking reality. Tamil cinema is a lot like the Latin American wave of Alfonso Cauron, Alejandro Inarritu, Guillermo Del Toro, Walter Salles and my favourite, Fernando Meirelles. We need people like those now, people who've seen it all and have enough love to the craft of movie making. I hope we are moving towards that. But most importantly, I hope our audience deserves cinema of such high quality.

the world out there

2011-06-23T15:06:00.013+05:30

This is what an overdose of P.Sainath can do to you; it can have you questioning your right to everything you eat, wear and drive around in. Two days, Noam Chomsky and P.Sainath, I wouldn't say I'm completely transformed, I've been hearing this all the time, but if I don't acknowledge them even now, when will I. And my acknowledging this will not change anything. The more important part is to act in anyway I can. 80% of the population of this country goes to bed every night hungry. I don't give a shit about it. I'm far too busy watching the Indian Cricket Team, the Tamasha on 24x7 news channels or counting the number of lip locks in Emraan Hashmi's new film. I'm not angry, I'm just supremely disgusted with myself that despite knowing all that I know, even now, I don't really seem to care. Being not able to do anything about farmer suicides or hungry children or sexual abuse or anything of that sort is hurting me; Paradoxically it is my callousness, my ignorance, my inability to feel offended by all this is what is hurting me. Not just me, a lot of people like me do not understand hunger, or poverty, or injustice, or marginalization, or illiteracy, or the hardship of living because We've never been in those places, ever. It's not that we're not in contact with that. We are. Every morning I walk out of my house, I see a street kid not going to school, I see a poor Brahmin begging for money, I see women carrying children begging at traffic signals, and occasionally, when I don't change channels at the sight of them, I see reports of farmer suicides or rape victims. But it's just that that cannot afford space in my mind. I'm far too busy planning the next party, or bribing the Police constable, or buying a shampoo or ptch-ing at the state of this country.

I was once somebody who thought I didn't have to do anything to anybody because I wasn't doing them any harm and sad that they were unlucky but they had to get on with it. But since, I've realised something very important, very fundamental to the structure of human existence, human civilization. That like any other society of animals, we can survive only when we acknowledge our mutual interests and work towards them. But the problem with our World getting smaller and closer is that we are creating a bubble where entry is restricted and all of you who cannot scramble into that bubble, sorry guys, it's just for us elite. Nobody gives a fuck about how many people die everyday or the kind of lives they live. Everybody is busy being happy, turning our heads away from the filthy sight that presents at us at every juncture. The media's done it's job, its told us people are dying, its given us the reason, its blamed the FAO, the ITO and other big players who sit in Geneva or Paris and decide what farmers should do; all that is correct, Well done. Now what? The policies are realigned in accordance with the interests of the poor, that's been done too. Brilliant. The ideas, the policies, the solutions, the intellectual brainstorming, good. But the biggest question is, will it be applied, and how long will it take for all those policies to come into action with the kind of bureaucracy we have and by the time we get that done, there's going to be a new government, a new set of policies because inevitably a government which has given the foremost importance to the ideas of equality and basic amenities is not going to last long enough.

The problem as I see it is that the middle class doesn't care because they are too busy paying taxes and fees, buying groceries and sweating out every month to pay the loans. The poor are uninformed and have no idea as to what they should be doing because they are illiterate and listen to their local heads. Now, it is upto the rich to do as to their liking. Now that word, Rich, is a very relative one. When you start at the bottom of the rung, the richest man in the village wants what best suits his business needs, so he has somebody elected as a Sarpanch who would do things for him. At the next level, a few businessmen in a district want to fare well over others, so they elect an MLA who is their man. And so on and so forth until the whole Government is elected that way. Capitalism feeds capitalism. We all know this but we don't care. Because let the Big people be the Big people, not interfere with their decisions and policies and hope they wouldn't snatch away your car and your house. Or like Noam Chomsky put in, we are busy being consumers where our whole idea of existence revolves around the superficial ideas of commodities, trading them, watching their advertisements, stacking them up and showing them off. I'm not saying we are bad people, we acknowledge those who fight for the downtrodden, Binayak Sen, Satinath Sarangi, Arundhati Roy, Medha Patkar, P.Sainath etc. We honour them with awards and convocation speeches. But we don't want to be them. We're happy being the anonymous supporters, we don't want to be dragged into the fight. And this is what the majority is like. Almost all of us. This is the pathetic kind of a world we live in; where we don't have the balls to do what is right and tell people to do what is. You don't carry your driving license with you because you can buy the Police with a hundred bucks. You buy tickets in the black because you are far too busy to be waiting in lines. You drive away little beggars from your car windows because you don't want to give them money and have them live beggars forever but have you ever spared a moment and asked why is this kid begging.

It is impossible to live in this world and stay atomic. And we can see the consequences now. Every morning you wake up, the milk for your coffee travels half the country before it reaches you, employing thousands of people. The newspaper you read brings with it articles and advertisements, giving food to millions of them who spend half their lives trying for the best way to sell goods people don't want. Capitalism is not a bad thing, its given millions of people jobs, food and a better lifestyle. But at what cost. What does it feel like when you're driving your brand new McLaren next to a slum or when you don't want a power cut in your city because you can't be deprived of your facebook hours, but don't care even if villages are consumed in darkness. Now, Capitalism is a tricky thing. I once read that Capitalism makes people unequally rich but Socialism makes everybody equally poor. But in this country, the chasm between Rich and Poor is so huge that 2% of the country's richest pay more taxes than the rest 98%. What happened to the 3% Hindu growth rate that Manmohan Singh so wanted to change it all on one March 31? And why is it that despite knowing all the stats, despite all these NGOs working towards the cause, despite the relentless working hours of Journalists and Social Activists, don't we do something about it?

I had abandoned this piece earlier in the afternoon here and here I'm back but the rhythm's gone. I'll get straight down to the point here. The changes, that all of us want to see will happen only when there's an inherent change in the way people see this world. This is not the work of policies or rules but of ethics, morals and a clean conscience. It is about understanding, of staying open to people, and if all of us someday realise how important it is for us to live together beyond all differences, we might someday be eligible to be called humanity.

Nero's Guests, which inspired me into this frenzy.

The tinkle of her anklets

2011-06-21T22:51:00.005+05:30

Sometimes I wonder, travelling along the farthest of yonder
When I'm all alone, and am smiling at myself walking the shores of the seas,
the waves treading my feet, the sun sinking in to them,
and I listen to the sound of music in the salty air, reminding me of things
that hurt me and left me with a burden of vacuum.

And then I look up from my deep contemplation, see her sitting at the shores,
her legs folded into her, her arms encircling them, her hair flying with the wind,
waves tickling her feet, dreams of a happy future in her eyes.

She turns to look at me, with that glorious smile I could give away all of myself for,
and repent because that is all I can give her, and I smile back at the skies,
thanking them for my immense fortune to be able to be with her.

She's all that I've ever dreamed of, the smell of her hair, the sweat on her neck,
the ring of her laughter, the shine of her nose ring, the glow of her eyes,
the beauty of her toes and her heart full of me.

I start towards her, running then and panting with the joy of her sight,
just as I'm to reach her, she disappears, leaving me clutching air that till a moment ago was so her and so me. I fall on my knees and as slowly as the truth sinks into me, I bend down and cry my heart out. I look up at the heavens, shouting obscenities at His cruelty, begging him I'd do anything just to get her back.

I'm flawed, yes, deeply so, but I know of no one else who can complete me,
You are the One, the other half of my jigsaw, the one who's fingers are entwined around mine, you are my inspiration, my every breath, my soul and all that that has ever been me.

I can't stop writing

2011-06-18T21:13:00.008+05:30

If you've ever seen a man at work, totally focused, oblivious to every other world apart from his own, you've seen an artist. A week ago Deekshith and I had a long discussion about artists, art and if art is but sheer inspiration or just a god given gift. We argued to and fro for a bit and ended convinced that craft can be learnt, it can be bettered but art is beyond imitation, beyond learning, beyond emulation. It cannot be craved for, all that can be done is wait for it. But there is something which can be done meanwhile. The path for the art to show itself can be bettered. And this is what in the middle of the talk that we were really surprised to learn. That though nothing can be done to create the finest piece of art, sheer human will to make it finer and finer can be bettered through the craft. I don't know how I sound like talking all this but when you are sitting on the footpath at 3.15 in the morning, drinking tea and talking about Marquez, Rushdie and Ashok you realize somewhere deep within that you too are capable of producing art of the highest order, of stunning people with sheer expression and that if you wake up everyday and no matter what write, someday you will be writing your own One Hundred Years of Solitude without even realising it.

Its funny ain't it. How much of stuff you know but never follow. Somebody tells me running everyday is good, meditating is, you know stuff like that. You believe in it but are far too lazed out to follow it. Sucks. This wouldn't help it in anyway too but that line in Following still rings in my ears. Wanting to be a writer and being one are two totally different things. Last week I read somewhere by some filmmaker where he said to all aspiring filmmakers that the film's already there, in your head. All that has to be done with it is transport it from the theater in your head to the screen out there. That is all it takes. Boy, that's right ain't it. The art's all right there, completed. All you need to do is learn the craft to exhibit it to the rest of the world. There was this talk by Elizabeth Gilbert where she said you might not be able to produce the greatest order of art everyday but then the least you can do is wake up everyday and stubbornly sit at your desk despite your mind opposing the idea with sheer vehemence. I'm watching Golconda High School right now, and in spite of detesting it the first time around, I have to admit it really is an interesting watch because it makes some really good comments on the kind of society we live in. That apart, it reminded me of the kind of art sporting moments are. The kind of work that goes into the sheer beauty of Lara's square cut or Tendulkar's stunning stunning straight drive. The sound of it, the timing, the curve of the bat's path, the steadiness of the batsman, the sheer pleasure of existence when one is looking at that. Bliss. The kind of background work that goes into the making of instant nirvana. Watching a Cobain or a Bundy perform, oggling over their virtuosity wishing you were them is all fair but then I once read that Van Halen skipped parties and sleep to keep playing.

I've written about this over and over and over again. Because writing all this is much easier than writing fiction, which is what I want to do anyway. It is hard work, writing draft after draft hoping the finished product will be all that you ever wanted it to be. Its pathetic, I know. Maybe I should go out there and get a life instead of telling people how to get one. This ain't taking me nowhere but I'm writing this because this moment I want to write this. This is nowhere close to what I wanted it to be at the beginning but then I'm done for now. I love the end of the film, the two kids batting together, two really contrasting creatures, the chemistry's worked out superbly well. And despite me being in eternal love with sport, any sport, though predominantly tennis and football, I have to admit this. There is nothing like cricket. The sheer idea of the game in which, as somebody put it, a lot of discrete moments eventually add up to something so consequential. It lacks the free flow, the instant inventiveness of football and the gladiator-contest like feel of tennis but then life isn't like that. It's mundane, boring, tough work where there is gray all around which is punctuated by occassional brightness of the white. Maybe every sport is like that but I'm far too much of a bloody Indian to find anything that has my heart erupt in joy than Laxman's glance. Oh! boy, the old worldly elegance.

This is growing much longer than I expected it to be but I really want to continue writing. Watched Bala Vaadu Veedu yesterday and boy, is it brilliant. I now understand I why loved it. It does not assume anything, does not take anything for granted, does not dramatize life, does not attempt putting life into life. It just let's life be itself, lets it unfurl it at it's own pace. That has been Bala's masterstroke. There's a line in Arya 2 which roughly translates into, It doesn't take a lifetime for love to be born; all it takes is one moment. That is what instant gratification is all about, that is what is art all about. Its the one moment, fair, but then why doesn't nobody give a shit about all those years which have led the way for this moment to happen. Maybe this is not time waiting for answers. This is the time to write the questions on the wall, sit next to it and get back to work. When it is time for them to be answered, they will be answered. Boy, do I want to get back to work. Doing what you are supposed to when you are supposed to, like Thomas Huxley says will lead you into being what you have to be. There is this amazing scene in Bala Vaadu Veedu where the camera fades in on a gloomy evening, at a river where there is this huge tree at the bank of it and the camera pans up to reveal this fat man hanging by the neck. I so fell in love with that shot, the sheer melancholy of it.

Okay, its time for me to leave now and I leave with that cinematic pose of Chacha with his cycle, looking through us, standing below the streetlight; and Deekshith will second that.
Watch Elizabeth Gilbert's talk.

"Win the crowd, and you will win your freedom."

2011-06-15T23:46:00.010+05:30

I do not want to be a narcissistic thick head but yes, I like talking about myself, giving a lot of importance to my ideas. Not all of them have to be "truly original" but you know, why take chances. Before anyone of you decide to leave thinking this is going to be such a waste of time, let me retrace my steps and tell you what I wanted to talk about. Not that this won't be a waste of time anyway but you know, either way, when you have to spend time somehow, why not do it reading to somebody else's attempt to be hailed the most-original-thinker-of-our-times. Done with the dose of bullshit; now let the drama begin.

How important is it for somebody, anybody, to sell himself? Okay, let me rephrase it, to market himself? I had read this amazing article on Dravid and the primordial difference between The Great One and The Intense One, as Rohit Brijnath put it, is basically sheer luck and how different their approaches to life and cricket are. But yes, marketing yourself for the mob is important too because that is going to make or break your myth; winning over the mob is all that is the difference between bland humanness and the glory of immortality. If there is a highest order of digression, this paragraph is it.

Okay, I need to get my sleep, so I'll illustrate to you what I've been thinking over without further ado. Let's say I'm the next greatest writer on the planet. And I have my small bunch of loyal followers who say things like, "There is a Marquez and now there is him." How I wish that were true. So, anyway, I don't market myself. I write my blog, a few of my friends read it and that's about it. And then there is somebody else who is not as good a writer as I am but knows all the right people, says all the right words and does all the right things. He gets covered by the media and he is the most popular Indian now after Shah Rukh Khan. Does it in anyway demean the status of the other writer and increase my nobility? Or is marketing yourself, telling the world that you exist and wish to be read also a part of being a successful somebody?

Is marketing beneath the nobility of art or is it an art unto itself? I don't really see what I'm trying to convey but the bottom line is that I want to know how true the adage is which says, Never seek popularity and it will seek you? Before a Kamal Hassan or an Aamir Khan made Saagara Sangamam/Akali Rajyam or Rang De Basanti/Taare Zameen Par, they made popcorn munching cinema. Is that the better thing to do or is sticking to the scholarly ideals of integrity and belief.

Hang on, isn't this the difference between a statesman like Dr. Manmohan Singh and a ruthless street-fighter of Narendra Modi. I have no idea what this was all about, but all that it ever was, it is here.

P.S: Like in Gladiator, is pleasing the crowd really a way to achieve artistic freedom?

Beyond maximum

2011-06-13T20:38:00.017+05:30

I have always been lucky. More often than not, I've come across books which have left me spellbound, awed and expanded. Suketu Mehta's Maximum City: Bombay lost and found is a book that has done all that but beyond everything else, its a book that paces with a furious energy, at a bristling pace, tugging you into the local trains with it, involving you in gang wars, drowning you into the din of films and the colour of the night clubs and in the end, like it is making up for all of this, it has you meet a jain monk who contemplates and questions such a busy life.

I have no idea how long it took Suketu Mehta to research his material for the book but from what I can comprehend from the size of his canvas, he's left nothing that has ever been Bombay. This is gritty non-fiction writing, paced like a thriller, as unbelievable as myth and astounding as a story. It is one of those very rare books you can't wait to finish while dreading the fact that you might finish it too soon. I have always been an ardent non-fiction reader; The diversity of the world out there beats the greatest of imaginations. Its not just the writing that stands out, not the scope, and definitely not the research. All that is definitely great, but its been done before. What bowled me over completely was the approach, the intimacy with the city where Bombay ceases being just a place, or it's people, or it's food and culture but transforms itself into an organism, a living entity which forms a symbiotic relationship with everyone of it's residents.

Mehta talks to everybody you ever thought of when you thought of Bombay; the encounter specialists, the gang lords, Bal Thackeray, the immigrants, the footpath dwellers, club dancers, film stars and all those anonymous individuals who can be identified only in a mob as local train commuters, slum dwellers, vadapav eaters or bomb blast victims. It reminded me sometimes of Gregory David Robert's Shantaram and William Dalrymple's Nine lives, but then it's on a different plain by itself. Mehta waits for his narrators and then pursues them with relentless zeal. He's ready to travel to the stinkiest of slums, to the farthest corners of the city, to the illegally run nightclubs and interview shooters jeopardizing his life.

Meeting all those colourful characters is every writer's dream and Mehta admits his delight. These people are the heroes of everyday-ness, who are all the same in their motivations and ambitions but differ in their methods and moral obligations. Everybody who comes to Bombay is either overtly ambitious or foolish enough to follow his dreams. Those ambitions and dreams range from buying a pucca house, to going to the US, to save money for the children's education, to fight a religious war, to become the country's next superstar, or to see the city clean of pollution and poverty. In a city which is a juxtaposition of all those dreams and dreamers trying to stay afloat, it could well prove to be the greatest spectacle of human beings as a society where We always comes before I and where to live is to live together.

By choosing a topic which is enchanting and intriguing as Bombay, half of Mehta's job was done. With the other half, he's done more than enough justice. In his quest to find his Bombay, he shows us our Bombay. Maximum City is not half much a narration as a journey. He never tells us anything. All he does is wake up every morning and take us along with him in local trains, on dirty pavements, through the slums and skyscrapers, from discussions in air-conditioned rooms to meals in one roomed sheds in his quest to find the soul of Bombay.

ashok and them.

2011-06-10T20:56:00.006+05:30

I have a obsession mentality disorder. Whatever that means, I intend to convey that give me something and chances are I get obsessed with it in a jiffy. Ask me to listen to a song, and if I live it, chances are two days from now, I'd have heard all those songs from the album, read all the history of the band and am unabashedly publicizing about them wherever I go. Infact, this post is also one of my side-effects in the ashok obsession syndrome. Sucks. This is what stories do to you; they have you believe in fiction, they have you jump into the abyss fully knowing that you ain't ever coming out of it. Stories are far too good to be real, far too romantic to be love, its heroes far too heroic to be able to exist and leave you craving for that dose of utopia where you'd give all that is yours to be a part of it. For quite sometime now, ashok has been one of those stories. It is predominantly Deekshith who pushes me off the cliff in this case and here again, he is the mentor. Why the fuck am I using words I'm having to look up dictionaries to know what they mean. Is this the ashok effect too? Deekshith introduced me to an alternate world of writers-smokers where all you would do all day was wait for inspiration and have a paper and pen ready when it arrived. Sowmya Sen and ashok. These might not be real reflections of the lives they live, to hell I don't even care about the lives they live. For me they are characters in these stories Deekshith's told me, people who are generously gifted, know it and don't give a fuck about it. I can't believe I'm turning into a person I've never wanted to be. The fiction is overwhelming me. Do I want to be like them, like ashok, my version of ashok; to hell, yeah. Silent, knowledgeable, restless, insomniac, confident, aishwarya, and everything else. Is this the real ashok, I have no idea. Deekshith is a powerful narrator. Every time we part, he leaves me drooling for more. His stories, his heroes are the elixir I survive on. No wonder I got rather screwed up when I wasn't having those conversations. -This is the door. -Which goes over the cliff. I so want to be like that, like that being me, in an original way. This is getting insane, devotional; I don't want to lose being me but the urge to be ashok is far too much. Isn't that also a part of me that wants to be ashok. How does somebody stay quiet in a conversation, smile, let people talk, be worshiped. Genius. The one word which will either make me or break me. Unkempt, complete, confident, desolate by choice, above all, beyond everything. If 'them.' really exists, I can't wait to get my hands on it. The artist is turning more enigmatic than the art. Damn, I haven't even ever seen anything but glimpses of ashok's art. I don't want to write like him, I want to be like him. my version of him. I'm falling, stooping, fighting myself to be ashok. To be mythical. heroic. god.

mythbusters

2011-06-10T19:53:00.006+05:30

Deekshith is back and so are all those awesome conversations. The art of conversation is probably the one most underrated, underwhelmed; We tend to forget how stimulative, provocative they can be. And you can't converse the same way with everybody; there's a way you talk to different people you know. There's always a wavelength you emit when you are talking to one person which is different from the one you emit when conversing with another. Fuck, why do I sound like Deekshith. I had missed these conversations for about a year now, these topics and talks with Deekshith. Both of us are quintessential dreamers, we worship our heroes, want to imbibe them but strive for originality. Atleast that is what I understand about us. So, Deekshith is back and so with him are talks about Ashok and "Them.". Like Sravani just pointed out, Ashok for me is a myth, a legend, the protagonist in all those stories weaved about him by his ardent devotees, Deekshith, Raghav and partly Sandeep, and that is what makes him so alluring, having me imagine somebody who fits into all those characteristics as I've heard of him. And that for me is a good thing because it helps me dream, helps me see that that there are people in the world like whom I'd love to be. It's not wannabedom. How do I explain? Just because you like Chiranjeevi's dance and want to be like him, doesn't mean you want be another Chiranjeevi. You want to be all that Chiranjeevi is; a demigod, an illusion, an embodiment of superhumanness. I seem to be getting back to touch, the words now are coming out easily. Deekshith just left and I got onto Love and Squalor. I've never read anybody like Aishwarya. It's beyond real, I crave to reach that aura, it's hard to explain. We spoke for a long time, Deekshith and me. He's changed, like hell too. This is a drastically different person from the one I expected to see. His voice doesn't flinch like it used to, when we are talking, he doesn't fade away into mortality anymore, and most importantly he looks straight in the eye. 9 months of London and this is what is delivered; fair. But the one hour or so we spoke today at the SaroorNagar katta was awesome. He told me this fabulous Picasso story. Pablo Picasso is in a party and this little girl comes upto him.She says, my dad tells me you are a great painter, so will you sketch me. Picasso draws the girl in three minutes and the crowd applauds hailing his genius and asking him how anybody could sketch in three minutes. To which Picasso replies, Its taken thirty years for me to do this in three minutes. One hell of a story ain't it. But yes, I've seen it now, hunger and solitude can do this to you. I was talking to Amma yesterday and I hailed myself the starving artist. She smiles at me and says, no you aren't, you wish you were. You need to starve before you become a starving artist, not sit home all day and wish you were one. What could I have said. Before I leave, there's a line in Nolan's Following when one character looks at a desk scattered with papers and a typewriter and corrects the other character, who thinks it belongs to a writer, that if he really was a writer, he'd have got a word processor. "This guy isn't a writer, he wants to be a writer. Those are two totally seperate things."

flied to try

2011-05-27T19:54:00.005+05:30

"Hey, watch out, you'll step on it."
Too late, I had already stepped on the insect. But as soon as I heard the warning, I shifted my balance onto my other leg and hopped around the insect, Where, where.
And then I spotted it. It was some sort of a flying insect, hardly half as big as the nail on my little finger.
When I bent down to observe it closely, I saw it wriggling, it's honey-coloured body wreathing in the pain and it looked like it's wings were almost broken.
"Shit", thought I, "where the fuck was I even looking."
But I noticed more closely, it wasn't rolling around in pain but it was trying to get up onto it's feet. Well, it succeeded and when it tried to try fly, it toppled over.
After that happened a couple of times, I blew right at it hoping that it would be of some assistance. And then there was again the episode of wriggling, jerking around, and it turned really painful to look at. It was suffering and all it was really trying to do was fly, nothing else mattered to it, not the pain, nothing. I tried lifting it up with a piece of paper but that didn't work either. In the intense jerking that was happening, it managed to fall off the paper every single time.
It was when I was beginning to grow exasperated that I blew it to a corner of the room so that it wouldn't be trampled upon by nobody else, that it flew. And it flew away.
I walked away, grinning like a stupid.

You ride hard, you fall hard

2011-05-25T17:48:00.005+05:30

I fucked up and I fucked up super bad. Right now, I have almost virtually lost both my jobs at hand, messed with a tour I so wanted to take, flunked and am so dumbed down that I can't write code for nothing. Yes, I am back to the phase I was once but this doesn't seem so bad.

Whenever I fall, I fall hard because I live hard. And when fall I do, I know this sounds like shit, I feel free; free because I have a goal now and no distractions. Because this is when I'm free from all obligation and forced to think. Like Proust said, "I have only lived when I have suffered." I have fallen again and this time I'm super disappointed because I lost a chance to live in the Sunderbans for five weeks. Posting this will not take me anywhere. Yes, I've brooded for a day and a half and the cause of my resurgence this time is the Principle of least action I just read about. It's instinctive and graceful. This is what art can do to you. I'm basically broke but here I am, virtually unconquerable because this time I know I'm going to work my ass off, courtesy It's not about the Bike.

Whenever I fall, I'm reminded of Steve Jobs' Stanford commencement speech where he says you will realise only later how precious any fall is. Well, this time around, it sure is going to be precious. I know I've said this a lot of time, but the bounce never actually happened. But this time, it will. I know I've said this a lot of times too but honestly, you don't have to trust what I'm saying now. Let me prove you.

Thank you very much.

you know, this and that

2011-05-20T08:03:00.005+05:30

Woke up today at 4.30, can you beat that? For one, I've been sitting home all day long so I ain't getting tired at all. And two, having watched Adaptation yesterday, I had a funny dream where I was dreaming about dreaming, and then there was Meryl Streep all over and I was trying to write and before that I had to wake up and so it went. At 60, Streep is one of the most attractive women I've seen.

Anyway, I went out for a run and had to cut midway because I couldn't run for God's sake and then there were these dogs which started barking and I had to walk a long way not to be chased by them. Didn't have the heart to run after that. And yea, I had pledged myself about four months ago that on my birthday I'd publish something. Am I done? No. Will I? Soon. Have I started? Yes. It's a story I wrote a week ago but there's a lot I need to work on. Feels good today, to be up and early.

Need to edit that Pool movie. Damn man, none of the editing tools work on my system and I'm far too lazy to go to Varun's house and work on it. Sad. Ahm, that's about it then. Birthday was uneventful but for a few unexpected surprises. I haven't been doing nothing much lately, apart from reading Lance Armstrong's It's not about the bike. What a guy, the kind of inner strength and the willpower he must have developed to beat the cancer, get back on the bike, endure the pain and win the Tour, arguably the toughest competition on the planet. Supremely inspiring.

I can't think of anything else to write then.
Later.

"He's walked 40 miles just to keep the flies of his sister's face."

2011-05-15T23:23:00.004+05:30

I've never seen more visually stimulating cinema than Fernando Meirelles'. For me, it has always been that the difference between a play and a movie is the extra character of a camera. That's it. Everything that can be done in a cinema can be done on stage, it's just that in case of a cinema, the director has the phenomenal power of showing you what he wants and how he wants it. There have been quite a few exponents of the cinematic camera, but for me, none more so than this filmmaker from Brazil. Some shots in The Constant Gardener are so breathtaking in their composition that you wonder if the every shot is a labour of love.

We've all talked about the great cinematographers from Latin America thanks to the popularity of movies like Y Tu mama Tambien, Amores Perros and Pan's Labyrinth. How could we have missed Meirelles and Salles. I've just seen two films of Meirelles, The City of God and The Constant Gardener and I realise the impact of a camera. Be it the energetic, rotating shots in Cidade de Deus or the handheld, wavering camera here, it's just Meirelles. What captivated me more than anything else in these two movies is the colour and the ethnic music of the place. It's just amazing.

If City of God in itself was one of the finest movies of our times, here with actors like Fiennes and Weisz, he took it a step further. Fiennes is a revelation, what a second act. His character reminds me a lot of Gogol's Overcoat's protagonist, he's dogged in his approach to work, is one-dimensional until he finds something to live for and then once he loses it, his need to avenge it attributes the same style.

Meirelles has us look at Africa and his camera doesn't flinch. He wants us to experience guilt, wants us to be wounded; unlike in his earlier film where he was the objective observer, here he wants us to come in as close contact with the brutal reality as possible. The film is about Pharmaceutical companies testing their drugs on Africans as the Rest of the World is busy. "Disposable medicines for disposable people; It is how they expiate their guilt", one character observes. There are some really heart rendering moments in the movie, like when Fiennes' character yells, "It is one child we can help", bringing back reminiscences of what his wife had asked of him earlier. I'm yet to read John Le Carre's novel but the film gives us the story and more importantly takes us there, into that World where a twelve year old kid walks 40 miles. Meirelles never let's us forget the kind of luxuries we enjoy at the expense of people like them and he mocks the system in a scene where the camera rotates from an expanse of a Golf course, where a few Caucasians are playing, to show a slum where houses are packed next to each other. Diplomatic relationships are like that and despite all that people say, Nobody really gives a fuck.

But despite the hypocrisy pervading the film, Meirelles' does not forget to show us those unheralded heroes, like the cargo pilot who says, "Do not embarrass me with your money, you can't buy this". It is heart-wrenching, provoking and disgusting to realise what order of hypocrites we are to be constantly turning out heads away and quelling our conscience.

There is a woman who cannot stand injustice. There is her husband whose entire world revolves around her, until he realises she ain't never coming back and all he can do is settle her accounts and go to her. It is cinema at it's greatest and more than that.

Lamakaan among other things

2011-05-10T22:28:00.004+05:30

Long since I posted something up here. Sounds of Isha playing in my ears, I came here for a quick jot of what all's been happening. My confidence's screwed up, my work ethic's nuts, and my reading's a total mess. I don't seem to be getting past 10 pages of any book before the other interests me. Starting a book is a lot about passion, ending it is tougher; it's about patience and principle. I seem to be lacking them. Anyway, I don't want to be ranting over and over again.

We shot my Snooker idea the other day, finally and we'll have to sit down and edit it. The footage looks rather sad, having shot it with Ani's phone but then we're working on converting it into HD. Went to Lamakaan today and heard a talk about Rumi. Super lecture and a really nice place. I really wish I wasn't this messed up and did more in life than talk about achieving that elusive thing. Bid adieu to Net.Orange, which left me sad for they were really nice but then I'm far too confused to be promising them anything now. It's pathetic, talking every post about how confused I am. I'm attending an interview the day after tomorrow for a Certificate Program in Rural Management. I don't know, but I feel depressed. I so want to do something, stick to one thing and I have a feeling I'm going right in the opposite direction. Least of all I don't want to hurt people which I'm so good at. No, I'm done talking this shit.

Watching Physics lecture at MIT's OpenCourseWare. Reading the first edition of Out of Print magazine and ofcourse, dreaming about getting published in it. Well, no harm dreaming because either way they're taking me nowhere.

By the way, I just learnt Lamakaan means 'the abode of the homeless'.

aankhein teri, kitni haseen

2011-05-06T16:24:00.002+05:30

I so fuckin hate growing up. It' like they show in the films. You are over her, you are happy, you're trying to move forward, to create something in life, and then suddenly she calls one day and you are head over heels for her. Btw, fuck, I can't believe I used an idiom. One old song, one half-remembered object, one similar scene in the movie and that is all the catalyst it takes to successfully carry you back to all those days of glory.

Talking about how we should move on, should dust ourselves, learn and shit is all fine, as long as you don't have to apply it. You're trying to move away from the history but like in a Rushdie or a Marquez story, you find yourself wanting to live in those days and eventually you live in history. Will it take me anywhere, No. Will it keep me happy, Yes and No. It hurts like crazy but maybe that is what this is all about.

I'm so fucking all of my 21 years. And there's enough shit happened in life that any old song, and more often than not I have a memory to show for and a time to be lost in. I so feel like the wounded protagonists in the Art-house cinema. Sad, that heroes in art house cinema have more than their share of negative shades. I want to get this all out of me, but do I? Shit like this and I have more than a decent chance of being the Indian Maupassant. Well, I outdid myself in immodesty there but still, you get the point.

I can't afford to lose all that I've built up for the one women without knowing if I actually love her. I'm still confused as I was, as irresponsible, and have added a few more negative shades up my repository. And I have the undying compliment of "never-grow-up". But despite all this, I hear that voice and I'd jump of the Eiffel Tower and still come back for her. Ok, let's call this the end.

That was totally out of nowhere. With loads of ideas up my sleeve waiting to be written, I get back to this. Maybe I'm like this because I'm half asleep, or because I'm a chauvinistic pig, or because I'm going to anyway think drastically different sometime soon or maybe because I really love her. But all of that is me.

అప్పుడప్పుడు it happens

2011-04-18T19:57:00.004+05:30

కాలేజీ ఐపాయింది బాబయ్య! మొన్న నే గా రా హ్యాపీ డేస్ చూసి బయటకి వొచ్చింది. అనుకున్న పెంట అంతా జరిగింది,

అనుకోనిది చాలనె జరిగింది. ఏందో జీవితం. కాని కిరాక్ మజా వచ్చింది. ఆగం ఖాన్ డం అంటే ఇదే ఏమో మరి.looking

back, all of this had to happen but then it suddenly ended in the blink of an eye.

I know this sounds filmy as shit but as cliched as it sounds, everyone has to go

through it.this ain't gonna end abruptly but it's probably the last time I'll see a

lot of faces I've seen today. కలిసి తిరగడం, సినిమాలు చూడడం, అమ్మ నా బూతులు తిట్టుకోవడం, కిరాక్

కిరాక్ లవ్ స్టోరీస్ జరగడం. I don't wanna write all this but it has to come out somehow and if

this is the way, so be it. కరీం నగర్, టూర్, సూర్యాపేట, shirdi, long drives , బాసిక్ bhai , సరూర్ నగర్

కట్ట, birthday cakes , చందాలతో noodles , all night all -ఇన్-ones , Orkut టు Facebook

migration , సీనియర్ ల episode , GRE, ఆఖరికి NFKC foodstalls కి రావడం . ఓ btw , సీతారామయ్య

గారి ఆశీర్వాదములు. ఇది రా అమ్మ బైన్ జిందగీ అంటే.

more later.

On calling the shots

2011-04-14T13:16:00.002+05:30

The film fever's back on me, ever since I started reading Robert Rodriguez's Rebel without a crew. More about that later but what it did was it got me back to films and reminded me of those days when all I did all day was watch and read films. A couple of days ago I stumbled across Jim Jarmusch's Golden Rules of film making and realised how true they were. Here they go.

--

Rule #1: There are no rules. There are as many ways to make a film as there are potential filmmakers. It’s an open form. Anyway, I would personally never presume to tell anyone else what to do or how to do anything. To me that’s like telling someone else what their religious beliefs should be. Fuck that. That’s against my personal philosophy—more of a code than a set of “rules.” Therefore, disregard the “rules” you are presently reading, and instead consider them to be merely notes to myself. One should make one’s own “notes” because there is no one way to do anything. If anyone tells you there is only one way, their way, get as far away from them as possible, both physically and philosophically.

Rule #2: Don’t let the fuckers get ya. They can either help you, or not help you, but they can’t stop you. People who finance films, distribute films, promote films and exhibit films are not filmmakers. They are not interested in letting filmmakers define and dictate the way they do their business, so filmmakers should have no interest in allowing them to dictate the way a film is made. Carry a gun if necessary.

Also, avoid sycophants at all costs. There are always people around who only want to be involved in filmmaking to get rich, get famous, or get laid. Generally, they know as much about filmmaking as George W. Bush knows about hand-to-hand combat.

Rule #3: The production is there to serve the film. The film is not there to serve the production. Unfortunately, in the world of filmmaking this is almost universally backwards. The film is not being made to serve the budget, the schedule, or the resumes of those involved. Filmmakers who don’t understand this should be hung from their ankles and asked why the sky appears to be upside down.

Rule #4: Filmmaking is a collaborative process. You get the chance to work with others whose minds and ideas may be stronger than your own. Make sure they remain focused on their own function and not someone else’s job, or you’ll have a big mess. But treat all collaborators as equals and with respect. A production assistant who is holding back traffic so the crew can get a shot is no less important than the actors in the scene, the director of photography, the production designer or the director. Hierarchy is for those whose egos are inflated or out of control, or for people in the military. Those with whom you choose to collaborate, if you make good choices, can elevate the quality and content of your film to a much higher plane than any one mind could imagine on its own. If you don’t want to work with other people, go paint a painting or write a book. (And if you want to be a fucking dictator, I guess these days you just have to go into politics...).

Rule #5: Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is nonexistent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery—celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from—it’s where you take them to.”

the corridor of uncertainty

2011-03-25T18:11:00.005+05:30

It's funny how a lot of people contemplate when they've just got respite from a long day of work and I on the other hand look back and think when I'm in super hurry. Maybe because I'm far too lazed out all day to be doing anything worthwhile.

What have I done to deserve this?

The kind of love, respect and forgiveness I receive is something which honestly, I shouldn't be getting. It's like the batsman's nicked the ball and umpire is certain that he hasn't. What does the batsman do, thank his good karma and stay back or does he say, despite what my previous deeds have been, this time around I'll make a mistake if I stick around and walks away. Is life about every moment for itself or is it a tab of everything you've ever done? Despite me proving people that I'm an asshole over and over again(most of it unintentional though) I have family and friends who're ready to forgive and give me an another chance. Who tell me, "dude you're destined to play a big innings and bad decisions are a part and parcel of the game". What should I do? Should I keep my ego first and walk away or do I bow down to my team who've always backed me and say, I've been lucky, let me be careful the next time around.

I know it's an over used cliched statement but life indeed is a lot like cricket. It's a funny game life is. Nobility vs pragmatism. Ego vs loyalty. And despite my earlier firm belief, it really is a team sport. Like a lot of my recent posts, this seems to be muddled, incomprehensible. If it is, then it reflects the state of my mind. I haven't be able to read, to concentrate, to write, to work on anything. Purpose and meaning have been lost in the paced out craze of everyday-ness. Maybe this is what journeys, no matter how small do to you. They force you to set your priorities right. And I hope I do justice to all of them. I wouldn't call it payback but it's the least I can do to everyone in my life, all of whom have believed in the goodness in me.

How justified is voyeurism?

2011-03-20T23:51:00.004+05:30

It's been really long since I've sat down late at night and read anything to my heart's content. Since I've done it today, let me try breaking the jinx and hope I write a nice, good, long post. I know I keep on saying this all the time but there's really a lot to write about. Life's exciting as hell man, despite the dysfunctional servlets I write.

This has been in my head for a really long time now. Is it okay for you to do something wrong when nobody else is seeing you do it? For one, let's face it, everybody loves to voyeur around. Doesn't have to be anything that has got anything to do with masturbation; here I'm not just talking about the sexual interest but also can be gossiping about somebody else's life, about listening to conversations you are not supposed to, you know pretty much peeping through the keyhole. We love doing it. The prospect of crossing the line, entering forbidden territory excites us. And if you have the added advantage of doing this in mist, why wouldn't somebody want to do it. And two, voyeurism makes us hypocrites, which is but a sad consequence of the act. It gives us two faces, one the visible one and the other one shrouded in darkness. Fatefully, it was just today that I read Oscar Wilde's "Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth" in Suelette Dreyfus' Underground.

But that also gives us another edge to parry with. You cannot claim having seen or heard anything because in the first place you're not supposed to be doing it. So, there's mighty well no chance that even if somebody spies at you all the time, he cannot claim to have seen you do something. Now, that makes voyeurs 1. cowardly, because they know they're doing something wrong and so they hide and 2. mute spectators. So, I can safely claim now that voyeurism is an harmless act.

So, what is wrong with it? With somebody peeping into somebody else's room as long as they don't realize it and feel uncomfortable and are not disturbed by it. I'm there to see everything but I can't be seen. Fair. Does that mean voyeurism can be justified? I get the pleasure I seek for, the other person is ignorant about it and nobody else knows about this, how fair is that.

I don't know if it's Okay or not but what I know is that then we'll be breeding cowards in the society. Kids doing that is fine but grown-ups doing it is scared men who neither have the courage to admit what they're doing nor have the will to stop themselves. Cowards are not happy people, they're mere ghosts who are scared with the prospect of living. And imagine what a whole world of cowards would be like.

kindle does the trick

2011-03-08T10:02:00.002+05:30

my first post from the kindle 3G+WiFi. bujji mama got this for me and i held it for the first time at about 2.30 today morning. it's like super cool but a little awkward typing. later then, for more on the spot updates.

ఎవడి పాపాన వాడే పోతాడు

2011-02-26T12:31:00.009+05:30

This piece has been in my head for a long time. I cannot pinpoint the right time but I've been thinking about it for a long time. This is about India and the society we live in. About 1/5th of all people in the world are Indians and we never had a choice. That's a lot of people crammed into the place. You'll know what exactly I'm talking about if you've ever traveled a lot of India in trains, more so if by second class. There are far too many people in here. And if this wasn't enough, we have the greatest diversity among people on the planet. Nowhere else in the world is society divided into these many classes and sub-classes based on religion and wealth. Infact, I sometimes wonder if we have more number of deities than all their devotees put together. Anybody can be a God and be worshiped. Also, India is a land of instantaneous friendships. You barely have to know anybody before you tell him everything about your family, crib about your work and talk Cricket. It wouldn't be too far-fetched to say that in no other country do we have a more trafficked many-many relationship.

But how do we sustain this? We live in a world where Nature has taught us that one life is just a minute entity in a web of lot of lives and everybody is interdependent on everybody else, directly or indirectly. Nobody has understood this more than our ancestors. I am no educated anthropologist but from what I've seen, if I had to deduce a theory of how all of us still manage to live together despite the millions of differences, it's because of the so very complex structure of society that has been handed over generation to generation. Everybody wants to be at the centre of the universe. At some point or the other, people would like to believe that they can survive alone. And anything said on the contrary would hurt their ego. It is for this simple reason that the whole structure of religion and God have been added into everyday life. I respect Indian tradition, atleast the little I know. And somewhere deep inside, I realise that Randian philosophy of every man for himself does not survive unless in a totally Utopian society. So, to prevent a man from crossing the threshold of selfishness and also think about the after affects of his actions, somebody had to create the notion of Bad Karma. One of my favourite lines I read recently in Mystic River is that, "There is no Guilt. There is only a fear of Bad Karma." I am yet to read a more honest line.

Unless in the most extraordinary of cases, for all us everyday people, what prevents us from vengeance or greed or lust is the fear of Karma. Guilt, might come, but only after the act. All of us believe, and Indians more so, that the Good Lord we worship has a table of all things good and bad we have done. That is why we try to please him, to coax him to get things done in our favour. And it is also the same thing which stops us form sinning more often because we are scared that someday, we will have to payback for all we have done. Honestly, how many of us wouldn't do all that we liked to if only we could get away without paying for it. I will give you a prime example, just think about it. Why do we have more number of voyeurs than rapists? Infact, that notion of Good deeds vs Bad comes into play in more ways than we can imagine. At the beginning of this post, I asked How all of us Indians manage to survive together. The answer is simple, We are the most accommodating society in the world. I have not been in any other place in the world than India but from all that I've heard, seen or read, I don't think that anywhere else do 500 people travel amicably in a compartment which is supposed to fit in only 100 people.

We are okay with sharing, with forgiving, with looking away because we know that one, if I help somebody someday, that would return to me somehow and two, we believe that the उपरवाला is a fair judge of all deeds performed by everybody. All this has been imbibed into us. I am not saying there aren't people who would be good just for the heck of it but I'll discuss that in my next post, which has been brooding inside for a long time. Anyway, that accommodating nature of ours is our biggest boon and the biggest curse. I don't have to specify the reasons why. It helps us, like I already mentioned above, into sharing and forgiving, giving people a second chance which more often than not, they deserve. But that also happens to be our biggest curse because we are far too outer-worldly to change things in this world. We don't really give a shit about anything because we believe in the great providence and his just trial system.

And that is why India is the land of contradictions. Good or bad, that is the way we live. And have been for the past 5000 or so years. We have our Mahatmas and Mother Teresas as well as the world famous 'politicians' and corrupted government officials. And it is only here, at the end of the day, an honest man, albeit a poor one, is so proud of himself.

quick punch

2011-02-23T15:49:00.004+05:30

Well, like you are seeing right now, I've changed the look of the blog. It's been about three years since the same Simple Black theme has been set to it and for a while I thought it was patented to me. That was the standard of my blog and so I didn't mess with it too much, despite me getting irritated with it. But then today, suddenly, I realized that when I change so much, why should I stick to the same old theme forever.

So, in search of a new theme, I stumbled upon this and I like the easy, carefree way this looks. It's been a while since I have written anything, so it feels awkward again writing something; anything. Not much has happened since the last post but I stumbled across an idea 3 days ago, spoke about it with Varun and it seems to be getting somewhere. More about it when we start working on it. Office is good, my simple Java programs are actually running and I am able to retrieve data from the Database. That's about it for now.

I was just going through my archives and it hit upon me that if I seriously think I'm a good writer, I should be ashamed of myself. Apart from a handful good ones, most of the posts I've written are examples of pathetic writing skills. But then, they had to be written I guess.

Later.

just thought of Jeeves

2011-02-14T21:12:00.007+05:30

the last time I gave a shit about what people thought or tried deciphering somebody else's thought process, I realised I couldn't have been more wrong. the whole point of all those intellectual discussions (in quotes), of all those I'm the next scorsese/rand/whatshisname cool hand luke conventions, of trying to rub shoulders with the best of them hoping i'd be hailed as somebody cool enough makes me laugh. but yea, maybe all of them were needed for me to be what I am today. because, seriously, at the end of the day, all that matters is are you good enough, and are you not scared to love. this is a fucking paradox I'm stating fully knowing that I shouldn't be writing all this but reading a few conversations people have on fb comments makes me shudder at the thought that at one point of time in my life, not long ago, I was very similar to them. rude, cynical, doped and beneath a veil of false prestige lay the real me who was capable of nothing but wanting to be happy. single point agenda. that's all everybody looks for. recently, i read a arundhati roy quote, "kids look for approval. we are adults, we don't need it." if you really think you are right, then there's no need to prove it is there. the most profound of people I've truly met are people who do not take themselves seriously, who've learnt enough through instinct or experience that there is no harm being wrong and there's no crime being happy. to all those everyday, unassuming folks, it's been an honour learning from you.

జీవితం బాబాయ్, జీవితం

2011-02-07T17:49:00.006+05:30

Well, well, well, it's been quite long. So much to be written down. And Deekshith's just inspired me into actually jotting all of it down. Read his latest post, it's great. Anyway, all that apart, last two days have been crammed with lots of discussions, predominantly on life and if living life like it is being lived now makes any sense at all. The conversations in the last two days have been invigorating, have to be when the person on the other end is somebody like Ram. అన్నాయ్, మజా ఒచ్చింది .

All I want to do now is write, and since this has been the latest of happenings, I'm talking about it right now. For one, I met him on saturday evening at Air Force Station, Hakimpet. We had taken all the MAD kids out there and I have a feeling the ambience was just right for the discussion which followed. चिचोरापन is one word which defines me best and I guess he was reminded of his own chichora days when he saw me. And then, off to Baseraa, where I had a weird dinner amidst Ghazals and then we returned together. He said, "You remind me of all I was five years ago and all I'm asking you is not to make mistakes but to make newer ones than which I made." Trying stuff and making mistakes is Okay; brilliant. I don't really remember what we were talking but then it ranged from a Utopian world of no competition, to Hofstadter, to Francisian girls and if living amongst people who deliberately looked away from reality was worth it.

The part two began when we finished playing volleyball at FSC and took a bus to Lalapet, yesterday. And boy was the conversation enchanting. We spoke about an ideal world where things didn't deter you if you didn't want them to, where the idea of paradise is ఒక ఎకరం పొలం and కవిత్వం and if it was alright wanting to be happy all the time. I don't know if they took either of us anywhere but I can tell this on his behalf too that all those spoken words were to be spoken. Because looking back and checking your priorities is always important and he's done that for me. Happy గా బతకడానికి ఎం కావాలి, ఎంత కావాలి is a question which I believe everyone has to has oneself and that is what we had been doing. And I've been advised to read Indian mythology and philosophy, yes boss.

Infact, on saturday, before the dinner I spoke for a long time with Amogh and boy was that awesome. He spoke about authors and books I had never thought of and got me interested into something which sounds as mundane as Sales-Marketing and Strategy management. Amogh man, can you talk.

Had to write this. To all those conversations which turned me into who I am.

countdown begins

2011-01-30T22:48:00.003+05:30

loads to write. lots being cooked up, pages being scribbled and ideas being conjured. will do all that. but this may 18, i'll gift myself something i've always been meaning to. and will upload it here as the clock strikes midnight on the 18th.
with hopes that this promise will constantly remind me of it, i leave.

/untitled/

2011-01-13T19:59:00.011+05:30

A lot has been happening, and a little too fast for my liking. But like the adage goes, Luck favours the Lucky. For one, I got placed into this company called Persistent Systems. I'd like to believe I was lucky enough, contrary to the opinion of family and a lot of friends, but my HR interview was awesome. I didn't really have a measure of time but then it must have been for about 40 minutes and honestly, I've never been talked to like that before. That was on the 18th of December. And now, as suddenly as I was getting back to being my normal, lost self, I had two Jhatkas which totally shook me up. I got hired as an intern in this company called Net.Orange which, from what I know develops healthcare related software for US hospitals. I went into the offices for the interview, and I have to admit I liked the place. Had an aptitude test and three rounds of interviews and it was a lot of fun. The MD was a really amiable man and he gave us meal passes just because we were there at lunch time. My interviews, again as my interviews usually are, were great and I had a great time talking to them. This was on 11th of this month and was the second time I had gone to HiTech city. One hell of a place, let me tell you. About 20 days ago, I went once in search of Persistent offices and fell in love with the whole place. Looked more like San Jose than Hyderabad, barring the formal guys wore. Dress code and timings probably help instate discipline and homogeneity but then I believe they stifle creativity, a mad streak that raw energy provides. And in the midst of all this, I got my CAT result yesterday. Funnily enough, I scored well which made Amma propel into illusions of an IIM-educated son but then I told her I still was not good enough. That disappointed her a bit but then I'm happy she's really proud. That shows I've been busy in the last fortnight or so and that probably gives me a reason for not advancing deeper into Godel, Escher, Bach. I started reading Coetzee today, Life & Times of Michael K, and all I can say insofar is that it's bleak and readable. I am also waiting for a phone interview from this NGO called WOTR, which deeply invigorates me. Had a fun MAD meeting this monday and we spoke about working full time for MAD. An interesting option, which I want to keep open. Meanwhile, I'll soon have to apply for Teach For India and though I don't see myself as good as their wants, I plan to still give it a shot. And I watched the first two parts of Numb3rs and it's good. I love the idea Charlie Epps, which I as usual, saw myself in him.All this apart, we have our Gruhapravesham in two months and that's going to be great as well. So, that's about it for now. Had this sudden urge to write. But this is not what I basically intended to write. Will do that tomorrow, starting the draft today.

And yeah, I love her ముక్కుపుడక.

Marquez and Macondo

2011-01-03T15:47:00.010+05:30

Because races condemned to one hundred years of solitude did not have a second opportunity on earth. As I write this, I am in a state of trance. About a year and half since I read it the first time, I picked up One Hundred Years of Solitude 3 days ago to rekindle my interest into reading in the hands of a master. I have not been proved wrong in my firm belief that Marquez is perhaps the most original writer of our time, endowed with a rare streak of disbelief in reality and more so with an uncannily obsessive quest for originality.

You will not be really able to fathom what I say unless you have been absorbed in the lives of Buendias and only when you become one of the men in Macondo, breathing out the hot noon sun, and be a part of the banana workers' strike will you understand the awe in discovering ice for the first time in your life. It is so weird talking about One Hundred because it cannot be talked about like anything else real, like a thing which has existed forever. Like both we and Marquez discover at the end of the harrowing journey, Macondo is true but only confined to the limitations of our imaginations, it is real but only as real as you would want it to be.

Only as I sit down now to write about the book, do I realise upto the full extent the prowess, genius and unbelievable tenacity of a writer of Marquez's calibre and the gaping holes in my writing abilities come to the fore. Forget writing anything atleast half as good as One Hundred, even writing about it is stretching my abilities to the limits and I lack a sense of, like Marquez would say, lucidity in deciphering the most obvious of strokes. One Hundred Years of Solitude is not a story to be told and re-told. It is a journey which has to be made to the deepest and darkest of human emotions and a test of human belief in reality in the face of an overwhelming adversary in the form of imagination. Much has been spoken of Marquez's magic realism but it is not something which can be talked about, but is something which has to be experienced to be believed.

Through the constant effort of reading, you will be tugged in a war between real and imaginary, truth and lies, memory and reality and hallucinations and life. You will be stuck in spiral of time, space where all that can happen to you is fall deeper into the abyss and all you can hope for is that impending halt. You will want to finish it but at the same time, you will want to continue the journey because nothing more in this metaphorical journey would be truer than the cliche of journey being more important. Travelling in a land where people accept flying women but are awed by ice and magnets, where people are unflustered by following butterflies but are frightened of trains and where hundred years of life is but lived in one moment, it is hard for you to keep your bearings of the world. But that is what precisely Marquez's masterstroke has been. He does not narrate you a folklore as much as make you a part of it. As is realised in the end, you are not reading somebody else's story but of fate of people interwined with yours and all you can do in the end is gape in horror and awe.

That is all I can write about now. If you have read it, you will know the kind of nervous tension in the pit of the stomach which accompanies every word that gets into your conscience and even you put the book aside, the flurry in your subconscious mind does not let you rest until you have straightened out the relationships between all the people in the family. There are two ways of reading books, one is reading them, looking at all the characters talk from a third person point of view, not getting mingled with them. The other way is to live with the characters, share their fears and apprehensions, grow with them and share their fates. Marquez, here, does not give you a choice of staying untouched. All you can do, is take a deep breath in, dive and get submerged in a land of magic realism.

57

2010-12-22T00:37:00.014+05:30

My second post in an hour. Let me see if I can pull of writing without thinking. Or, rather write-think as I deem myself to be. Shit, this is scary. But what can I do, I can't pause. This is scary as shit. Makes me more alert, more, what's the word, pause pause typing pause typing pause Barsenge amber se I can't get it. Anyway, plugged into my ears is Swarathma. I should have been sleeping by now, reading Mystic River but then there was an incessant need to write. So, here I arrive.

Kneading knuckles. The ultimate paradox. I can't write about writing because I'd always be one word late. Shit, wtf is even wrong with me. Okay, why am I even here. One is that that conversation I had with Vikranth the other day at Basik. Interesting. Got my grey cells active. And two, is about the art of writing. Before I began this, I had a lot thinking but now I can't seem to type anything. For one, I write quite a lot. Atleast in my head. Even when I'm doing something else, the whole process of thinking for me is writing. Both of them are irrevocably related. That when I'm trying to think, which is very unusual, I'm typing it. Or in a very few cases, I draw trees and other visual aids in my head to construct a clear picture. The act of thinking basically doesn't exist. It juxtaposes itself into some other action form and all I'm left with are shards of words that slowly evaporate into thin air, or maybe are forever lost in the depths of my mind. I pause for words. Funny, knowing that I'm either typing or thinking, for me telling people that I do both. I do not believe in the whole concept of multi tasking, it doesn't exist. If I was thinking when I am typing, all that it means is that, there's the minutest of time differences between both acts and for all practical reasons and purposes, both can be considered to be simultaneous acts. Hang on, let me change the track.

Ok, I go back to Barsenge. I love this song. So, what was the conversation about. Now, this itself shows that I've been bullshitting all along. If I really think as I type, or rather, hang on, I didn't say I type what I see. See, visually. I type all that's happening in my head. I see what's running on my mind. And that doesn't have to be what is happening now. If I'm reliving a conversation with Vikranth, for me, I'm still there. I maybe here, in my house, typing away at 12.47 AM but another part of me is still there, thinking about all that we spoke. Bull shit again. We're delving into deeper mines of shittiness. Hofstadter would be proud of me. Okay, let's decipher this step by step. I'm listening to a song now, I'm typing, I'm thinking about that conversation, I'm thinking about what to type now. How can there be so many nows. So, the whole purpose of doing this, wtf! am I even saying. God, and I can't pause. If all that I'm writing now is a testimony of my thoughts, then sure boy I am messed up. But if I was really messed up, would I realise I was messed up. Pause. And ofcourse I know a birds eye clear cut view of me is impossible by me because that would be me again, blah blah. We've heard Godel being quoted over and over again. Give me a break.

That's me talking to myself. I believe thinking is a conversation, of the various people in your head, each of whom is given a chance to express and you more often than not accept a compromise. And talking of compromise brings me back to that conversation. It all began because we began talking about patriotism and how I thought the whole concept of group, We, social being and all that was crap. At the end of the day everyman was for himself. Because group was generally people who were supporting an idea and no two people can have the same idea. So, group is basically people who compromise their ideas to be part of the group. Shit, I just remembered why I began this piece and I forgot it. Ok, saw Dhobi Ghat trailer today, awesome. OK, but then I realised (track changed) even that everyman was a culmination of billions of tiny particles (cells?) and all of them had to reach a compromise for my to be me. But then, thinking now, all of them ain't doing all that for me. They're doing that shit for themselves and I'm a byproduct of their quest for survival. Hang on, let me think. I ain't being able to do both. Think and write. The act of writing is taking up all my energies and leaving me with nothing to think of.

Hang on. It's on the tips of my fingers, just can't come out. It's clinging on tightly to the darker areas of my brain, and one slip by me will have them lost for a long time. I like that comparision. All this is fake. The act of writing and talking about your writing, is for me too surreal a concept to properly understand and implement. I plug the earphones out. Let me think. Give me some space. Some time. Some quiet. Wait. Writing about writing was one of my favourite topics but now I realise how it's impossible. Because like that, you're never ending. That spiral I was talking about. And before I began this piece, I thought I'd mention it in the end that I'm not going to name this piece but give it a number title. Like Pollock's abstract titles. Will I mention this again in the end? This is not what I've been meaning but I just realised what Hofstadter means by intelligence. All that he's been trying to prove in GEB. If I was a computer, I could write about the whole concept of writing. I'd say I'm writing of what's happening now, or if I was a computer, would I be writing what happened a moment ago(then I would be contradicting myself) and if I wasn't typing of what I had been thinking a moment ago, what would I be typing about. Hang on, I just realized, we are not part of a formal system. We are not machines. We can have a birds eye view of ourselves, agreed that that would still be a part of a larger system, I realise I'm onto something big but I just can't get to it. Wait. What if I went to a bigger system, right till infinity. But I can't go to infinity, because wherever I went, I would be left with more. Like Euclid's Prime Number Theorem. I don't understand. I really don't. Am I in quest of truth, and if so, can I handle the circumstances. I scratch my head.

See, I'm bullshitting about writing all that I can think of. Because there's a bigger process running over thinking which tells me to write about it. Yea, because I cannot tell myself to write within my thinking capabilities. Where does this lead to? And I still don't remember why I started this piece. I wonder how big this post is going to be. It's just beyond me. I can't remember.

And yea, I'm naming this a number after Pollock. If this creates a sense of Deja Vu, I have succeeded. If not, no harm done, because I'm talking about it.

I'm never editing this. Not even the spelling mistakes nothing. If this has happened, it's supposed to be intended. Or is correcting the mistake intended? (All crap, I just edited this.) When people say they're not looking for patterns, or trying to find a higher truth, they're lying. Ofcourse, they're looking for meanings, and answers.

I just brushed my teeth and I remembered why I started this post early this morning. It started off because I said man could live an isolated life and then Kaushik said something. He said if a hundred people liked a movie and recommended it to you, you'd either like it because so many people liked it, that feeling seeped in, or the expectations would rise so high and no matter how good the film, you could not appreciate it. What I'm saying is, like I already mentioned before, we are a mixture of both controllable and uncontrollable factors and having been in a society so long, having been born to people who've been lasting for thousands of generations, like it or not, I is my own self+ everything around me which I have not been able to control. Soon enough, both the parameters become one and you get used to be a part of the fabric. This does not necessarily reveal anything but is just an observation into the nature of the human psyche.

messed up chaos

2010-12-21T23:30:00.004+05:30

The funny part is, I never know what are the inspirations for my new ideas. Like I was telling Kaushik and Vikranth three days ago, a man is a combination of experiences and environments processed through a slightly original idea of a mind. Okay, before I forget, let me tell what in the first place I'm here to write about. I was listening to James Gleick's Chaos and in between two files, it stuck me that if there is something really called Butterfly Effect, then pursuing it to unravel the chaos would take us further away from the absolute truth because in the process of trying to uncover something, you are altering quite a few variable which somehow contribute into the process as a whole and the noise made whilst this process of discovering would change the outcome of the experiment of the radically. I don't know if I'm making any sense but here's what I've been thinking in brief. You are part of a system, so all your actions will affect it. And so, as long as you are within the system, you cannot dream to understand it as a bird's eye view because,

1. that too would be still within the system; imagine a circle which leans into itself and you have a never ending spiral.

2. the kind of changes that would be made to the interdependent variables because of your process of trying to look in would change the system further away from all that you are trying to look at in the first place.

This is as lucid as I can get. I'm not even past 1/7th of GEB but since the moment I've begun reading it, all my writings have been carrying that baggage around. Hang on, is me writing about the way I write similar to the Incompleteness Theorem because I cannot critic my writing through my writing. And yea, I discover Jackson Pollock today. Boy, are those paintings awesome. Especially the "being in the painting part". Got me into thinking of Ray Bradbury's concept of writing, not thinking. Of how I am far too involved while writing to be really considering what is to be written and what is not. Like Pollock says, I am nature. You are letting an impulse drive you, a state of subconsciousness which just knows what word is be entered right after it's previous word. Because, shit, I just broke my rule. I paused.

It's funny how I just realised that both the act and the result of painting is called Painting.

still stuck up

2010-12-16T22:20:00.002+05:30

This is a reply to my previous post I wrote today morning. As soon as I wrote that down, I realised something. I said action expecting a consequence was not right. But even the most basic of stuff we do is done for the consequence. You eat something you like because it tastes good. Action for consequence. You watch a movie hoping that it will help you relax. It is natural. But how much of it can be avoided is the question. Ok, if I'm still ambiguous, we'll talk about it later. Night.

the need to achieve

2010-12-16T14:03:00.002+05:30

This is a corollary of my previous post. That was accidental, this could be called one too but this isn't as instinctive. Anyway, I was snoozing in the car today, having eaten garam garam Rawa Dosa and I don't know what exactly was happening in my head but the thought process seems to have been related to Godel, Escher, Bach's Formal systems and around this beautiful concept of Autological words, the fallacy of formal languages and stuff.

Before, I proceed check this out. An autological sentence is something like, "This sentence has five words". Or, words like 'unhyphenated', 'descriptive' etc. An autological word or a sentence is something which is self referential, it talks about itself as well. And words which do not define themselves are known as heterological words, like, 'tasty', or 'incomplete'. Now, the loose bolt, or rather the inconsistency of it has been exploited by the Grelling's Paradox which says, "Is heterological heterological?" And as to why this has been stuck in my head is the reason that yesterday I thought about something and as is my habit, tried to explain all that in one sentence. So, in the end, I got this- I don't have to state because the right to state stems from the need to prove. What the sentence basically intends to say is that I don't want to be stating stuff because if I'm sure of what I'm about to say, then I don't to say it. But then since I'm stating that, does that mean I'm not confident of what I'm saying? I can't catch what exactly the connection is but it's been stuck in my head. Another example of such a sentence would be the classic, catchy "Change is permanent". What I believe this means is that in this system of the world we live in, just because something is popular or proclaimed, does not mean it is right. The whole system is centrally flawed in case all this is right. We've taken a sentence like Chance is Permanent, which is basically paradoxical and all wrong, and have turned it into a modern Zen saying for mortal insight.

Ok, this isn't why I started off this piece. I'm pretty messed up right now, so let me state it out and leave for the time being. We've all heard about the fickleness of life, it's unpredictability, జీవితం బుద్బుద్ధప్రాయము, about the need to get away from all these shackles because life is a spell cast over us, it's just a dream and you'll see the reality when you die. And I believe a lot of us believe that. So, don't earn like you're crazy, don't expect a lot from your kids, do Yoga and all that are basically the derivatives of those sayings. But then, if life's a dream and you'll get to see the reality anyway after you die, why the hurry in uncovering all that. What people are basically saying is, you're sleeping right now, this is all a dream, when you wake up (aka die), you'll get to see the reality. Then , why are we trying to achieve something? To have our name sculpted in stone, to achieve so much to live as immortal legends in the folklore, or sometimes philanthropically, to make the world a better place for the future generations. WTF! I don't know if there's a God and all but as long as I cannot trace the reason for my birth and this world's, I'll accept him. When there's a God and you're going to end up with him after you die anyway, where nothing, not how rich you are, not how many films you've made, not how many people came to your funeral and all that bullshit does not matter anyway, what is stopping us from having a good time. Is it because we are too scared to accept the frivolousness of our lives. Because if all this is a dream, then maybe I don't have to forgo my beer or cigarette to lead a "happier, longer life to the fullest" because even if you win the rat race, you're still a rat. What that sleep-dream-realize theory evidently tells us is that all we're doing now is wiling away time. How I do it is my call. And I don't have a reason to achieve anymore because it's all going to be same anyway, atleast for me, which funnily enough is all that I care for anymore.

If you think I'm being pessimistic here, for one, I don't believe in the whole concept of the word, think again. I'm not encouraging people here to dope their asses off and pee on streets. All I'm saying is, don't do something because something else has to be achieved. Because all that you're thinking you've achieved is crappy enough anyway, in the eyes of the great creator, so it wouldn't make much of a difference. And if you're planning to leave a legacy or a fortune, honestly, do you give a shit about your grandsons who aren't born yet and who might as well not.

I know every action has a consequence but the consequence should not motivate the action. Funnily enough, we live in such a capricious world where somebody, that's very sad though, has done the action and when he's waiting for the result, dies. Where does all that toiling crap go to? All I'm saying is, this moment, ask yourself what you want to do. If the answer is go to sleep, shut the computer down, close the gigantic book you've been reading, throwing the due project out of your head, grab a blanket, plug in Kandisa and go to sleep. If you die in your sleep, you'll atleast die a happy one.

Boy, I love that line in Khajuraho, "अनहद के आँगन में नाचे चंदा सितारे" .

The boundaries of infinity. Genius.

There is a continuation to this post. Check it out.

the need to prove

2010-12-06T23:06:00.006+05:30

back here again for a quick piece of action. been scribbling a lot down of late. so much to write, so much to post here. i wrote about ramu on pfc today, let's see if it gets published. anyway, i was talking to kruthi earlier and one of my deepest questions came to the fore. why do all of us have a need to prove? maybe to ourselves, maybe to others; though the latter is awfully worse than the former. but still, life ain't no theorem to be proving. that is, once you've come down to the last step, you write hence, proved and you've earned your right to glory, like checkmating. all that comes into play when we look at life long-term. all of us dream of marriage, old age, retirement and the rest but is it all worth it? about 4 years ago, somebody thought they'd live with me forever, now i've proved them otherwise(ofcourse galthi meri thi). 3 years ago, the worst thing that could've happened to me was flunking, now i laugh at the prospect of it. life's far too fast, far too fleeting, far too messy, a function of a magnanimous(though that depends on you) number of variables f(N), and what fucking eccentricity would have us stop living and etch out a plan for ourselves. i'm reading GEB and so let me put it this way, when you're living in this system called life, you'll have to go with the flow. you cannot go out of the system. funnily enough, when you try to and you think you're outside the system, that's still looking at the smaller system from within the larger system. to be deciding and trying to stick to something just because you've decided earlier that that's what you're going to do later. i read somewhere today, can't remember where, that the yesterday you isn't the you now. when you're changing everyday, every moment, and what seems so right this moment might not appear the next, what's the whole prospect of planning. of setting goals, achieving them and proving to somebody that this somebody who once was, has become somebody else. thinking now, as i write, all that seems like searching in vain for one constant point, like clinging onto a mirage with the hope that it'd turn into an oasis one day. life's not a program where you write code, compile it, execute and see the results. all life, you're still writing the program, and you don't have a backspace in the hypothetical version of the concept of the linearity of time. all you can do is write the best code you can. the uparwala will execute it when you sit next to him. think about it.

a quick retrospection

2010-11-30T19:00:00.003+05:30

it doesn't make sense, does it? nobody wants their daughter to marry a friggin' asshole but in case she's been raped or stuff like that, you turn to the same sonuvagun and beg him to marry your daughter. if he's been as psychotic before marriage, how'd your daughter be any happier after she's done marrying the same guy? WTF is even wrong with people.

motivation source- taraka ratna's okato number kurradu

We, the people.

2010-11-16T20:30:00.025+05:30

It's 11.44 now, అమ్మ's asleep and Boll Weevil's playing in my years. Everything set for a long post, a long list of revelations, complaints and questions. Ok, hang on, let me stop the song. I can't concentrate. Yea, I re-position my chair. Good now.

So what is it that I want to talk about. A lot of stuff. This line's been stuck in my head, looping over and over again since the last two days or so. First, I'll take it out of the system. You know, people talk about 'being human', about 'all those imperfections, little mistakes etc. which make us human', about 'admitting imperfections'. I spoke about such stuff. I was far too lost out in the cliched world and that was probably my resort to convince people that compromising is okay. Well, since I've said those words, I take them back now. If we are born human, and want to stay human, blushing about all those imperfections, then what is the whole purpose of our existence. I wrote this about two days ago, "they say if you try to be someone else, it's a waste of the person you are. if you die the man you were born, where is the whole purpose of your life. and what does it take to be the person you want to be?". Now, I take a step forward and say, there is no harm in aspiring for superhumanness and no glory in accepting compromise. I don't know why the system has changed so much. As తనికెళ్ళ భరణి was pointing out in an interview the other day, "ఒకప్పుడు మందు తాగటం అని చెప్పడానికి సిగ్గు పడేవాళ్ళు. ఇప్పుడు నలుగురిలో తాగకపోవడం అనాగరికం ఐపొఇన్ది". Why the pride in acknowledging weaknesses. Not that I do not do it, but here I'm also asking myself the same question. Not that people should be cowardly about it, but then shouldn't they atleast have the desire to overcome them. Correct all those they's into we's.

I'm not sure where I heard this, I'm guessing in కోతి కొమచ్చి audio samples but it flows truth. Hang on, let me listen to it again and transcribe it. Here it goes,

ఇవన్ని సరే గని, వీటన్నింటిని మించిన రుచి ఇంకోటి ఉంది. గడిచి పాయిన కష్టాల కథ, ఈదేసిన గోదారి, దాటేసిన గండం, తార్ రోడ్ మీద ఎండలో జోళ్ళు లేకుండా నడిచి నీడకు చేరి సేద తీరిన కళ్ళు, ఈ కష్టాలు అనుభవిస్తున్నపుడు బాధగానే ఉంటుంది గని, అవి దాటి పోయాక వాటిని తలుచుకోవడం, వినేవాళ్ళకి అనుభవాలుగా చెప్పడం, ఆ హాయికి కొత్త ఆవకాయ కూడ సాటి రాదు.

If writer's are those people who can make the heart of the readers beat faster, can make them pant, can make them tremble, can make them cry and can make them shag(though arguably making somebody masturbate is easiest of them all), then ముళ్ళపూడి వెంకటరమణ stands right up there. Something is wrong, I can't focus at all. I lack that purpose and focus to finish this post. Will do it tomorrow. Night.

3.19

Ok. I'm back. Was really sleepy yesterday. So, let me finish this post first. A lot of ideas came out today, I'm jotting them all down. Been one fruitful day today in terms of the spectrum of ideas I'm listening to from within. There's so much more to write in this post. So, let's say I chuck it, come back to it later. Till next time, read Cricinfo. I recently discovered their great trove of sportswriters.

And yea, before I forget, I got myself a big A3 size poster of Khajoor Road. GOD.

aaaargh!

2010-11-09T23:13:00.005+05:30

Mark wasn't wrong. I've read Accidental Billionaires, seen The Social Network and have read quite something about Zuckerberg and about all those people who say he's cheated or stolen them their due. Sorkin provides an excellent answer in the movie, "If you guys were the inventors of facebook, you would have invented facebook." Bingo. Mark reminds me a lot of Steve and that is probably why I envy and worship him. Its not just intellect or luck that's made them successful. More importantly, its their single minded devotion to the love of their lives. Zuckerberg lives and breathes Facebook just like at one point of time Jobs lived Apple. That vision is so powerful that nothing else has the ability to lure them away from that path to achieve it. Not friends, not foes, not girls and definitely not money. And that I believe is very important for anyone. I know, instead of preaching shit, I should be doing it myself. Genius. Like nothing else matters. And that portrayal as a mean asshole is just a shield to protect himself from the various temptations life around him has to offer.

10/11/2010

Got unplugged yesterday. I'm getting addicted to it. I've seen the movie again today and boy, was I inspired by it again. I mean, that Zen like quality Zuckerberg has, that narrow vision(sometimes interpreted as focus) is irreproachable. I believe any successful man, anybody who's really done something, has had it. All I can think of now is Jobs, yeah, but then if you want to do something so novel and at such an age, when you have nothing to show for yourself, that steel willed belief and focus are essential. To say no to friends, to social life, to girls, and to everything else that'll make you normal. That is the fucking prerequisite. If I sound jealous, that's because I am. How does somebody earn that? That Dravid-ian ability to bend down, do what you are supposed to, not give a shit if the rest of the world is partying, not give a shit what people think about you. All that matters, when you're done with your work and look up, is that you show the world what they've never seen before.

That's all I can think of about now. Till next time, watch The Social Network.

The System, Supertramp and fb

2010-11-08T21:11:00.002+05:30

Watching Into the Wild. Reading Godel, Escher, Bach. Loving it. All the pending gyaan of the last few weeks coming in a rush. No more fb. Been jotting down some stuff today. This came when I was watching Into the Wild today- The difference between living and dying runs pretty thin. With living, you realize that you are on the verge of death every moment and with dying, you've just crossed that line. I love Mahesh Shankar's violin versions in the end medleys of both Vennela and Prasthanam. Makes me crave for more. No wonder so many people quote Hofstadter. 40 pages through and I'm spellbound by his observations. So real that I've felt all of them and yet his ability to give those fluid thoughts a concrete shape is fascinating. The Matrix talks about The System; now I know where that came from. Watched Tanikela Bharani's interview yesterday. Loved him speak about Sri Sri, Chalam and Telugu. Feeling good today. Did what I wanted to, didn't go out or meet a lot of people today. Liking it. And yea, before I leave, if one sentence helps me understand people better, it is this- We judge ourselves by our ideals, others by their actions.

The freedom of imprisonment

2010-10-26T12:29:00.007+05:30

That scene in Udaan in the end, where there is a chase sequence between the son and the father is one of the greatest in recent cinema. Seldom has my heart leapt out with joy for a fictional character and that is one of those instances. The first time I saw it among 300 people, I yelled out. And now, when I watched it alone, my heart soared high. That scene in a nutshell signifies the entire movie; that scene in itself a tribute to hope, freedom and life.

Udaan made me think. On one end, there's Lakshya, where though everybody believes in Karan, he himself doesn't. And on the other end, there's Rohan where he isn't allowed to be what he so firmly believes to be his destiny. I've seen it happen in a lot of cases. Personally, I see a lot of Lakshyas that Udaans. I don't know if it's the human mentality but given a lot of choice, it's very hard to find a converging point for all your thoughts. Infact, even in Lakshya, only when he had run out of all choices and was forced to bend down and break his back did he succeed. It's funny that the more freedom you get, the less you respect it. Like a lot of things in life. If imprisonment, slavery, captivity can drive you to frustration, so can a lot of freedom, free will and indecisiveness. Not just writing, any job, if has to be done well needs a disregard for everything else apart from that. That iron will to defy all the odds and say no matter what happens, I'm not leaving this task unfinished. And where does somebody learn that; that do or die attitude sprouts from a childhood which never was. Where all that matters is survival, survival of your dreams, survival of the you and that realization of what the most important thing in your life. And that is why I believe that greatness is a result of intense frustration, insecurity, a need to prove your mettle and a clenched jaw. Every great man has had an impetus early in life to prove something, to reach a higher pedestal of acceptance. And that is why well brought up, urban kids are so messed up. They do not have that driving force which would give them a sense of direction, a sense of achievement and the need to prove. Since parents already cocoon them in an environment of luxury, comfort and security, where the best act of the day is orgasm, actually going out and working hard becomes a pain in the arse. And no matter how talented you are, it is your attitude to working towards it makes you great. Like Einstein once said, "Its just that I sit with my problems longer." And since all that energy of youth has to come out through some source, it does as tempers on parents and girlfriends and an urge to break the law. This is the primary reason why affluent high school kids think breaking laws is cool.

You know, I talk about writing so much, talk about intellectuality, feel the need to appear a genius, the insecurity of proving the world that I'm a writer too because I don't spend a lot of time writing. I find it that talking about writing is what makes me more popular than actually making an effort to write down some worthy words. And that is because I don't have a need to prove to anyone what I'm like. Yeah, that's the word, complacency. And with Rohan in Udaan, he's all but complacent. When nothing is going right, you turn to the things you are confident about. And with people like me, things generally go right, so there is no need to spend time and energy mastering a craft. Quotes, beads, cigarettes, kurtas or diaries don't make you a writer. If you' re a writer good enough, all these things will automatically fall into place but craving for all these wouldn't make you a writer worth the paper you've written on. It's high time I write fiction. Non-fiction, or essays, as an art form are pretty easy. But when there is a story coming out, it takes all your creative energies, leaves you exhausted and eventually looking back, elated.

life, the way you want to see it

2010-10-24T23:23:00.005+05:30

It's funny, how in life we take things the way we want to. The ability to derive from something what exactly you've been trying to express, to relate with. And when there are things you are saying, but want to add credibility to them, you relate them to those popular sources who are similar enough. Pretty concocted sentence. Ok, had this really really long conversation with yasaswyny. Loved it. There was a lot of shit in it, like generalizing people but then there were a few gems in the conversation too. We spoke about god, about marriage, about people, about people, about physics, about thathas, about genius, about mirapakaya bajjis, about prospective grooms, about marijuana, about marquez, and about why I believe why she should never marry. Loved it, time flew so fast that we didn't realize we had been speaking for 4-5 hours. Long since I've had somebody listen to me uninterrupted and I told her my opinions on a lot of things, why people should open up their eyes and ears and warned her against trusting men completely; how we can be complete assholes. We spoke about women in my life, about anirudh, about poems, about writers and cigarettes, about what it means in life to be happy and successful. Now, as I list out things, I relive all those ideas and it makes me want to do it again. Ages since I've had such an uninhibited conversation, with honest, impromptu, sometimes brutal perceptions flowing from both sides. Thanks yashu, for Mirchi Bajji, Jamkai, Binary Logic problems and a very memorable afternoon.

Free Software and a Better World- Part I

2010-10-16T23:53:00.008+05:30

Imagine you're living in a newly built town. There are no proper houses yet, and there's only one factory where there are all the tools and trained workers required to build houses. Its just that the folks who run the factory, don't give those tools out to people. So, if you want to get yourself a house, you go to them, pay as much as they demand and get them to build you a house the way they want to. What does it sound like, monarchy? That was what the software industry was like until Richard Stallman decided one day to find like-minded people who had the most primitive of tools but nevertheless wanted to build their own houses. So what they did was they started to build simple houses, those they could with their tools, shared their tools with others so that they could build their houses and soon developed more complex tools to build bigger, better houses. That way, everybody could build the houses the way they wanted to and because they pretty much shared the tools, it cost them a lot less than they paid the guys at the factory. So, what about those workers who worked in the factory? Wouldn't they run out of a job and living in case everybody had access to tools and could build their own houses. Well, its just that though all of us can have access to bricks and concrete, we can't build nothing. Because we've never been trained to do that. And this is where all those trained workers get into picture. They provide their expertise according to your whims and desires. The bottom line, share the products, sell the services.

For the first time all my life, now, I have a clear idea as to what the GNU and Free Software movement are all about and as to why they're so essential to the society we live in. Read this speech by Stallman in NYU, which inspired me into writing this.

I'm writing a detailed follow-up article soon.

ఈ మనవ ప్రస్థానం

2010-10-15T14:11:00.010+05:30

I've been thinking about this since I started watching Prasthanam today morning. I'm done with the movie, and having just masturbated, I sit down to write.

There are basically two types of art; and for that matter, artists. The first type of art is the one where every scene, every stroke, every note plays a part in the end result. Every moment takes us to that converging point. The artist in that case knows what he has to show and how he's set to doing it. A prime example for that kind of work would be books like Shantaram, like The Alchemist, where the author knows what all has happened and is trying to place everything in a pattern. Prasthanam is one such movie. Katta knows precisely what he is doing, and so(but for unnecessary songs and a romantic angle to it) every shot, sequence and the background score help us reach the pinnacle, the crescendo. On the other hand, there is another variety of artists. People who themselves don't know what they are trying to tell us, who, exactly like us, are trying to find a pattern to the art. And that would be something like The Catcher in the Rye, The Bicycle Days, like Gogol. And so, there is no converging point but a panorama of life.

For the artists belonging to the first set, cinema, or a book, or an instrument is a medium, that's it. Like a saw, a tractor, a wheel. All the medium drives is the idea. And depending upon what their idea is, they choose the suitable medium. On the other hand, for the other people, it is more about the characters, than the story. The plot, unlike in the previous case, is unimportant. The characters are more intriguing, their actions more interesting than the destination. There is no better way between the two. Its just that, in the first case, the artist has already undertaken the journey and is narrating everything looking back. So, what you necessarily get is a an experience, a philosophy. And in the other case, the author is still painting his strokes. He's still trying to find out why the colours act in the way they do. He is still undertaking that journey.

I'd like to believe that I belong to the second group. Right now, as I write this, I guess I have a vague idea of what I'm trying to achieve but what necessarily pushes me is the urge to write, the need to know. Its funny that yesterday I read about Godel's Incompleteness Theorem and Meta-Mathematics and today I talk about Meta-Art, if what I'm writing could be honoured with such a comparision. That was basically what I'd been thinking all day. The relationship between the Whats, Whys and Hows of writing, or for that matter any art.

I believe, either before or while undertaking a piece of art, the artist should ask himself these three questions: What am I trying to achieve? How should I go about doing it? and Why should I be doing it only what way. If the artist has all those questions answered and sets down to work, then he's like a Mathematician, in pursuit of the proof, because he already knows the end. And if the artist answers those questions while working on them, then that work of art becomes Meta-art. And in this case, he doesn't know what he's trying to achieve but works on knowing it. Its like writing a book on why you're writing. I guess I'm still high on the Hofstadter article on Godel and so all this but before I sat down, I don't think I was trying to achieve this. I don't know what it was, but this sure doesn't seem like that.

I was talking to Thatha over lunch today and we got into this discussion between various languages because he was watching a Tamil serial. I once read an article about the different natures of languages, how people are defined by the languages they use and all that and he didn't seem pretty convinced with that theory. What that article basically said was languages are reflections of the people who use it and vice versa. I believe, Telugu give me more poetic liberties than English does. Its like saying I have more space to express my ideas. Like this phrase, karige kalama; tacky I know but I can't think of anything else. Anyway, if the English alternative for that would be passing time or literally melting time. Stinks doesn't it. But in Telugu, its exactly what I want to. Infact, our imagination is confined to our languages. A lot of us think in terms of a language, Telugu, English, Maths. And that gives us a boundary, a periphery. Infact, right now, when I was searching for an example, I couldn't get beyond this because that's the limit of what I can express in words. But I believe I'm yet to rise to that stage where I can think and process in terms of colours or musical notes. For me, thinking in music, talking to myself in terms of high and low notes would be it, the peak. Because then the spectrum would be huge. If its English, I have 26 alphabet, their various legal combinations called words and their legal combinations called sentences. With Telugu, it might be the cube of it. But if its colours, I can atleast imagine 256 colours, so their combinations would be a huge number. And if it's musical notes, then there are millions of ways in which I can think, feel and express.

I don't know where all this came from. I think and imagine most when I'm communicating. When there is a conversation. And here, its a conversation I'm having with myself. Pushing myself to the limit of my imagination, expression.

Well, that's about it. I'll re-read it and post it. Looks pretty long. Not bad for a 25 minute conversation. Oh! in the first place, I wanted to talk about Prasthanam. Loved watching it. Amazing dialogue and cinematography. A tighter second half, a prettier heroine and a better background score would've made it brilliant. But then, unless we have something to live upto, there is no point living.

Just remembered this when I was reading my previous post. Thatha said Amuktamalyada and Srinathuni Kasi Khandam have been understood only by those scholars at the top of the pyramid and I realised that their greatness didn't lie in the words the authors used. The meanings of words can be understood but what marks a truly great writer is that leap of imagination he takes to string two seemingly unrelated words to bring out precisely what he means and in the best possible of ways. A few people tend to overdo it, mind you there's no error syntactically but overdoing it kills the affect of it, but then immortal writers know just where to stop. And such a work for me would qualify to sit at the highest pedestal of all literature, Poetic Prose. Yes, I'm talking about Marquez.

Of poets and their words

2010-10-13T20:15:00.003+05:30

I'm in the best of my moods as I listen to Jalsa songs and play video games. I feel good today, really good about living. And in one of those moments, who do I turn to, the poets ofcourse. I listen to Ghal Ghal, You and I, Jeevithmante Poratam and I thank God for making those men who in a few lines teach me how to live. There's something about poetry and its utterly ridiculous simplicity. This is where, so many times, I've seen rare genius break out. The ability of a few men to express anger, hatred, love and life in those words you've known all your life. Where does it come from? That insight, that, I don't know how to put this, that ability to add meaning to life, to leash it within a few legible symbols. There's nothing like it. And it is in times like these that I strongly believe in divine intervention in the lifes of all the God's men. Sirivennela, Veturi, Dylan and Lennon, you're giving me dreams to live for.

Bidding adieu

2010-10-08T17:56:00.003+05:30

I will not be posting for sometime. I don't know how long. Knowing about a few people, reading about a few I realized how futile my writing and the content of it are. How foolish I've been to assume myself to be worth something and reveling in the mirage of false genius. So, until I look upto myself and deem myself worth being published, I'm not posting anything.

God bless.

What's it about those four years

2010-10-02T23:36:00.005+05:30

Watched Happy Days today. Couldn't finish it. It's one of those movies you love and dread at the same time. Fate or not, it got released a day before my college started. So, everybody from my batch imbibed it in all its entirety and so we tend to relate, yes I'm making a statement here that all of us, it to our college lives. That's what Sekhar Kammula has done to us. He's inflicted a curse upon us which raised our hopes, created those dreams and now, as I end my Engineering, I dread having a cinematic climax. And I know I can't take it lightly. For that matter, none of us can. Far too much has happened in these 3 years. Funnily enough, I just noticed that today's 3rd October and so it was exactly three years ago that I officially became a college-goer. Boy, all those adventures, all those triple rides, grabbing tiffin boxes, venting out frustrations and then apologizings, first day first shows; there's more coming but I've been planning to do it elaborately. So, one of these sundays, I'm going to sit down, and blog. About that college trip and about the rest of my college days. Till then, let the happy days unveil.

Elementary, my dear Watson.

2010-09-19T21:33:00.010+05:30

Right there, at the end of the film, Watson summarizes everything about Holmes- He's far too fond of himself. That is Sherlock Holmes for you in a nutshell. Eccentric, egoistic, arrogant, showman, brilliant, observant, loner and the god of logical deduction. Just finished watching Ritchie's Sherlock Holmes. I have to admit I grew fond of Downey's Holmes. Wacky, messy and a genius in disguise, Downey's Holmes had a kind of likability to it which is hard to find in a character who outsmarts everybody else around him. That's how you and I are, aren't we. If somebody is better than us in any respect, we either worship him or detest him; in case of the former, we overlook the defects and in case of the latter, we purposefully avoid confronting the true nature of acumen.

I first came across a Sherlock Holmes story when I was about 12 and Thatha gifted me this huge book with all the original stories of Sherlock Holmes. It stayed in my cupboard for a long time until I somehow got interested with in and tried giving that book a chance. But even now, though I know quite a lot about him, I still haven't finished that book. Jinxed, I presume. That apart, Holmes, like a lot of my other fictional idols has always spurred me into imitating him, or rather, imbibing him. When I came across Holden Caulifield, I detested the whole purpose of material existence and grew cynical about everything around me. Then came along Shantaram who taught me to try everything I come across because good story tellers are always the ones who've seen more of the world than anybody else. I cannot think of anybody else now but there has always been the large looming influence of Jobs and there's a long list of things which sub consciously have been transferred onto me from him, though with no knowledge of his.

Back to Holmes. His traits, his habits, his methods and his quirks are far too much not to be impressed with. He does really hail from Bohemia. An extremely gifted observer who is that pitch perfect blend of a street smart worker, a self-obsessed practitioner, a saint who is uninterested in the ways of the world and a fanatic who's practised his mind into being a keen one. To put it straight, Holmes has nothing more than just those traits which we see in people everyday. But what is extraordinary about him is the fact that he is a lot of people rolled into one. His confidence borders on the edge of arrogance, his methods are radically different from what conventional wisdom suggests, he's addicted to tobacco, cocaine and himself and for him, it is trivial that matters the most. Cynically, there's nothing really great attached to his work. All he does is keep his eyes, ears and mind open enough and instead of existing in a dazed state everyday, he's far too proactive and does what, ideally, every human is capable of doing.

Contrary to popular belief, it is not any of those traits mentioned above which make him gifted or blessed. If Holmes was ever blessed with something, it is with a keen mind which is not afraid to ask questions and make note of the answers, impartially. Not accepting orthodox answers and questioning authority with a mind courageous, or is that ignorant, enough not to rest until a solution has been conceived is all that requires to be Holmes. If you lived properly, that moment, with your mind and body aligned. Living, taking note of every moment, every blink, every breathe, every note and every puff. Nobody can teach it, all you can do is learn it.

You will hear the beat of the horses

2010-09-17T23:42:00.006+05:30

What is it about gifted young kids challenging conventional wisdom, about standing up against veterans, about questioning the authority and ridiculing all the work of that man. Tell you what, it's irresistible. Not to think but to write impulsively is an art I'm yet to master. But yes, I've been hearing a lot of it from Ray Bradbury. Maybe I should finish reading Zen in the Art of Writing before getting down to Hitch 22 or a Les Miserables. What is it with Gus Van Sant. I've seen two of his films, Good Will Hunting and Finding Forrester and in both there are gifted kids who mock the dreams, sweat and blood of a man who still cannot fathom how a 16 year old kid does what he hasn't been able to all his life. Sad, so very sad. The fact that someday, when you grow old and are imbibed into the system, a kid barely half your age and with no respect to the love of your life challenges you and perhaps embarasses you infront of all those people from whom you've earned your respect.

Not a movie I really loved but there are some excerpts in it where I was spellbound. Maybe the need to see myself in Jamal was far too overwhelming for me not to find similarities between the both of us and how I could convince myself to be the gifted writer who can look at the world in a way nobody else has and who is good enough to tell it to the world. What else did I want to write about? About spontaneity, about writing and how writing is so much about doing it than thinking about it. God, do I want to do this. I've always believed Bradbury to be spot on when he said, wake up, write for an hour everyday and then get back to it. Forrester has a similar argument. He says, in the first draft, don't think, just write. And then in the second, use your head. But I know somewhere deep inside, I just understood that using a conjunction to begin a sentence is not always recommended and realised that there is more to the art of writing than words jammed together, that if I maintain a strict regimen of writing everyday, make a habit out of it, breathe it out and read all that I can, someday I'd convince myself that I'm worth being published. Not that it's an incentive to write. I know what I'm talking about. Initially yes, the need to be recognised, praised and talked about pushed me into writing but then on, its upto you, to talk to yourself, to write for yourself, that the biggest incentive in writing is itself. Tacky, I know and a variant of the Zen saying. Right now, as I type this, I think I'm a Salinger or a Hemingway typing away to glory. As the clock strikes midnight, the entire house is quiet, all that can be heard is the sound of crickets through the window next to me and the hypnotizing rhythm of my typewriter creating worlds from ink and weaving worlds through the intricate web of my thoughts. Yes, I do realise I'm getting far too flowery to be sober but that is because I'm far too sleepy and still tranced by the words of Forrester.

That's about it. That being my first draft. I don't think I'll have a second draft to this but I'll get back tomorrow correcting all those seemingly little errors which could ruin the best of pieces. Till then, to the greatest of writers who unfurled our imaginations and who taught us that words have power enough to drive a man insane.

అంత కమ్ముల మహత్యం

2010-09-07T19:11:00.008+05:30

This has been waiting to come out since ages. But sad telugu editor and I don't think a lot of it is comprehensible. Give it a shot though, but if you can't do it, revert to the english version right below this.

తెలుగు. ఎన్ని రొజులైందొ తెలుగులొ రాసి. బ్య్ థె వయ్, ఇప్పుదు నెను రాసె దనిలొ, కొన్ని చిన్న చిన్న స్పెల్లింగ్ మిస్తకెస్ ఉందొచు ఎందుకంతె నెను వదెది త్రన్స్లతొర్ కబత్తి.

రొఫ్ల్! ఒకప్పుదు ఎంగ్లిష్ రాక తెలుగు మత్లదె వదిని, ఎక్ష్ప్రెస్స్ చెయదానికి తెలుగు పదాలు ఉసె చెసె వద్ని కాని ఇప్పుదు, ఇ దొణ్త్ క్నౌ అది చొఇచె ఆ లెక పొథెయ్ కవలని చెఉకున్న అలవతొ గాని, ఎక్కువ షాథం ఆలొచించదం కుద ఎంగ్లిష్ లొ నెయ్ అవుతొంది. అంద్ థిస్ ఫ్రిగ్గిన్ ఎదితొర్ సుచ్క్స్. హంగ్ ఒన్.

అన్య్వయ్, ఇ చణ్త్ సీం తొ ఫింద్ నొ బెత్తెర్ ఎదితొర్, బా, ఈ ఒకసరికి అద్జుస్త్ ఐపొంది, నెక్ష్త్ తిమె నించి స్పెల్లింగ్ మిస్తకెస్ లెని చ్లేన్ తెలుగు చదువుదురు గాని

నువ్వెన, నా నువ్వెన

నువ్వెనా, నాకు నువ్వెన

సుర్యుదల్లె, సూధి గుచె..

ఎందుకు దెవుద వెతురిని తీసుకెల్లిపొయవ్. జనలు చొర్రెచ్త్ ఎయ్ అంతరు, ఉంతెయ్ వలుఎ తెలియదని. ఆయన ఉన్నన్ని రొజులు, ఎప్పుదు గుర్థు చెస్కొలెదు. పొయక, యె పాత విన్న ఆయనె మదిలొ. బ్త్వ్, ఈ పొస్త్ ఎయ్ దాని గురించెయ్. వల్ల గురించి ఎవరైథెయ్ నాలొ, నెను తెలుగు వాద్నిని అని గుర్థుచెసరొ. ఈం నొత్ సయింగ్ అందుకె ఈ రెవొలుతిఒన్ అంథ. నా గురించి నాకు తెలుసు. ఎక్ష్తెర్నల్ ఫొర్చెస్ నన్ను కొంచం దూరం వరకె నన్ను పుష్ చెయ్యగలవు; ప్రొబబ్ల్య్ ఎవరినైన. కాని ఒక పొఇంత్ లొ నెనె రేలిజె అయ్య, ఎంథ వెరెవి ఎంథ పిచైన, నెను మనస్పూర్థిగ పదుకునె ముందు నాకు తెలుగు పత, తెలుగు కథ లెక తెలుగు చినెమ నె ఆ చొంప్లెతెనెస్స్ ని ఇవ్వగలిగై.

అ చౌప్లె ఒఫ్ యేర్స్ అగొ, నెను అనుకునె వదిని, థొక్కలొ తెలుగు చినెమ ఎంతి తీసెది, హొల్ల్య్వూద్ హిఘ్ గ్రదె చినెమ తీదం అని. అందుకె షెఖర్ కమ్ముల అమెరిచ లొ చదివి తెలుగు చినెమ తీస్థెయ్ నాకు సెన్సె అనిపియలె. బుత్ ఈరొజు, బల సుబ్రహ్మనీం పదుథ తీయగ చూస్తున్నప్పుదు, ఆయన మతలు వింతు, వెతురి పాత వింతు, మనసులొ ఒక తెలియని బరువు, అ సెన్సె ఒఫ్ హేవినెస్స్. రెసొనంచె? యె దెషం లొ, యె భాష లొ యె మహ కవి రయగలుగుతదంది వెతురి రాసినత్తు. ఈవె క్నౌన్ థిస్ అల్ల్ అలొంగ్. అర్థం చెస్కొదనికి తిమె పత్తింది. అసలెంతి లినె,

యెదమ చతన షివుని విల్లును ఎథిన ఆ రముదెయ్

యెత్త గలద సీథ జదను, థలి కత్తె వెలలొ

అల కొసెసి నత్తు లెదు. అంద్ ఫొర్ థత్, థంక్ యౌ కమ్ముల. ఫొర్ రెమిందింగ్ మె, అ లొత్ ఒఫ్ పెఒప్లె లికె మె, తొ గెత్ బచ్క్ తొ ఔర్ రూత్స్.

ద్య్లన్ నచక కదు, థను వెతురి లా మనసు నింపదు కబత్తి.

చొబైన్ నచక కదు, థను బలు లాగ కదుపు నింపలెదు కబత్తి.

అమ్మ కదుపు చల్లగ లొ ఉన్న మధురత్వం ఇంకెయ్ పదల్లొ ఉంతయ్య చెప్పు?

ఒన్ అ బిగ్గెర్ సిజె, కమ్ముల ఇంత్రొదుచెద్ ఉస్ తొ అరుద్ర, స్రిస్రి, అథ్రెయ, ఇందిరెచ్త్ గానె. నెనెదొ గొప్ప గొప్ప కవిథలు చదివెసను, వెయి పదగలు అవ్వగొత్తని అని చెప్పత్లెయ్. కాని ఇప్పుదు తెలుగు ని చూస్థెయ్ కల్లకి హయిగ ఉంతుంది. తెలుగు పాత వింతె దెవుదికి దెగ్గరగ అనిపిస్తుంది.

తెలుగు కథ వింతెయ్ యెదుపొస్తుంది.

ఆ ఒకతొ తరగథి తెలుగు పుస్తకం ఇంక కల్ల ముందు తిరుగుతుంది. నా 10థ్ చ్లస్స్ తెక్ష్త్బూక్ లొ కథలు గుర్థొస్తున్నై. నా అర్రొగంచె తగ్గుతొంది, ఇగ్నొరంచె ని అచ్చెప్త్ చెస్తున్న, చిన్న చిన్న విషయల్ని ఆస్వదిస్తున్న.

ఇన్నల్లు, జీవిథం అంతెయ్ ఎదొ గొప్పగ సధించెయదం అనుకున్న.

కాని ఇప్పుదె తెలుస్తొంది, పెద్ద చిన్న అని ఎవి ఉందవు. నువ్వు జీవిథంలొ ప్రథి క్షనం ఏం చెద్దం అని దెచిదె చెస్తవొ, ఎవైథెయ్ చెస్తవొ, అవి నిన్ను గొప్పొదిని చెస్తై.

telugu. enni rojulaindo telugulo raasi. by the way, ippudu nenu raase danilo, konni chinna chinna spelling mistakes undochu endukante nenu vadedi translator kabatti.

rofl! okappudu english raaka telugu matlade vadini, express cheyadaaniki telugu padaalu use chese vadni kaani ippudu, i don't know adi choice aa leka pothey kavalani cheukunna alavato gaani, ekkuva shaatham aalochinchadam kuda english lo ney avutondi. and this friggin editor sucks. hang on.

anyway, i can't seem to find no better editor, baa, ee okasariki adjust aipondi, next time ninchi spelling mistakes leni clean telugu chaduvuduru gaani

nuvvena, naa nuvvena

nuvvenaa, naaku nuvvena

suryudalle, soodhi guche..

enduku devuda veturini teesukellipoyav. janalu correct ey antaru, untey value teliyadani. aayana unnanni rojulu, eppudu gurthu cheskoledu. poyaka, ye paata vinna aayane madilo. btw, ee post ey daani gurinchey. valla gurinchi evaraithey naalo, nenu telugu vaadnini ani gurthuchesaro. i'm not saying anduke ee revolution antha. naa gurinchi naaku telusu. external forces nannu koncham dooram varake nannu push cheyyagalavu; probably evarinaina. kaani oka point lo nene realize ayya, entha verevi entha pichaina, nenu manaspoorthiga padukune mundu naaku telugu pata, telugu katha leka telugu cinema ne aa completeness ni ivvagaligai.

a couple of years ago, nenu anukune vadini, thokkalo telugu cinema enti teesedi, hollywood high grade cinema teedam ani. anduke shekhar kammula america lo chadivi telugu cinema teesthey naaku sense anipiyale. but eeroju, bala subrahmaniam padutha teeyaga choostunnappudu, aayana matalu vintu, veturi paata vintu, manasulo oka teliyani baruvu, a sense of heaviness. resonance? ye desham lo, ye bhaasha lo ye maha kavi rayagalugutadandi veturi raasinattu. i've known this all along. artham cheskodaniki time pattindi. asalenti line,

yedama chatana shivuni villunu ethina aa ramudey

yetta galada seetha jadanu, thali katte velalo

ala kosesi nattu ledu. and for that, thank you kammula. for reminding me, a lot of people like me, to get back to our roots.

dylan nachaka kadu, thanu veturi laa manasu nimpadu kabatti.

atif aslam nachaka kadu, thanu balu laaga kadupu nimpaledu kabatti.

amma kadupu challaga lo unna madhuratwam inkey padallo untayya cheppu?

on a bigger size, kammula introduced us to arudra, srisri, athreya, indirect gaane. nenedo goppa goppa kavithalu chadivesanu, veyi padagalu avvagottani ani cheppatley. kaani ippudu telugu ni choosthey kallaki hayiga untundi. telugu paata vinte devudiki deggaraga anipistundi.

telugu katha vintey yedupostundi.

aa okato taragathi telugu pustakam inka kalla mundu tirugutundi. naa 10th class textbook lo kathalu gurthostunnai. naa arrogance taggutondi, ignorance ni accept chestunna, chinna chinna vishayalni aaswadistunna.

innallu, jeevitham antey edo goppaga sadhincheyadam anukunna.

kaani ippude telustondi, pedda chinna ani evi undavu. nuvvu jeevithamlo prathi kshanam eam cheddam ani decide chestavo, evaithey chestavo, avi ninnu goppodini chestai.

lingering in

2010-09-03T20:15:00.004+05:30

Ages since I posted something. Lots of drafts, lots of theories and lots of life waiting to be published. I haven't been feeling week since a couple of days and though I thought I'd post something yesterday, I couldn't, so here I arrive today. I have no clue what I'm going to write about but I think it'll be long. Anyway.

There's something about Shiva(Bhagwan Shiva). I saw a copy of The Immortals of Meluha last week, came home Googled it and read the first chapter. Alright, before that, I was returning from college yesterday and was plugged to the iPod after a long long time. So, I heard Shambho Shiva Shambho and started thinking about how much friendship matters and the price you are ready to pay to remain friends forever. All the Anirudh episodes, Shanky episode and that highway thing came into mind. I think I'm beginning to shift from being a out and out Roarkian to someone with a more normal way of viewing and living.

That apart, I hadn't read The Immortals of Meluha then yet and was really captivated by the cover photograph. And then started thinking about how Shiva is a normal human being, ascetic enough and yet Mahadev, the God of Gods. By the way, Dhruti tells me I think a lot. I don't know. Dreaming is the only solace I find when I think I'm incomprehensible. That sometimes, you don't have to make sense, even to yourself. Being a little immodest, am I? I don't know.

The most used phrase used today, "I don't know". I think I've already spoken about it but then I'm cutting down on its usage. As long as you have an 'I don't know' ready, you are trying to escape. Running away from life, instead of confronting it. Ohon! I reek of stupid theories and phiilosophies.

Alright, back to real(we'll talk about 'real' later) life now. I've always been scared of dogs. Shit scared. But the whole of yesterday, I played with Tuffy(Kaushik's temporary pet), carried it around in a box and tickled it. That's not much of an achievement though, Tuffy's(a cross breed of a a German Shephard and a Labrador) about 2 months old, toothless and cannot bark. But I hope I graduate soon and handle big dogs.

Varun came down home today in evening and we spoke about a lot of stuff. Like about the Education System, the importance of talking aloud and getting your voice heard and about Simon Singh's The Big Bang. Its a beautiful book and Varun too fell in love with it. We spoke about Hoyle, Einstein and Eddington. He walked me to the doctor and then we spoke about revamping the education system. Fun it was. Now, its time to talk. Soon, it'll be time to act.

She's behaving weirdly. Sometimes she wants to talk, wants to stay close, other times, she doesn't care. She's busy, I know. But still yaar. And there's still her.

Anyway, time to go and watch Balibo.
And yeah, Indian Ocean is the greatest band in the world.

The Prayer

2010-09-01T20:35:00.002+05:30

Sai Madhurika Mamunuru. MADster. Topper. Hothead. Small Dynamite. And a feminist to the core. One in the long list of women(?) for whom I've fallen. Anyway, she sent this story to me like about 2 months ago. I fell for its innocence. Far too pure for me not to fall in love with. I didn't tell her I was posting it up my blog, so if she wants me to remove it, I'll have to. So, read it fast before she realizes I posted it.

--

Suhi slowly pulled the blanket off a small bundle stubbornly
lying on the bed. A naughty, smiling face, slender arms and thin
legs, all tightly coiled up, revealed themselves reluctantly.

“5 minutes Akka, please!”

“Wake up, Komi! We’re going to be late for school!”

Komi quickly grabbed the blanket from her sister and tried her
best to go back into the cosy position she was in before being
woken up. Under the blanket, the warmth was blissful but
the sleep had gone. And however hard Komi shut her eyes, it
refused to come back. She drifted instead, into a happy (almost
voluntary) dream.

“Komi! Do you want Akka to leave without you? Don’t you
want to go to school?” her mother said, trying her best to sound
inquisitive and innocent.

School. Komi’s eyes were wide open under the blanket now.
She suddenly wished the night had never ended; that this was a
dream; that today were a Sunday; that her sister would actually
leave without her. Something. Anything. Not school. No!

But like every other day, none of the wishes materialised. Not
long after that, she was at the gate, her father kissing her good
bye. The kiss was a daily ritual she enjoyed. She loved it when
her father’s moustache lightly tickled her soft cheek. It made her
feel wanted and loved, not stupid. She always returned his kiss,
with both her arms wrapped around his neck.

After a breezy ride on her sister’s scooter and a deliberately
slow walk down the long corridor, she reached her class room.
Her classmates were excitedly talking about the home work that
was supposed to be submitted today. Each student had to copy
the first paragraph of the chapter Snoopy-The Dog into her note
book in the “best hand writing possible”. Komi as usual had not

done it.

“Komi! Show me your hand writing,” an enthusiastic girl
asked. “Oh no! I forgot my note book at home,” Komi lied.
Disappointed, the girl found other girls to share her enthusiasm
with.

Komi on her part, decided to do what she loved doing. She
slipped into her own world. She positioned herself comfortably
on the chair with her head resting on the desk and began
dreaming.

In her world, there were a lot of wrist watches to choose from.
There was a pair of high-heeled shoes that made noise when she
walked around the school, distributing sweets on her birthday.
She had a dress that resembled Kareena Kapoor’s in K3G.
Home work for some reason was never an issue in her world.

She was still dreaming when her class teacher walked in. Mrs.
Patel was a short, plump woman. Her hair was cut short and her
face was always bloated. Komi loved noticing how a little bit
of the lip stick that she smeared on her thin lips always stuck to
her teeth. It made her look like a vampire, according to Komi.

The girls swiftly rose to their feet and sang, “Good Morning,
Miss!” She mumbled a quick reply and heavily settled on the
chair in front of the teacher’s desk.

“Now! Children! Hand me your assignment notebooks so that I
can check and return them by the end of the Assembly! Quick!”

The class monitor quickly stood up and assumed responsibility.
She seemed to be an expert at it. She collected all the copies
(sixty of them) and handed it to Mrs. Patel. Komi’s heart was
thumping. Her lips were drying. She looked around nervously.

She was making up fake excuses in her head when the assembly
began. Assembly in Komi’s school went this way. The
Principal, Sister Nivedita addressed the Assembly sitting in

her cabin. She spoke into a mike placed at her desk. In each
classroom across the school, the girls could hear it through a
speaker hung at the head of the black-board. The Assembly
would often begin with a Prayer and would be followed by the
Thought for the Day and general instructions, if any.

Now, the box-shaped speaker started to ring. The bell was then
replaced by Sister Nivedita’s voice.

“Good Morning Girls!”

“Good Morning Sister!”

“Join your hands; Close your eyes and pray to the Almighty.
Dear God! Please give food to the hungry, a home to the
homeless….”

Join your hands. Komi tried to think of the many different ways
in which one could join her hands. The first was the boring
obvious way. You could also join your hands so that the fingers
of one hand touched the palm of the other. The other way was
to join only the fingers of both the hands. Or you could join
only the finger tips. You could also join the tips of different
fingers together. Unconsciously Komi was trying these things
practically through out the prayer. By the end of the prayer
Komi was delighted to discover that there were 13 practical
ways in which one could join hands. Imagine the theoretical
possibilities, she thought.

“… Amen!”

“The Thought for the Day. Speech is silver but silence is gold.”
Komi laughed to herself. How stupid, she thought. She ignored
the instructions that followed. They were generally never for
her.

“Komali Sharma,” Mrs Patel called. Komi had now gone
back to her Join Your Hands Game. She didn’t hear her name
called out. “KOMALI SHARMA!” Komi looked up, startled.

“Will you please come up in front?”

Komi did not move. She had sensed what was coming her way.

“Can you understand English, Komali?”

Komi sat on, like a stone. She did not want this happening.

“I AM TALKING TO YOU,” Mrs. Patel spat into her face.

Komi stood up slowly, timidly. She walked towards the front of
the classroom, her legs shaking, and heart thumping. She could
feel sixty pairs of eyes on her. She could also feel this heavy
thing at the base of her throat. Guilt, maybe.

She was barely at an arm’s distance from Mrs. Patel when she
felt five hard, long-nailed fingers dig into her cheeks. She was
swung around to face the class. Her cheek hurt. The sensation of
her father’s tickling moustache that she had savoured so far was
vanishing rapidly

“What were you doing through out the Prayer? Acting like a
clown and playing with your fingers all the time!” Mrs Patel
now mimicked Komi by putting her hands in front of her face
and making strange formations with them. She coupled these
hand movements with distorted facial expressions. The class
laughed in chorus.

Komi’s eyes stung.

“Answer my question Komali. Were you listening to the prayer?
Were you?”

Komi thought silently of how Mrs. Patel was not listening to the
prayer either. She was busy looking through the home work note
books. Komi lacked the courage to say this, of course.

Mrs. Patel became impatient now. She pulled Komi’s slight

body towards her and gave her two hard slaps. They made
Komi’s ears ring. Her jaw felt out of place. She was astonished
at her own capacity to endure. Why was she not screaming
and kicking, like she generally did at home for the slightest of
things?

“Did you do your home work at least? I don’t remember
correcting your notebook.”

“Miss, I left my note book at home.” Komi spoke for the first
time. This was, however not the first time she was lying.

“LIAR! I will take you to Sister Nivedita today. Not only do
you not do your home work, you also lie. The other kids are
quickly learning from you. I can see a change in some of the
girls who you are befriending. And look at how untidy you are.
Why is there no ribbon on your hair?” Mrs Patel went on to pull
the rubber band that was holding her hair together. “Can’t your
mother tie your hair properly?”

Mother. Komi thought of Amma back home. She thought of the
trouble she had given her mother while getting her hair combed.
She thought of the satisfied smile on her mother’s face when
the hair was finally done. She wished Mrs. Patel left at least her
alone.

Komi stood there, looking at her fellow class mates. She could
see amusement in the eyes of some and indifference in some
others. The ones that made her cry that day, however, were the
eyes filled with pity. She hated it.

“You are going to stay like that for the rest of the day! You are
not going to tie your hair back.” She now faced the class and
continued. “No ONE is going to help her tie it back together.”

“This is your punishment. Go back to your bench and sit down.
AND. Dare disturb the girl sitting next to you,” she looked
down at Komi and said.

Later through the day, Komi would almost forget about what
happened in the morning. She would actually wave Mrs. Patel a
good-bye on her way out of school. She would lie to her sister
about how a friend had pulled the rubber band off her hair. Her
parents would never know of the episode.

But for years after that, she would never be able to do any
assignment that required her to copy blindly from another book.
For years after that, whenever a prayer was being said, she
would close her eyes and join her hands, but never EVER listen.

--Sai Madhurika

The Roark factor

2010-08-23T21:43:00.009+05:30

"Mama, we talk about democracy, total freedom and all that stuff. Then why can't someone do drugs as his wont, because at the end of the day, even if everyone does it, maybe the country's ruined but he wouldn't be doing nothing harmful.", Vivek says today when we were talking about the most happening drug case.

I've been thinking about it all day and when there was a power cut and I and Amma were talking about something else, I pose the same question to her and she responds, "Because if you have a stupid drunkard bozo walking across the road, imagine the number of vehicles which have to stop and what if he hurts someone or worse misbehaves with a lady." Ofcourse, she's right. We have to ensure that one person's freedom does not, at any cost, intervene into others'.

After this, I don't know how it all started off but for about the next 3 minutes or so, I became an extreme objectivist. I became Rand's mouthpiece. Of all the things I like about The Fountainhead, it is the way in which Rand has convinced us to turn our tables and made Altruism the villain. For that, hats off Rand. I ain't the only one who's been heavily influence by the demigod Roark. RGV and Anurag Kashyap have referenced it a lot of times and probably the most quoted book I've heard, by someone who stands out or stands up, is The Fountainhead. All that apart, what was I talking about to Amma. And why this piece.

The best I like about Objectivism, as created by Ayn Rand, is that concept of a man whose sole pursuit in life is personal happiness. That guy who doesn't give a shit about what his neighbour does, who knows he doesn't have to impress others and sleeps every night, a proud man. That is what I talked about. What the world would be like if everyone strove for individual perfection instead of telling the rest of the world what they should be doing to achieve happiness(paradoxical?), they not strive for fulfillment of their personal whims and fancies. Somebody would be irresponsible and dependent only when there was always somebody to tell him what to do or take care of him even if he didn't give a shit. The moment everybody stops giving a beggar alms, he'd have to earn it. All I'm saying is people who did whatever they wanted to gave more to the world than those who got accustomed to the ways of the world. And since no person would be born ready made to accept the world as it is, making compromises, all those people judged arrogant, selfish and unflinching, die happier than those who became good citizens, took the system in their stride and strove all their lives for pensions and retirement plans.

Apart from that, one more thing I spoke to Amma about was that at the core of human heart, nobody likes to be told. People, if left for themselves tend to be more 'law abiding citizens'(I hope that's the right term when referring to the kind of blokes any government wants) when there is no external force acting upon them, or alternatively, all their life's they become slaves. The problem with this democracy of ours is that it neither gives us total liberty nor is it like a China or a USSR where no matter who you were, you are just another citizen. Another one of those Common Men(portrayed so ruthlessly in the satires of Gogol) that you worked for the Government all your life and no matter how thin, you still were securely wrapped in that blanket called Safety. But that isn't my matter of concern right now. All I'm saying is, consider this situation. You are walking on a deserted road and there's a big stone in the middle of it. When you are walking past it, more often than not, your conscience nags you to pick it up lest somebody drives over it. But one, if somebody came and told you to pick it up, you'd get defensive and refuse to do it because nobody likes to be ordered. You do it to be a nice man, atleast because that act convinces your conscience. But if somebody asks you to, you'd ask why he himself wasn't doing it.(I've seen a lot in case of kids I teach. If a kid does something wrong, instead of telling her to correct it, if I tell the other person that what she did was right and ignore the first child, she'd want to correct her mistake). Now our whole system, the concept of a Government is like that person who tells you to do stuff. Police, Courts and other of all those innumerable departments are those people who make those restrictions. If we didn't have those, we'd be better citizens. Trust me. And two, you wouldn't do it if there were a lot of people walking up and down the road because you'd be scared that they'd think of you as a nutcase. So people who actually think about the world instead of themselves, are pretty much , the world.

But you'd say we need someone to set a common barrier for how much of a liberty you have in such a large democracy like ours. Sure. But that's the problem with things big and large and I'm gonna talk about all that soon. But for now, all I have to say is that if a child born is left unpolluted till he becomes a citizen, the world would be a much better place to live in.

Because even if there's always a Toohey to make a world a sadder, meeker, cowardly place there's also a Roark who stands for integrity, liberty and happiness. And for the Roark who inspired a lot of Roarks in this world, thank you Rand.

Media?!

2010-08-22T09:58:00.004+05:30

Wrote this essay for my GRE sample test. I think the topic was something about the media reflecting the world or paving a path for it. When I was searching for something else today, I found it tucked away somewhere deep in. Reading it, I thought I'd post it. So, here is goes.

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The Media. What exactly constitutes the media. The media, in the present context, can be vaguely defined as a platform through which individuals state their opinions, views and probably discuss facts in the view of the public eye. In the last decade or so, what the media exactly constitutes has become a very debatable issue.

For the entire length of the previous century, the media basically was books, films, music and television. That is how the world worked. A few people in the media industry, who were competent enough told the rest of the world what was happening elsewhere and they had the liberty to voice their opinions because people had no way to cross check the authenticity of the news. Apart from news of course, there were other media such as films or music, which were entertaining vast audiences. Very few people had access to the high glitz world of movies and television and those who sought for it and succeeded, were rewarded with the ability to influence the world at large. They could tell the world what they wanted to and with films catering to such large audiences, they could trigger cultural uprisings overnight. Books have always been a mark of the classic elite and though pulp fiction has had its share of devoted followers, books are still more about the ability to think different rather than dress or be different.

Now, with the advent of the internet, all this has changed. Everybody has access to stardom and large audience. The mantra is, 'If you have it in you, you can be it.' The biggest advantage with a society like this is that since it has become such a mass media, everyone has access to altering the way the world lives. You don't like something posted in a website, you can always comment on it. You can blog about what you think would be the effects of the latest Government order regarding Health Insurance. You can discuss topics with like minded people over forums. And you can upload your very own movie in a video sharing website and know what people think about it. All of it is also media.

The media has changed from creating values to reflecting values.

And the reason to that is simple. As already mentioned above, to state simply, the size and breadth of the media has changed. Back then, there were few people who made a point, and a lot of people listened. Now, everyone can talk and listen. That is a lot of freedom. History tells us how this happened. Back in the 60s, when America was in the upheaval of a huge social, cultural revolution, the tools of mass media were books, films and music. That the birth of The Beat Generation where people proclaimed hippiedom, freedom, love and traveling. On the Road played a huge part in that cultural revolution, when Kerouac wrote about Sex, Drugs and Travel. Bob Dylan came along and took over from Woody Guthrie and started singing songs about Peace and Brotherhood. That was the birth of Rock n' Roll. Some of the classics were made in that era, like American Graffiti, which created values for a whole generation of people. Twenty years on and it was time for a bigger revolution. This time the Television and PC took over and thus created values for an entire generation of people. The world was becoming smaller. And now, it is the Internet which is the forefront of the other revolution that has taken place.

But unlike preceding revolutions, which basically created a lot of social values, responsibilities and outlook toward life, what the new age media is doing is that it is giving everyone an equal chance to proclaim their ideas. Of course, it could be argued that this is creating another form of values but unlike the influence of old media where there was this one big wave everyone had to get over or risk drowning, the new age media is a collection of a lot of smaller waves and if you are good enough, one of them could well be yours.

Stoned on music

2010-08-13T17:30:00.006+05:30

This long haired, bearded guy brushes past me. I turn to look at him and catch a glimpse. So, I follow him to the toilet and I start peeing next to him. He turns and is about to leave before I manage to stutter a weak, "Are you re-really Rahul?"
He says, "No..", then sees me gaping and smiles, "Yea, milgaye mooth the mooth the."

WTF! Nobody, atleast a lot of people, don't get to pee next to God everyday. I'm already dazed and so I walk back to the hall, waiting like the other 250 or so people in Hard Rock Cafe Hyderabad and wondering why it was taking so long for them to start. But I wasn't to be complaining, was I. The idea of actually seeing Indian Ocean perform live, in blood, flesh and all their glory never occurred to me. For as long as I've been listening to them, they were just demi-gods who composed the finest music I'd ever heard and I was yet another of their devotees among millions. But the moment I saw them mount on stage, Ram with his turban, Sushmit with that weird guitar of his and Amit with the air of a man who's ready to Rock n' Roll, nothing else in the world mattered. The two new entrants were good but it will be really hard to replace someone like Asheem. He truly was the soul of their music.

Anyway, so once they mounted on stage, they started off with Bandeh, then moved on to Hille re, Des Mera, Jhini and a couple of other songs. They started playing at about 9.15 and after a very high intensity of playing and improvising; Amit played the flute and some sort of an Indian stringed instrument and they had this Jugalbandi stuff which was like awesome, came the concluding phase when shouts for Maa Rewa and Kandisa(unarguably their most popular song) went over the top. Probably of the 300 people or so, including a lot of Firangis, there were a 50 of us who were like the die-hard fans who sang along every syllable. I didn't recognise a couple of songs but there were people who knew even that stuff. All hail Indian Ocean.

One helluva experience that. That smile on Sushmit's lips, that look of bliss in Ram's eyes and Are-you-havin'-a-good-time? expression on Amit was ecstasy. I don't think it can get better than this. But if it can, I want it to be Indian Ocean again.

Tirupati Trip- A Photo Essay

2010-08-04T17:12:00.043+05:30

My quick, 2 day trip to Tirupati was eye-opening in a lot of ways. I went to spend more time with myself, take some time off from all external influences and for once, live a poor man. About that, later. But with a camera in hand, and an open mind, it was one awesome clicking experience. The idea of compiling all the photos and working on it didn't strike me until I almost made my way back home. Anyway, this is the best of what I could do with the pictures I took. Clicked by my meager Olympus Camedia C-170 and edited in Picasa 3.

A pair of Denims and a Backpack, an Aesthetic Voyager arrives.
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What I didn't realize all these years was that Tirupati wasn't just for Gods or devotees. Normal people live there who go to work and watch movies.
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MS Subbulakshmi's statue at a traffic signal.
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Start of the walk at Alipiri.
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The best Daddojanam I ever ate.
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Indians ain't illiterate. They manage to write even on roofs!
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Loads of Deer.
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This guy was selling 'Aizz' and reading an English newspaper. A real cool dude if I ever knew one.
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Jeans and landscape.
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View from the walking path.
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Little kids selling wares. A real sad sight but nothing I could do about it.
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The primary street in Tirumala.
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They make some great coffee here.
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The classic temple view.
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The Dad factor.
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10 bucks apiece.
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One of the saddest pictures I ever clicked. Was next to the woman who sold those necklaces. Almost wept.
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Sing Annamaya keerthanas all day long. Great bhajans.
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An old farmer thatha I met near the temple.
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Sun it is.
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Found this at the end of the walk.
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Clicked from off the road.

Geet mein dhalte lafzon mein

2010-07-23T06:30:00.003+05:30

One helluva movie. One amazing song. I'm writing my feeling about Udaan in PFC, will post it soon. Love this song. Hats off Amitabh. I mean, a line like,
lamha ye manga nahi, ise humne cheena hai;
yoon hi jeena.

--

Geet mein dhalte lafzon mein,
taal pe chalti nabzon mein
naya, kuchh naya, zaroor hai
shaam se leke sehron mein,
dhoop chhadi duphero mein
naya, kuchh naya, zaroor hai
kya baat hai, jo baat hai, taaza lage
zindagi ki nayi nayi faza lagey
haan yeh umango se, poora hua seena hai
seena hai seena hai seena hai
lamha yeh maanga nahi, ise humne cheena hai
cheena hai cheena hai yoon hi jeena hai

dhool jami thi aankhon mein,
khwaab khile ab lakhon mein
naya, kuchh naya, zaroor hai
dard ki baatien kal ki hain,
aaj mein khushiyan chalki hain
naya, kuchh naya, zaroor hai
jaibon mein hum, raatein liye, ghuma kare
fursat ke yeh, mauke sabhi, jhooma kare
haan yeh umango se, poora hua seena hai
seena hai seena hai seena hai
lamha yeh maanga nahi, ise humne cheena hai
cheena hai cheena hai yoon hi jeena hai

andheri mein hai, nayi garmiyaan…
junoon sakht hai, gayi narmiyan…
hai dilchasp yeh, aag si
aag si…
mitenge nahi, yaad se
yaad se…

geet mein dhalte lafzon mein,
taal pe chalti nabzon mein
naya, kuchh naya, zaroor hai
shaam se leke sehron mein,
dhoop chhadi duphero mein
naya, kuchh naya, zaroor hai
kya baat hai, jo baat hai, taaza lage
zindagi ki nayi nayi faza lagey
haan yeh umango se, poora hua seena hai
seena hai seena hai seena hai
lamha yeh maanga nahi, ise humne cheena hai
cheena hai cheena hai yoon hi jeena hai

expect nothing

2010-07-20T21:45:00.004+05:30

The moment a relationship is based on need, its gone. It doesn't exist. I was looking at a Sadhguru speech last week and he in one of his discourses states this. I proved it to myself today when I was talking to Amma. That's not relevant here but what my point is, when you get into a relationship because you expect something in return or when you need what the other person gives you, you are giving away your freedom.

Any person should rely only on himself for anything he wants. Because, like I said, when you start expecting things and don't get them in return, you'll start bulding a vengeance. And form thereon starts the deterioration of any relation. If you can give something, do it. If you can't, don't expect anything in return.

'Coz when you don't expect anything, everything else is going to be great.

Should? Shouldn't? or is it always a matter of Choice?

2010-07-18T10:45:00.004+05:30

Ages and Ages after I last blogged with something to say, I'm back again today.
I was making pradakhanalu around the temple, 41 of 'em and so had a lot of time to dream around. I was thinking about my conversation with Dhruti yesterday and about my line I fell in love with. I've always said that once an impure thought enters into your mind, it doens't necessarily have to be converted into an action and the thought itself has polluted you. Isn't that right in a way. When all of us live in our heads, what happens in there is what defines us.

Walking in the temple, with nothing else to do, I started analyzing it. And the answer is simple. The fact that you did not let one bad thought influence your actions speaks that you are good enough not to be lured by the Satan. When you do not have the capability to control your mind, as most of us, make sure that that is not translated into actions. Like every other part of you, your body, the brain realizes after a point of time what it is supposed to do, what it isn't and is going to learn from it. So, when you stop doing what you don't want to, slowly, I suppose, the brains stop generating such pulses.

Now, another question which arises out here is that when your brain tells you what has to happen, then who tells it what it is supposed to to. I suppose, the convenient answer would be conscience but then all the good and the bad are but conversations within yourself. So, when you have enough reasons to want to be a good guy, that is what is going to prevail and vice versa. At the end of the day, what you choose to do or be all day long, is what eventually matters.

I don't know if it makes a lot of sense but then I wanted to get over with it, so this was it. I'm happy to realize that you can actually govern your life according to your actions. I do not know how I came across this idea but you know, sometimes in life, you just get lucky enough.

Forrest Gump

2010-07-08T13:22:00.003+05:30

There is a scene in Forrest Gump when Jenny tells him that that kid is his son. I have never seen anything like Tom Hanks there. "Is he stupid too?", he asks. I bow down to you Hanks. And I'm sure the world will not be the same since I have seen it through the eyes of Forrest Gump.

I know most of you have seen Forrest Gump but Forrest Gump isn't just a story. It is a revolution. It is a reminder of everything we have forgotten. When Winston Groom wanted to chronicle the major events of the second half of the 20th century, he had to choose a man who was simple, honest and unbiased. He chose Forrest Gump. Gump, considered the local idiot and who is turned away from admission into school because he has an IQ of 75, is responsible for Elvis Presley's signature moves, plays Football in the All America Team, gets a college degree, is awarded the medal of honour for services in the Nam war, stumbles into the famous Washingtom peace rally, exposes the Watergate scandal, plays ping-pong in China, sets up a shrimp business, appears on the Fortune cover, invests in a fruit company called 'Apple', grows rich, and runs through the entire country. Not bad for a crippled kid certified 'stupid'. And through all this, he is oblivious to the entire world, and all he can think about is Jenny, Momma, God and the promises he has to keep.

Tom Hanks is a goddamn genius. I've just learnt that he was the third choice to play the role of Gump but maybe it is his tryst with destiny. Nobody, absolutely nobody, could've been Forrest Gump. And Robert Zemeckis knows exactly what he is doing in every scene. No shot is wasted, no dialogue is overdone and Forrest Gump, the movie, wins hearts. Forrest Gump made me think. At the end of it it is still a heart warming story of a guy who knows 'what love is'. But the kind of honesty and conviction Hanks brought into the role is spellbinding. His eyes and his voice capture our attention for the entire length of the film and everything seems fine with the world because Forrest thinks it is.

And yes, Forrest Gump reminded me that all is not lost in life, that it is still those things in life which make life life. Things like Love, Loyalty, Honesty and a Box o' Chocolates. In one scene Forrest says, "People told me I gave them Hope. I haven't done anything like that." But that is what exactly Forrest Gump gives us. Hope for a better world. And that if a man wants to do something, nothing else can stop him. When Forrest, who can hardly walk, is told to run, he 'runs like the wind'. And for that, Forrest Gump is a triumph of the Human Spirit. For it is important to have a Big Brain, but more so, to have a Big Heart.

Thank You, Forrest.

poem ek numberee

2010-06-22T09:04:00.009+05:30

my first ever attempt at poetry. wrote it in about a minute. the idea came in the loo, i rush out, write everything and then set it up in proper order. don't know where the idea came from but it was like a lightening. thought i'd work on it, refine it but i'm letting it be the way it came.
here it goes.

--

when i fall, i rise,
when he falls, and fall he shall, he lifts everyone with him.

i take people to the verge of heaven,
his is the heaven and all earth.

i have a reason,
he has a cause.

i live either in the past or future,
he breathes this moment.

i want to win,
he wants to play.

i learn the game,
he learns from the game.

i'm on people's tongues,
he's in their 'earts.

i think,
he feels.

i'm a mere mortal,
his quest is for immortality.

and finally, i die a man,
he lives on a god.

that, my friend, is the difference
between a winner and a loser.

MADly in love

2010-06-21T19:43:00.004+05:30

Ages since I posted something here. Went to MAD Ice Breaking session yesterday, Rainbow Home for Girls. Had the time of my life. Posted this stuff in MAD Hyderabad's blog. Here it goes.

http://prmadhyd.posterous.com/pursuit-of-happiness-21

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Pursuit of Happiness

Looking out of the bus window, at the overcast skies, listening to Indian Ocean, I'm nervous. So very nervous. I don't know what its going to be like when I meet those little kids. What should I say to them? What will they think of me? Will I be accepted?

I get down at the bus stop, walk a little and spot the Government school for Girls seconding as the Rainbow home for Girls. I spot Glo, wave at her and as I start walking, two little girls come to me hold my hand and guide me towards her. They ask me what I'm called, "What is your name?" and then tell theirs, Aarti and Sandhya. I see Glo talking to those little kids and am fascinated by how those little girls seem to cling to her. Everybody wants a piece of 'Gloriakka' and once she introduces me to them, same reaction. Little girls, barely 3 feet tall hug me, give me those glorious smiles and soon there are a million shouts of anna, anna allover. Ten minutes later everyone's here, all the volunteers and we start off.

First, it's dividing everyone into 5 groups and me and Sai are in this group called 'Sunflowers'. Lol! Can you actually believe it, Sunflower. Anyway, we are supposed to get organised but nobody seems to be listening to me. Sai tries and she's a little better at it than I am. I mean, she's the Best Teacher and all that. After those lemon in the spoon races and all, things now go completely out of control. Glo, in an attempt to lure kids into listening to her, takes out a bag of balloons. Next moment, you can't spot her amidst all those girls who spring on her. After blowing a zillion buggalu, solving out trifles and in the meantime running around and carrying kids, we eventually get into another ground. There its to time play Current Shock, enacting the train and paper dancing. Lifting a couple o' kids to sit on the parapet wall was my idea and everyone had to pay for it. Everyone wanted to sit on it, and those who were already sitting wanted to get off it. And add to that, Sai's rhythmless Band Bajana. I don't know if I sound like I'm cribbing, but honestly, it was awesome. Nothing like anything I expected.

I've never been held that way. Little kids you've never seen before come running and hug you so hard, that feeling I've never had before. It sounds strange but kids who've been deprived of love for most of their loves, are so generous with it. I've never seen nothing so selfless. All they want in return is sometime to be spent with them, and a little care. At the end of it all, 2 hours just flew away and looking back, I haven't had that feeling in my tummy for a long time. Is is contentment? Is it pride in myself? I think I know what it is. The feeling when somebody hugs with you with all their heart and you look skywards and thank God for everything. It is called Happiness.

Destiny, The Matrix and a lot of Whys

2010-06-09T20:02:00.004+05:30

Another one of those long conversations where the spectrum of topics discussed ranged from movies, to people, to destiny, to movies, to math, to why everything is the way it is. Had loads of fun talking to Kaushik for a long time today at Ashok's.

We spoke about a lot of things but what started off with why people act the way they do drifted to The Matrix, Paulo Coelho and Game Theory. He reminded me again of that pending Pool Virus Project and I really want to do it. Waiting for the equipment. But I'm really pleased with what happened today. What all we spoke about but importantly, about how easy it was to talk to someone without being preached, or taunted, or looked upon by.

Really refreshing. The kind of stuff really good conversations do to you.

So long, Charlie!

Vedam

2010-06-06T22:00:00.001+05:30

Vedam is about Money. It is about God. But importantly, it is about something beyond those both. It is about Life. Unarguably one of the greatest of Telugu films to come out in recent times, Vedam is a revolution. The film is a brave attempt of film making, atleast for the Telugu audience.

The basic plot is that there are five different tracks running parallely and most of the film take place in one day. The screenplay is non-linear with the characters' different fates interwoven. A little lapse here and there and film would have been a disaster but hats-off to Krish for that screenplay where nothing goes wrong. And the story moves seamlessly from one track to another, keeping the pace up, giving each one importance and at the same time letting us connect to the characters. That for me, is the film's greatest strength. With so much star power, a huge cast and a complex storyline, the film could've been either reckless, bland or worse, overcrowded. Krish doesn't commit one mistake throughout the film. The casting is spot on, the dialogues crisp and the background score, perfect. Keeravani's done an amazing job because in films like this, music plays a very important part.

And about the actors, there are about 10 important characters and all of them have performed amazingly. All their stories are extremely relatable and you've seen all of them somewhere or the other. My favourite track, personally, is that of Allu Arjun and Rajesh because both of them have come up with career best performances. But the story of the old man in the village is so powerful and portrayed so ruthlessly that in a few scenes I just had to look away from the screen. Manoj Bajpai was wasted in a small role but again Ravi Prakash fit in perfectly. Anushka was competent but the role of Karpuram was played with aplomb. The most poorly written track was that of Manoj and honestly, he didn't have anything to do throughout the film. The film is an out and out Krish's film and whatever was left out, Allu Arjun filled it in.

But Vedam isn't just a film. It's a tool. A tool to look at life in a new way. For instance, there's a talk about 40,000 rupees. What Krish has done is showcase the difference in views of the same money. For someone, that money is worth a new year party. For someone else, it's about freedom and education. There are a lot of things you could say about a film but the best films are those which have two traits, Honesty and Courage. Vedam is both bold, unbearably so at times and there's an inherent honesty in the cast and the crew which glorifies the film. A lot of talk has been going on as to how Leader and Prasthanam are bringing about the new wave in Telugu Cinema. With due respect to both of them, I loved watching those films, Vedam is a completely novel experience. Watch it. And you'll know what people mean when they say films affect them.

If there was one line to sum up the entire experience of watching Vedam, its an Allu Arjun line which says, "Deenammadi Jeevitham".

The other world

2010-05-29T20:34:00.004+05:30

I feel good today. As I sit down to write after a long time. There's the impulse driving me and though it ain't going to be much, it's coming involuntarily. Doing a bit of GRE, playing the guitar, reading quite a lot, meeting new people, life's back on track and I'm pleased with myself.

Went to the MAD PR meeting today. CCD Banjara Hills, can you believe it. Thought I wouldn't go but then just pushed myself into it and am proud of going. I've gained clarity. I was thinking all the way back home about all the MADsters and for a while, my self-esteem went down the trash bin. I mean those folks are awesome. They work in Infosyses, Googles and Oracles and yet they manage to take time for MAD and do all the work. And boy are they good. They know what they're talking about, how to make people listen and work hard for what they believe in.

After a long time, today, I was scared to shit. Of what I'd end up like because looking at some of those people, I realized I wasn't good at anything. My mum always told me that in life it's important to be good at atleast one thing, to be the best there is so that the world looked upto you. And to realise that there are people in the world who are always in pursuit of perfection. I mean probably that is why they say you're supposed to meet new people, go to new places and all that stuff. 'Coz as long as you are a part of a group, you've earned your spot there. People there know what you're about, what's your worth and have an image of you. And that is the reason complacency sets in. You think, all your life, everywhere, you're going to be treated the same way. But what happened today was a wake up call to me. I learnt that there are people in the world better than I am, more competent and ready to work harder.

Aww! That took quite some time to sink in but all the fun is about rising upto it. Alright, off I go then in pursuit of getting better.

Twittomania

2010-05-25T00:22:00.004+05:30

Just about to go to sleep. And I just read in someone's blog what he had just tweeted. I couldn't resist the temptation and here I'm.

Twitter is the latest, biggest thing on the web. Why the hell would you tell someone what you just did to keep them updated and why would someone else want to be updated if you've just seen a movie, met with an accident or killed a mosquito? Isn't that expecting far too much from the world? Like everyone wants to know what's the coolest thing that happened to you.

I want to write more but I'm sleepy. Think over it.

P.S: And yeah, what right do I have to expect that you'd read this and think over this? And why am I using lots of And's and italics?

In search of the elusive truth

2010-05-19T19:45:00.005+05:30

The world is a place of relative truths. There's nothing in life which is The Truth. Funnily enough, what was considered the One Big Truth ain't one big truth but one's Version of the big truth. As I write this, I'm asking myself how can there be so many truths? Probably, what we all see are different versions wherein one or none of them is the Truth. But before I talk about that, I first need to explain why in the first place I'm writing this.

All of us have faced this in life. Your best friend tells you something. Your girlfriend has a different version of it and the guy you've hated all your life has a whole different version, but which you think is the truest. Weird word that, ain't it. When Truth is the highest of them all, what's truer, and truest. Higher versions of the one truth. To hell, English is a very tricky language. Anyway, so who do you believe? We've all faced this situation and I, for the kind of a person I am, take whatever comes to me at that point of time and don't think a lot over it. I guess it was in a movie when I first heard, "Why think so much and complicate life?". Point boss.

Where were we. Yea, truth. I once read a Bradbury line which said, "Truth is momentary." That is what life is. Its this moment. And that is why I believe in the validity of life, that is only as long as you are really living in the moment. Boy, this is turning messy. I have no clarity as to what I'm saying but I'm not thinking now. I'm just writing. As I was saying earlier, what among this is the truth? I guess all of those versions is the Truth. Or rather, truths. Because none of what anyone says, or infact sees or hears firsthand, is not the truth. Because once it enters your impure mind, its lost its credibility.

All of what people are saying, no matter if they are taking oath by the Bhagwad Gita, are but the myriad versions of that One Elusive Truth. So, all we can do is consider what we believe in that precise moment to be true. The mind follows a pattern and if it considers one of all those truths to be the truest of them all, then it should indeed be true. I know this is a rather complicated post containing various, should I say, sizes of truth but then, think about it. Or if I was asking you to think, would I be contradicting myself?

Pleased as Punch

2010-05-13T18:57:00.002+05:30

Got into MAD. That's a whole new story, will write about it soon. During the selection process, they asked us to write about why we wanted to get into MAD. I wrote this and today I saw it up in the MAD site next to my resume. I wrote it in a hurry in about 2 minutes but reading back, I'm proud of it. Here it goes.

--

Why MAD. Apart from being one of the most popular organizations working towards this cause, what pulls me more towards you folks is the fact that MAD was started by a bunch of college-goers; People who need not have done anything, didn't have to but yet chose to. I've always wanted to do something for those less privileged than me. What have I done? Nothing much, to be honest, apart from write about Child Labour in my blog, convince a couple of my classmates against employing children as maids and brood over God's injustice. That is because I never knew where to start off. And MAD seems like a good place to begin with. I'm just another restless youth but I'm energetic enough to inspire kids, enthusiastic enough to work hard and committed enough to stick to what I believe in. And I believe in the difference MAD can make.

Off i go ranting again

2010-05-10T08:48:00.001+05:30

23:07
Sun May 9
gedit-ubuntu
linux terminal

the lord of rants is back. do i really think i'm a cross-breed of narayan, russell and tolstoy. born to change the world, alter the basis of human thoughts and be remembered forever as the greatest man who ever walked the face of the earth? and if i do, holy shit, hats off to my guts. i was watching something about rajnikanth today- superstar, the demigod of indian cinema and arguably a man with the most devoted of followers, and what i like the most about him is the ease with which he's accepted kamla haasan's genius and admits he himself being a fan of the nayagan. that is very hard to do. that truly is the sign of genius. the ability to acknowledge, respect and work over one's limitations. see, there i go generalizing again. this is what the world does to you. they either make you look upto yourself in which case you start believing all the hoopla surrounding yourself leading to downfall or they call you worthless with so much conviction in their voices that you will lose the ability to believe in yourself. when half a dozen people saw my blog and told me i was good, i became this. i started generalizing stuff, forgetting my negative points and rejecting criticism from the same people who in the first place told me i was good. it really got into my head. nope chinnu, you aren't as good as you think you are. you are just a little gifted and lucky enough to have people who tell you what you are good at and what you are not good at. to be hailed the next tolstoy, or scorsese or picassa, you have to prove your mettle. nope, not to the world but to yourself. ofcourse, people will always tell you what they think about you and your work, no matter you like it or not but then taking it and working on it is very important. so, instead of focusing on the goal, focus on the path. because that's what matters and probably someday, you'll be worth a little of the earth you've eaten. buck up, bend down and rock n' roll.

That institution called Marriage

2010-05-09T17:55:00.002+05:30

This is probably my most daring piece till date. Something which questions the basis of civilazition's oldest belief. This is about marriage. As I begin this piece, a voice inside me is yelling blasphemy as another voice which comes from deeper within urges me to start off. And so, I readjust my chair, take a deep breath and plunge in.

All my life, I have never seen a happy marriage. I know that's a bold statement to make but I'm ready to answer any questions in this regard. Because if the relationship between two people-of the opposite sex, about the same age, from a similar social background (now these are common attributes of a majority of marriages)- is based on enough trust and love(now that's another topic I'm addressing soon), then there is no need to, as they say, tie the knot. Marriage is but an agreement two people take when they believe that they cannot tolerate each other unless something of an external force is applied on them. And that is where, right at the beginning, comes the end.

I see this girl at a friend's party. She's beautiful. And so, me being just another guy, want to get closer to her. I charm her, I make her laugh and I impress her. Soon, we meet often. I propose to her. She accepts. We eat outside regularly, go to the movies together and socialize together. Two 'I's become a We. Meanwhile, we grow closer. Understand each other's idiosyncrasies and tolerate mood swings. We have quarrels too but both of us know how much we mean to each other. And then suddenly she says we should marry. I ask, "Why?", with full knowledge of the suddenness of the question. Initially, she thinks its a joke. And then when she finds me serious, she grows surprised. And then, she's pissed. And all this while, she still doesn't reply to my question. So, I press her. She calls me a cold, psychotic B______. But somehow, I still can't find my answer among all this. She starts getting away from me, giving me the cold shoulder and crying out in her friends' arms. When I pose the same question to my friends, they call me a total nutcase and when on a high, give me what every honourable man gives his friends- A very valuable piece of advice, "Don't complicate things mate. You like her. She likes you. So, what is the problem?". I ask them the same question, what is the problem now for us get married. Now there's two options I have. Either readjust my ideas, convince myself, listen to everyone and get married. Or, stand by myself, take in all that's being given and risk losing the woman of my dreams.

Now, I realised midway that the above story has a lot of resemblance to Trivikram's Swayamvaram. Infact, the story of any one man against the rest of human civilization is like that. Either give in or risk losing everything. The hero in that movie gave in. Howard Roark did not. Anyway, I ask you the same question. We are happy like this. So then why legalize the bond?

There are two response I anticipate. One, is the security lest suddenly one day one(read male) of them suddenly disappears(Can either mean just wants to get out of the relationship or likes someone else). And two, so that the relationship is acceptable by the society. I know that even before I argue against those two points, you already know the answers. See, the entire system of ours is so fragile. Now coming to case one. What difference would it make to me if I'm married but still like someone else. I'd still be unhappy with the person I am. You may argue that it is here that sense of duty or loyalty come into picture but if you need a piece of paper, or a wedding ring or a chain around your neck to remind you of such things, think again. Because the moment I decide this woman isn't for me or I can't take this anymore, none of that bullshit matters. And now to case two. If you want the society's license to live together, go around together or have sex, what the fuck are you living for.

I have seen many unhappy marriages. And in most cases, the couple decides to live together for their children. So, should they have kids only after being sure that they'd stay happy together. You never know when love's born again. You may fall in love with a woman after 20 years of marriage. In that case, would you rather hide your true intentions, pretend infront of the society but still blame your spouse for this situation you are in. In that case, wouldn't it be better to just break it, live with someone else if that makes you happy but make sure that kids are taken care of, because their birth is your fault. Instead of cribbing together for entire lives, better to live different lives in peace. I once wrote about a Cue shot that its beauty lies in its idea than in its implementation. Similary, purity of a being lies in his thoughts, not in his actions. If you have performed the sin in your thoughts but pretend to be chaste physically, there's no point in it. Because men who love their wives never even dream about another woman. If you've done it, reassess your relationships. I believe that for any man, she is the most beautiful woman in the world who he is in love with. He doesn't have to fantasize about anyone else. He just doesn't. Because if Love is True, then those men who Love are True too.

If I love a woman, I'd live with her. I'd keep her happy. I'd make her feel special. Nothing voluntary. All that just happens. But then the day I believe I can't do full justice to her and her Love, I'll talk to her and get out of it instead of pretending that I love her. And as long as I love her, I'd be loyal, patient, loving and flirtatous. But I'd never need a piece of paper to tell me what to do and what not to.

I always tell people, "You love once, you love forever." I guess you get the point.

The Fake Guy within

2010-05-07T11:55:00.002+05:30

I hate wannabes. Or did, until I realised I was the biggest one I knew. I do not want to generalise for everyone but I have a fake guy within me. The other guy apart from me who acts as if he is the true me. No, this is not the guy I'm talking about who likes to act cool or impress others. This guy, I'm talking about is trying to impress me. Its my alter ego. I was talking to Sravani and I said, "There are two people in me. One is the me that I really am. And the other is the ideal me who I want to be. The problem is, I don't listen to just one of them." The core emotion of all human life, according to Anirudh, is Restlessness. And I really believe that is true. If I wasn't so restless as to know about the reason of my existence, I wouldn't be really bothered to find the 'me'.

I know I am a very boring writer. I always speak about the same ideas. The same things over and over again. And yes, even this is about what I always talk about. Anyway, the fake guy within me is giving me a lot of trouble. I've received a lot of sermons yesterday and I've thought a lot about all of them. I was talking to Kruthika yesterday and me being me, started talking about the reason of existence, about Neitzsche, Supertramp and Tolstoy. Yesterday evening talking to Anirudh, after a long time and for a long time, I exactly knew what he was saying. That I'd always talked about Jobs, Caulifield etc, wanted to be like them but never done all that they had done. A kind of Chandramukhi saga, just that he was Rajnikanth here. All my life, I read and I dreamt. In that process, I felt I had done all that. But the truth is I haven't and so I've just been paraphrasing all those people. No original stuff here folks. And the reason Steve Jobs, Rabbi, Anurag Kashyap or Alex Supertramp became what they became and I'm still a shithole because all I've been doing is just talking. I've never shown the courage or skill or the passion to rise above myself and become the Aditya Sirish.

And you know what that means. I've never bent my back and smelt sweat. I've never felt the mud in my palms and satisfaction in my eyes. All along, I've just been a viewer, a third person who's entire foundation of thought is based on someone else's, be it Ayn Rand, JD Salinger or Garcia Marquez. I'm not the guy who lived. So far, I'm just the guy who wanted to live. And the fake guy within me's convinced me that I really have lived. Sad truth but has to be acknowledged. Thomas Huxley said, "Do what you have to do, when you have to do it. Everything else will fall into place." So reading The Fountainhead or RGV's blog or Scorsese's story before an exam will take me nowhere. All it can do is make myself more of a wannabe. Someone who's hoping to get into the big league but who's not willing enough to pour his heart out and run. The spectator can only have but a faint idea of the feeling when Tendulkar hooks the ball. Sure, he thinks he knows what it feels like but then it'd be nothing compared to what Sachin'd be feeling then. And since Sachin is ready to toil for 16 hours a day even now, he deserves it but not the spectator who's munching popcorn.

You have a right to be as big a dreamer as a doer. But if you want to dream big, then you have to be ready to do big. Sorry, I'm not preaching, I'm just telling myself. Wannabes never live. They hope they'd live and convince themselves that they're living. Infact, there's nothing wrong with being a wannabe. No problem doing what you really like in someone else. But the problem arises when the feeling ends at wanting to. Actually doing is what matters.

Life in a way is very simple. Its like a huge maze where doing the right thing now will lead you closer to the goal- that, here, being the Reason of your Existence. But if you expect to sit at someplace and order answers known, you are just screwing yourself up. Its all written in the oldest saying. Talk Less, Do More. Take life step by step. Live life this moment. And, The answers will be known when they have to be.

Unlike a lot of my other pieces, I'm neither feeling elated nor depressed at the end of this. I just don't feel anything at all. The answers are staring at me and its high time I acknowledge their presence. The task to be done is cut-out. Talk less. Stop thinking about Cool or Unconventional. Dream big, but then get ready to sweat it out because your dreams are only as big as your actions.

Why didn't I already do this?

2010-05-03T18:44:00.003+05:30

So, surprising that I never wrote about a lot of things I love so much. Right from Bob Dylan, The Catcher in the Rye and The Roots to Dil Chahta Hai, Alexander Supertramp and RK Narayan and Bapu-Mullapudi, Zen and Howard Roark. Hang on I think I forgot telling you about two classics, The City of Joy and One Hundred Years of Solitude. And all along to think that I'm wiling away time searching for something to do. I'll soon write about them all. Very soon.

And what's coming first in that list is the story of Holden Caulifield. JD Salinger is the guy you have to read when you are 16, confused, lost and super pissed(or is that all a part of being 16).

Coming soon.

When I wanted to go to Hogwarts

2010-05-03T11:48:00.005+05:30

13th April, 2010

I started this piece on 7th Aug 2008. Can you believe it, about a year and a half ago. Didn't write anything back then, just kept postponing it. Wrote it 20 days ago on my Linux terminal. Here it goes.

--

Seems like ages ago. When on that fateful day, I went to a theatre in Mumbai to watch a movie which changed my life forever. That day, I still remember, I ate 7 vada pavs and left the theatre in a dazed state. Nothing, I remember, has had such an effect on me like Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Maybe, later, The Fellowship of the Ring upto a certain extent but not like Harry Potter. This is one of my those essays where I am critical and look back at everything trying to analyse it from that higher seat of experience.

Harry Potter. Ronald Weasley. Hermione Granger. Rebeus Hagrid. Albus Dumbledore. Uncle Vernon. Draco Malfoy. Professor Mcgonagall. And ofcourse, Lord Voldemort. Can it get better than this. Atleast not for a 12 year old. Moni Mama bought me the first four parts of the series but I couldn't get past the first 10 pages of The Philosopher's Stone. And then about a week later, he took me to watch the movie. That day I came back home and read the book till well past midnight. The Magical Castle. Wizards. Wands. The Sorting Hat. Quidditch. Everything is still so deeply etched into my mind. Aah! Those were the days. I read the first four parts of the book back to back 16 times, the fifth part 6 times, the sixth part 3 times and the seventh 2 times. And atleast for the first four books, you wouldn't beleieve it, I cried everytime I finished them. Because I knew I was parting ways with all those people I knew and loved so much, Mr. Weasly, Fred & George, Hagrid. So, once I finished reading the last part, I got back to the first part.

Somehow, I belonged there. Or, I longed to be there. For months, I prayed for an owl to carry me the Hogwarts letter and imagined myself with a wand and a scar on my head. It was beautiful. I guess, I was more comfortable with all those people in the book because I was more of an outcast, atleast as long as I was in school. I somehow was the piece which never fit in. But apart from all that, Harry taught me the pleasure of reading. That sight of a printed word still evokes such deep feelings in me that I'm mesmerised by the human mind for its ability to weave stories.

A book is an entire world in itself. And a man who can read, has the license to meet those people in that world, get to know their traits and maybe even be a part of that world. JK Rowling gave me that. All that hoolabaloo regarding Rowling getting back children to books is really worth it. Harry Potter came at the end of the last century when children were so attracted to the television that but for her, all the kids of my generation might well have never read more than a dozen books all through our lives. Not that Cartoons are bad. Its just that the problem with cartoons is that they show you what they want you to see. But with books, the scope of imagination is larger. For instance, Peter Jackson's LOTR is awesome in its own right and a visual ecstacy but what it lacks is all those little and subtle elements of Tolkien's genius. Because in life, the things that truly matter are those little attributes which make us human.

Even now, whenever I watch the movies, I grow nostalgic of all those things I thought. And sometimes when I skim through the books, tears well up in my eyes because I've had a strong connection with them since childhood. I feel reassured that the world is not such a bad place to live, that Courage is the greatest attribute of them all and that Good always triumphs over Evil. For that, I thank Rowling. For showing me the selfishness of Voldemort, the greed of Wormtail, the malign of Lucius Malfoy but also for the courage of Harry, the loyalty of Ron, the wits of Hermione, the goodness of Hagrid, the wisdom of Dumbledore and for the reckless love of Snape.

Never Stereotype Yourself

2010-04-27T20:27:00.003+05:30

That's the line I coined for myself ages ago. Was a graffiti in my journal once. Just came back from Saroornagar katta. That's the new adda now. Been spending a lot of time there. The calmness of the lake, the darkness engulfing it and the cool breeze flowing through my hair. Not to mention the trash dumped at the banks and little kids selling cigarettes.

Anyway, this isn't about that. This is about the image we have in the society. Nope, I'm not talking about what someone else thinks about you. I'm talking about what you want that someone else to think about you. That false being within you who you want to be, to be portrayed as cool, clever or arrogant. Get what I'm talking about? Kurt Cobain once said, "Trying to be someone else is such a waste of the person you are." I love that. But its very hard to actually follow it. There's always something in someone which you find so captivating that you wish you had that quality. And after a point of time, without you realising it, you kill the voice in yourself and try imbibing that. There's no bigger sin than that. Throwing away yourself for someone else. There's a difference between being and trying to be something. Being, like all matters of the heart, comes deep from within.

And it is also important not be fixed as something. To be stereotyped. If you are the coolest, most popular guy in the college, the pressure to remain that is so overwhelming that involuntarily, you crush a lot of your feelings. What would they think if they see me with this unpopular girl? People think I'm cool and all, so maybe I should smoke to retain that image? Shit! that guy just saw me walking out of the library, what if he tells everyone else. To hell with everyone else. You want to talk to the girl, don't let anyone stop you. You don't have to smoke to join the 'Coolest Guys' club and for God's sake if you want to read something, go to the library and find the damn book. The problem with being hailed a genius is that you are scared to ask questions, keeping to yourself most of the time and worrying about being the 'know-it-all'. You can never be the know it all and the worst mistake you can ever do after having an image is trying to keep it. Its something analogous to being a leader. I read somewhere that the first pre-requisite of being a great leader is never being bothered about being one. Once you are ready to play second fiddle to anyone, you'd be less paranoid and would concentrate more on the work you are supposed to do.

That's all I've got to say. Never fight for that elusive image and never wish to be hailed as something because that is what you've always wanted to be. Being stereotyped is the biggest curse of them all. Get unpredictable, ask questions and most importantly, listen only to your heart.

What is life all about?

2010-04-25T21:55:00.004+05:30

Isn't that the ultimate question of 'em all. I mean if anyone knows that, wouldn't that mean they know everything else too. And if a man knew everything, the past, present and the future, would he want to live anymore, seeing that the mystery of living would be replaced by the dread of breathing. Ok. Let's go easy now.

What is it about love that is so painful. Why is there so much suffering in getting attached to something, be it a woman, a dog or a 60k worth camera. What the hell am I saying. No wonder I'm lost. All I've been doing these days is sleep, read, talk and sit late into nights suffering to quit suffering. I have an exam coming up and should I be doing this right now. All of us, in life, know all the answers. Its all about asking the right questions. And having the courage to accept the truth. Shit. Quit sermonizing asshole. Alright, off I go then. I'll do what I should be doing right now, not think so much, take life by the moment and everything is going to be just fine. Rather, great.

Chow.

Zero, Infinity and everything in between

2010-04-19T08:17:00.007+05:30

Srinivasa Ramanujan said, "Zero represents Absolute Reality. Infinity is the myriad manifestations of that Reality." What is it about numbers that is so enchanting. Is it the fact that most of us do not exactly understand what they mean. Or is it that we are scared to know more about them because they offer you no choice. Every number is fixed and no matter how anything else changes, they will remain the same. That is scary. The fact that something is beyond your control.

I've always been intrigued my maths. Rather mathematicians. Maths has never been my subject. Right from school, I was more of a English/History guy. Math and Physics were scary. But maybe that is why I was so enchanted by all those Chess Players and Mathematicians who probably had social skills of a 3 year old but could see the world in terms of numbers. Like they say, when you can't get something, that seems much better than it actually is. I'm awestruck by the life's of Ramanujan, Reimann, John Nash who were social outcasts but the kind of solutions they came up with are truly, beyond our comprehension. The true mark of a genius is that he works by his intuition. That is probably why many great mathematicians didn't feel the need to prove their theorems. For them, the process was very evident. Staring right in the face. Another sign of a great solution lies in its elegance, its beauty. The proofs are not clumsy. They just flow.

Ok. Now as to why I'm suddenly talking about all this. This has been my latest obsession. I read Robert Kanigel's biography of Ramanujan, 'The man who knew Infinity' about a year ago and then later on read a lot about mathematicians and the kind of work they did. Infact I started doing GH Hardy's A course in Pure Mathematics. A very powerful and interesting book. After that I read Hardy's A Mathematician's Apology which is a collection of essays and it is a good read too. Of late, I took up reading A Beautiful Mind and my interest in Maths got reignited. So, I started reading a lot and then tried working on a few math books. I experimented with games like Go, Reversi and got into Game Theory. Having come across Reimann in that book, I started reading more about Prime numbers, The Reimann hypothesis and other stuff. Has been a great ride so far.

And since I am preparing for my GRE anyway, this stuff has been inspiring me a great deal. I find the metamorphosis in me surprising. From someone who hated Math and Computers, they have turned into my deepest passions. A lot changed after I stayed with Manju Mama about 5 years ago. I've never met a man who loved Maths more. Predictable for an alumni of IISc but still. There was a hint of romanticism in his voice when we spent long nights talking about The Theory of Relativity, The Newton-Leibniz feud, Ramanujan's work on Hyperbolic functions and Michelson-Morley experiment. Ofcourse, back then, a lot of it went over my head but I've always been an enthusiastic learner and he was patient enough to elaborate everything.

I don't know what I intended on writing but I feel good now. Off I go then, in pursuit of that Absolute Reality. But meanwhile, I have an exam coming up tomorrow. And that is a li'l more important truth.

getting along by my rules

2010-04-10T20:29:00.005+05:30

As I sit down now to publish after about a fortnight, I can't find a unified theme to talk about. So, I guess I'll write about everything that's been going through my head these days.

There is something about poets. They are those humans of the rare breed who have an extremely simplified way of looking at the world. I was listening to Nuvvostanante Nenodantana songs yesterday and for the first time I paid attention to Ghal Ghal. Trust me I almost wept and if I can meet Sirivennela now, I'd fall on his feet straightaway. I mean see this,
"premante emante cheppese maatunte
aa maataku telisena premante
adi cheritanu saitam chadavani vainam
kavitanu saitam palakani bhavam".
The day I heard Enthavaraku, I was hooked to Sirivennela. Infact even chakravarthiki from money is like awesome. And then there are always the likes of Veturi and Athreya. It always makes me smile at Arudra's irony when he says,
"Ee punya bhoomilo puttadam mana thappa
Aavesham aapukoleni amma nanna de thappa."
The problem with people of my age is that we consider anything foreign to be cool. Fortunately, the trend's changing and more than a few people are acknowledging listening to Indian music. Something to be proud of ain't it. Because,
"Ye kulamu needante, gokulamu navvindi
Madhavudu yadavudu maa kulame lemmandi."

Infact, talking about songs reminds me of the music I grew up listening to. A lot of Indian film stuff. Right from Rafi, Kishore Kumar, Mukesh to KV Mahadevan, Ilayaraja, Rahman right to our very own SP Balasubramaniam. I feel so proud acknowledging the fact that I'm lucky to have been born in a kind of lineage which produced geniuses like Bapu, Viswanath and Jandhyala. We were talking about it today. Yashaswini is really good to talk to about topics like these. There is a lot of romanticism in the voice when she's talking about her language, heritage and kind of upbringing. I'd say Bapandanam. And yeah, before I forget, thank you Gummaluru Shastri and Jandhyala for giving us Padamati Sandhyaragam. I feel so good about being a bapan and all whenever I watch Jandhyala or Viswanath at full flow. That Kanyasulkam dialogue, "Prathi gadida koduku naa intlo thini nannanevalle." And Padamati's
"Thalli dinam ento thaddinam laga." and "Tindam nanna. Intikellaka iravai kilola biyyam mingudam. Mee amma hidimbi..." Look at these terms, 'Sarva Bhakshaka'and 'Suputra, Saindhava'.

There is something about Kaushik that is refreshingly honest. He isn't brutal but he's powerful. He is on-the-face but also polite. Ages after we last spoke, I didn't think we'd hit off as well as we did. Behind that image of a carefree, another-guy image lies so much passion and restlessness. To the unknown genius in you, Kaushik, let me tell this, I admire you.

I know this post is rather wayward. Taking me a long time to finish this. I don't feel like writing but I do want to write.

By the way, I got into metal this week. Kaushik's influence. Iron Maiden, Slipknot, Black Sabbath, Def Leppard. Interesting but not my type. But then maybe it'll take me sometime to like it. Downloaded Pearl Jam's Ten, having loved Into the Wild OST and boy, Vedder doesn't disappoint. That rage, torment, pain in his voice is so raw that its almost seducing. And am watching this Sam Dunn documentary on metal, will write about it soon. Been planning to write a lot of things. Both for Vidyouth and here. But am not. I'm writing everything down on my new Linux terminal and on a scribbling pad. Will post all the finished works soon. Hopefully.

Talking about Linux, I did install Ubuntu on my other computer and trying to act all programmer like. Really intellectual and all. Been fun. Reading a lot of stuff. Everything from Economics, Game Theory, Music, Gogol, a bit of Telugu literature and everything else. I drew myself a GRE chart. 100 days left for my GRE. And next to it, I have a young Venkatraman Ramakrishnan photograph. I was reading his autobiographical essay and boy, does he inspire me. So, am reading A Beautiful Mind to get a hang of numbers and ideas. Anything to get a good score in GRE. More importantly, to go places and do work that really matters.

I guess that's it for now. Have been doing a lot of things but I want to focus at one thing at a time. Kinda hard for someone like me to do. Got back to my guitar. After that breathtaking experience in Ciencia Viva. Hope I'm gonna stick to it atleast this time around. And have been writing quite a few story ideas. God, wish I could stop postponing stuff. Off I go then. To CN(which I'm loving so much. Thanks mainly to Ram Mohan sir). Will try solving some algorithms. Probably Spanning Tree or the Distance Vector Routing now.

God Bless.

am i growing up then?

2010-03-26T19:20:00.009+05:30

Talking about Into the Wild, Roger Ebert says, "Certain young men, of which I was one, lecture patient girl friends about how such a life of purity and denial makes perfect sense." That is just one instance of how boys grow out of being boys and turn into what can be safely defined as men. More matured, more subtle, more responsible, more conscious, less mad and having a sense of duty. That is how I define a man. Someone I never wanted to be. But sadly, I seem to be turning into one.

All my role models right from childhood have been men who refused to grow up. Who refused to act sane and never wanted to be a part of the society. Somehow I like only those people who don't care what everyone around them think about them. All those characteristics have been etched into me so deep that I see myself like that forever. Julius Caesar says, referring to Cassius, "Never trust a man who is thin, does not comb his hair, looks around suspiciously and does not sleep properly." Shakespeare beautifully portrays that men who do not have time for any social courtesies, nor for food and struggle even in their sleep are the ones who actually do something worthwhile. Even Chris Mccandless refused to get into the norm and went away in search of something more divine, more pure and more rewarding than repeating days. There is something about mad men. Men who are born for a purpose. Their restlessness. They realise early in life that their lives are meant to bring some change in the orthodox world and for the rest of their living moments, nothing else matters. Except that one thing. Everything else seems so trivial. John Nash, Ramanujan or Einstein walked in dreamlike states because all they had time for was that soul pursuit(pun intended).

I always saw myself like that. I think every teenager does. Like you are the protagonist of every movie, the nice guy thrashing the bad guys, bringing some change in the world and being remembered forever. It always happens. Probably growing up means having the ability to differentiate between the real and the celluloid. To accept that you are just another entity. Just another being. But is that growing up? And if that is growing up, I'd rather never grow up. I always considered myself a nerd. Mad, excited, brainy, wild and intuitive. In his beautiful book, Hackers and Painters, Paul Graham says, "Nerds cannot take being dumb. They'd rather be outcats all their lives, unpopular and scrawny and never have a girlfriend but looking down to themselves as stupids is something they can never digest." I like being defined like that. All that matters to me is what a man is worth, what he has it in him rather than how he looks like or what he wears. Maybe I'm conveniently saying this because in the last few years I've been hailed popular and intelligent. No, that isn't no immodesty or arrogance. Its just that I know why I do a few things. When I was a kid, my mum told me that your best judge are yourself. Till now, it has stayed true.

Because of the image of all those guys I admire, most of them being nerds, I've carried myself in those terms all along. Consciously or not, I've been a resident of Nerdville. Loose faded tees, shorts, slippers, long hair, unkempt beard, a book in hand, oblivious to the surroundings and the ability to talk about anything in the world. Infact, like people are fanatic about looking good, wearing branded clothes and costly watches, this has been my idea of looking good. Paradoxically, I dress up to look badly dressed. Maybe I was never a nerd. Never meant to be one. Just pretending to be one. That is why now I can see my true colours. I am making an effort to look good, be called sexy, be hailed as a genius. If I was really a nerd, I'd never have thought about all this.

But if there's something which might make me a nerd, it is my thirst for knowledge. Yes, I like looking like a nerd, being called one but really more than all that, I can't be heard calling myself dumb. If someone talks about anything I don't know, the first thing I do is come back home and learn everything about it. But slowly its fading away. The thirst for knowledge, that curiosity, that inquisition and that urge to learn things is slowly turning into complacency. But maybe this is a sign to set things right. To pursue only those things which matter. To learn. To know. And to feel.

Writing is a very rewarding process. If I didn't know any better, I'd compare it to Bungee Jumping. You want the prize, in this case, to remove the burden and that feel for clarity and lightness but the process of actually doing it is rather scary. You are scared of how to proceed. So all you can do is empty your mind of other things, believe that everything is going to be fine and just do it. Believe me, nothing ever feels as good as when you write your heart out and then take in that breathe of free air at the end of it.

I feel really good now. This time around I didn't know what I wanted to write. So after ages, I feel really unburdened. Getting back to being a nerd again. Nerd or not, my curiosity, my enthusiasm and that need to know are still there and I'm doing everything I've always wanted to do. Now, probably, I'll get back to my roots, think about the world less, yearn to know and to find out the best time complexity of all routing algorithms.

--

After having read this, Kishore just told me something, "Admitted that you feel free after writing it but unless you actually make a point to change, all this goes in vain. You'll remain the same and a few days later, will write again to free yourself. Some kind of a drug. One kind of an escape route." That's probably the best piece of advice I've ever heard. Thanks mama. I want to be something, I don't write about being that thing. Instead, I change to be that. I'm implementing it straight away.

Love all. And God Bless.

Love, Sex aur Dhokha

2010-03-25T18:29:00.004+05:30

Ages since I wrote about a film. Rather abnormal for me. Not that I didn't want to write. Just that I've been lazy to put things down. But with LSD, I have to cross that barrier. I have to write about this movie or I'd be doing injustice to my feelings.

Love, Sex aur Dhoka , ain't that rather brave for a Hindi film. To hell, DB breaks all barriers about the reach and spectrum of Indian Cinema. No popular Indian Cinema has ever been so brave and novel in its approach. Dibakar Banerjee brings an on-the-face film which is different right from its starting titles. Enough has been spoken about the film, its director and its approach. Infact, Rajeev Masand, a critic I respect says this is probably another movie in the league of Satya and Dil Chahta Hai. Probably, I might've included Swades and Taare Zameen Par in the list myself but I do agree with Masand. Like them then, it breaks every possible inhibition about an Indian film.

A brief idea of what the film deals with. If you've seen the promos, you'd realise that this is about videos and the power of a camera. There are three different tracks each dealing with how video footage can be exploited and how much of an integral part of our lives are cameras. The three tracks are brilliantly interwoven that you wouldn't realise the link until the very end. All the actors are new, there are no songs and most of the cinema seems to have been shot with Camcorders. I thought the first track resembled a lot of Paranormal Activity. Hand held cameras, jerky movements and uncompromising angles. Nothing more can be told more about the plot without ruining it for the viewer. So, I'll not disclose any more details. By the end of the film, you will be startled by what has just unfolded infront of you.

What LSD will do to the industry is this. It will prove that, no matter how mad a story might sound, how unconventional, if the director has the skill, courage and confidence to pull it off, its going to be a massive success. There are some amazing crisp dialogue and impressive performances by what is probably a first time cast. But there's something in the film that stands out, its honesty. Unlike all those films we see, which on the surface are clean family entertainers but are forces of negative energy, LSD is refreshingly original. It is not hypocritical. DB is never scared throughout the movie, never compromises and never really cares if it will end up making money. He does what he does best. He makes a film which is provocative, engaging and truly out of the box.

Kudos DB. And thank you for that engaging piece of Indian Cinema.

And He was gone

2010-03-09T19:58:00.006+05:30

14th March 2010

There was something in his eyes which caught me. It made me pause and look deeper into him. Otherwise, he was just another beggar. Those children of the Road whose home is the traffic signal, whose cots are the footpaths and whose God's are those people who have time enough to reach out of their cars and give them a rupee. All of us know what beggars are like. Infact, we have got so accustomed to their sight that we don't really notice them unless there is something out of the ordinary about them, like an extremely disfigured face, or a very uncommon ailment. Your author speaks about such plight with such casualness not because he has a heart of stone but because all that has been taken for granted.

He looked unkempt, long dirty hair, shaggy beard, ragged clothes- in one word, like any beggar. But there was something in his eyes. It wasn't pity, it wasn't grief, it wasn't disgust, it wasn't fear. There was a sparkle in his eyes. Beneath that extremely rugged appearance, sunburnt skin and shaggy beard were two eyes which looked the world with a calmness and confidence of a man who knew the answers. A faint smile teased his lips which told the world that he knew something that they didn't. Like a secret which all could know but were far too preoccupied even to notice.

He stood next to a rail overlooking the lake. The midday sun was glowing red and the water in the lake was placid. I started approaching him and he turned to look at me. I was drawn by the power of his radiance and he looked as if this for him was a common sight. As I etched closer to him, oblivious to all the surroundings, I could feel an aura around him. This outcast who could not earn himself some food was showing me the deepest mysteries of the World. I went nearer and nearer. I noticed his clothes were far too big over his skeletal frame and also that he didn't need none of them to be protected. He did not have to be protected. He was not afraid of anything. Everything around me went eerily quiet and I got lost in the darkness of his pupils. I blinked.

And everything vanished. I was standing next the lake, the burning midday sun making me sweat profusely, I could hear the traffic, the exhaust of vehicles burning my nostrils, the tree infront of me shaking gently thanks to a light breeze. But the beggar was gone. Am I dreaming? Is he God? Am I enlightened? What is wrong with me? I turn back and start walking. Dazed.

--

I've been reading Gogol lately and like all the Russians I've read before him, I'm loving reading Dead Souls. Looking back, I seem to have used quite a bit of his style in this narrative. I am deeply influenced more by his style than his subject. There is something eerie about the way he writes. Like he is waiting to unleash the biggest surprise of them all. Anyway, so that was it. And, Anirudh, Raghav and Deekshith, this has in no way been influenced by that beggar we met the other day, apart from the fact that I was stimulated to write this after that. Like they say in the movies, this character is purely fictious.

Seabiscuit

2010-02-23T20:53:00.006+05:30

Behold! What better than the sight of an unconquered stallion, with its mane flowing, running in the open grasslands with the sun shining on its bare body and wind trying to keep up with it. I named this piece Seabiscuit for the lack of a better idea. Because it was Seabiscuit who inspired me to know more about horses and taught me that freedom of the self is the most important virtue in the world. And now, I breathe in. I read the book about a fortnight ago and loved it so much that I finished it in about 2 days. I hadn't seen the film, had no clue what the story would be but then thanks to Laura Hillenbrand, now I'm love with horses. I saw the film today and I'm forced to write this. To the running spirit in all horses.

"Its not about what you were born as, but what you have it in you to be." I've heard various versions of this line a lot of times. But not until I read the book did I realise its essence. Wait a sec, Before I talk about this, I'll tell you something about him. Seabiscuit is considered the greatest racing horse in the history of mankind. During the Great Depression era, he gave all the Americans a hope that no matter how worse things look, there's always a chance to get the better of it. Born to one of the greatest racehorses of all time, Man O' War, who supposedly looked royal, huge and almost perfect, Seabiscuit looked nothing like him. He was small, lazy and walked like a cripple. But then, there's this beautiful scene in the movie when his trainer says to his jockey, "They screwed him up so much that he's forgotten that he's a horse. Remind him why he's born for. Make him Run free." Its about the spirit that could not be broken. I don't know why I can't write anything. Its just that I'm on a high.

I think I'm a romanticist. I tend to go over the top. I glorify things because I know only when someone has the courage to dream the impossible, does he have the will to stand up to it. I just made that up. There's so much I want to express but I cannot. I mean look at Tom Smith. He doesn't need no fame, no money, nothing at all. Give him horses and he'd be content talking to them forever. At one time he says about an injured horse, "You don't throw away your life just 'cause it's banged up a little bit." That's the kind of love I'm talking about. To find out what you are born to do and go against all odds to achieve it. The most I love about Seabiscuit is that mad streak in him. He does something only because he wants to. Not because he's supposed to, not because he's forced to. And that is why everytime he looks another horse in the eye, he challenges himself to beat him. Because Seabiscuit doesn't know what he cannot do. He isn't bothered about the impossible. All he knows is that he wants to run and run faster than any horse he can lay his eyes on.

I think I know why he was dubbed as the American Legend. Because he raised hopes of millions of people. There comes a time in everyone's life when they doubt their abilities, their aspirations, their dreams and tend to lose themselves in that dark abyss. Your spirit seems to cripple beneath that burden. And at that point of time, all you want is one external spark to reignite the fire within. To get you out of that misery. To give you that ray of hope. To get you back into the race. To give you the courage that no matter how far behind you are in a race, there is always a chance to win it.

To Hope. To Freedom. And to the sound of hooves on the greenest of partures.

And he told me...

2010-02-18T21:34:00.003+05:30

Sravani wrote this. Can you actually believe it? I couldn't the first time I read it. But I think somewhere deep inside I knew only she could write this. One of the most heartfelt works I've read. Loved reading it. To you Sravs.

--

As i looked into his eyes
And found his longing stare
I stopped myself from saying words
That would show how much i care

I put my hand upto his face
To hold my feelings in
I wouldn't say the words again
To show my love for him

The last time I had told him
How much he meant to me
He put my hands away from his
And said to leave him be

I never spoke the words again
For fear of his deep fright
I thought it was the last time
Until that blissful night

His fingers traced around my face
Pushing hair away
And I was quite unprepared
For what he was to say

My heart beat quickly,my head raced on
I thought that I might cry
He looked as if he might faint-
Imagine this strong guy

But never would I be more impressed
With anything he'd do
Than when he took that heartfelt leap
And told me,"I Love You"

--

Here's the link to her blog.

headphones, ideas and clever dicks

2010-02-15T18:46:00.011+05:30

This piece took a long time coming. One because of the lazy bum that I am and two because it had to happen only today. Only after what happened today. Amazing.

16/02/10

Nope. 'Coz of what happened today too. If someone had told me that friends were an important part of life about 6 months ago, I'd have laughed it off. Now, I say its an understatement. Friends are what life is all about. I just named this post and its probably the weirdest of all my posts. After ages, today, I have an urge to write. I want to remember these two days like hell. They taught me a lot. That sometimes, rather, most of the time, its never about us. Its about those folks whose faces we see everyday, with whom we grumble over trivial issues, whose food we snatch and whose mistakes we are ready to take blame for. Oh! For the heck of it.

I once knew Ryan. I know all of you know Ryan Oberoi. Of all the things I admire about him, its one thing which always left me a with a lot of envy. That ability of his to do anything for his friends. For those folks who he knows are probably no match to him but nevertheless they are his friends and he owes them a lot for that. I've always detested friends. Atleast the Bollywood version of friends. But now I understand. Now I really understand DCH, Rock On, FPS. When all that matters is that smile on your friends lips and that look in his eyes when you tell him, "Light mama! Mem unnam gaa." I get it now goddamn it. And I'm grinning my ass off.

Boy, I'm exhilarated. Its been ages since I've felt this. Music in my ears, my mind streaming out lines and my fingers typing as fast as they can. Sometimes, I'd say always, its those little moments in life which matter the most. Which give you the most happiness. On the contrary, sad thing always come in terms of milestones. Big incidents(Breakups, Failures, Embarrassments) are always about feelings than incidents. And honestly, I owe a lot to all my friends for I'm not the person I was 2 and a half years ago. I'm not taking out names here. I don't have to. All of you know what you mean to me. The kind of things I've learnt from you have left such an impact on me that I'm sure I'm a better person than I was. I am. And I'm proud of it.

I always thought life was about self. I really did. I do now too. For me perfection of the self is the way to heaven. But then there was something I always missed. Be it Roark, Caulifield or for that matter Sid, trying to be a better person is not an isolated process. All my friends always told me, when I preached 'em for hours about Asceticism, Minimalism, being able to stay untouched and all that crap, that when living is inevitably a social activity, that you cannot reach out to God by cutting away from all that. I laughed them off. I worshiped Supertramp, Dylan and Jobs. I still do. But then I missed something. Something more subtle underneath all their lives. That but for their friends, they wouldn't have been where they are now. I don't know where this post is heading(like all my posts, yeah). This wasn't supposed to be an ode to all my friends. No, it wasn't supposed to be.

This isn't about me or about them. But all those moments that we spent together. Trying out shit together, getting our asses whacked in the process, laughing over crises, cracking really dumb jokes and here I get really filmy, weeping in each others' arms. When you folks told me what kind of an impact friends had over us, I never really believed it. But recently, I started learning something. That everything affects you. And friends the most. They made me a man out of a boy(Naughtyness only ;)). And I'm so elated. Its really simple. Just give yourself away to the people you trust. You trust them once, you trust them with your life. And trust me, true friends never let you down.

Seems like I'm done. I don't know if this is what I was planning to write but I eventually ended up with this. I don't know if I've been able to do justice to all that I was feeling. But before I sign off, here's something. No, I'm not thanking no one. Hell, we are friends and I'm not insulting you. But to all those good moments and memories which I'll cherish when I'm 70. A'right. No shit.

To those cinema theatres, empty roads, irani cafes, late night discussions, guitar classes, last benches, snooker tables, chinese fastfood centres and penniless pockets. I thank you all for my friends. And before I go, love all, trust friends and God bless.

Me, my college and more

2010-01-24T21:14:00.005+05:30

What do you write about a place which has been your home for more than 2 years? And about a family where no one is related through blood but who'd give their lives for yours? About those friends who know your deepest secrets, your finest moments and who've been with you in your darkest hours? And now I face that daunting task as I sit down to write about my engineering life which has been full of surprises, revelations and a lifetime of memories. So, I start off with Lennon in my ears, a smile on my lips and nostalgia in my eyes.

Exactly 26 months ago, I walked out of Ganga theatre, having watched the First show of Happy Days. My college, CVR College of Engg, was starting the next day and I was nervous, if not excited. After having watched Happy Days, I dreamt about how the next four years of my life would be like and unsurprisingly, a lot of it had been derived from the film. Now, looking back, I realise a lot has changed in all those months. Old friends have seeped away into deeper lanes of my memory, new friends have more than made up for it, my girl left me, I got ragged and then I ragged, I stopped lsitening to Himesh Reshammiya and started my musical journey ranging from Cohen to Lennon and from Springsteen to Rabbi. But the thing that's changed the most is me. I'm not the same gawky, shy, introverted, innocent teenaged I was. What am I now, I don't know. Probably I'll know looking back a couple of years from now.

And I know everyone, all of us have gone through this. And a major part of it has got to do with the college and the folks in it. The day I joined CVRCE, I was neither elated nor disappointed. I was just apprehensive as to how it would be like. I know everyone feels like that on their first day to what are unarguably the most important 4 years of an engineering student's life. 2 years from that day, today, I'm proud of my friendships, a few of my lecturers and my college. I mean, whenever I'm in the college, there is a sense of belonging in there. I feel protected. I feel closer to myself.

My college is one such place and anyone who's been a CVRian would surely know that, don't you guys? Apart from the disfunctional robot and eco clubs and other similar crap, there's nothing much happening. Someone's playing basketball, someone's in the library, someone's in the HOD's office getting scorned and someone's lazing around in the shades of a tree. But that is the best part of it. Its unhurried, its quiet and pretty laidback. I'm loving it and am looking forward to my last 3 sems.

After my results, I repeneted not making it through a 'reputed' college, IITs, NITs etc. You know how its like. You read Five Point Someone and you want to be an IITian. But then after getting here, I realised something. Something very important. It is not the place you are in as much as the company you have. And luckily, I have the finest friends imaginable. Thanks God! I'm glad I'm here.

--

I wrote this article because Vidyouth wanted an article sent to them about college life. Though not entirely honest(I was looking to be recruited!), it more or less defines what my life has been as a CVRian.

awaiting the doomsday

2010-01-20T20:30:00.005+05:30

7th December 2009

High time this piece gets started. I wanted to write about this ages ago but never started it. You know the 2012 phenomenon don't you. Doomsday/Judgement Day/The End, ofcourse you've heard about it. I don't give a damn if that's the last day or not. Today could be your last, this breathe might be your end, and this moment may put you to rest. So, why think about it? But I await the doomsday for other reasons.

"Shit! Today's 1st. 30 days more for my paycheck."
"Sir, I suggest this Insurance scheme because 40 years from now, when you retire, it'll give you a happy life."
"I need to top this exam. Dad promised me a watch."
"A couple of more dates and then I can propose."
"Two more years and we are ready for the baby."

We've said or heard all these at some point in our lives. I read somewhere that the unconventionality of one generation is the wisdom of the next. We've been bearing the burden of hundreds of generations of our ancestors and its high time we start over again. Let me explain. No matter how much we say we have changed from the first homo sapiens that walked this Earth, no matter how different we may look and think, we feel almost the same way. And that because the ability to feel that way has always been carried form one generation to another. The basic instinct of a human has never changed. Our core emotions, values,insecurities, madness has been the same.

But what has changed are the times. And due that everything has been concocted. The upper layers of our existence have been modified beyond recognition but since the base is yet the same, we are, to put it bluntly, screwed. The humans, like all the beings on the planet, weren't supposed to be these many. According to God's plan, I can only predict, whenever the population of one kind of a being increases, (and according to Darwin too) due to some or the other factor it has to be brought to its optimum quantity. Remember the Bio-cycle? CO2-Plant-Herbivore-Carnivore-Man-CO2-Plant-Herbivore- and so on and so forth.

But then being the miraculous species that we are, we managed to defy nature's rule and desperately chased immortality. Thatha always used to tell me that catastrophes are but God's remainders that we are just a part of the bigger plan and we shouldn't try to act God. Obviously, he'd/she'd be worried if someone was fighting for his/her seat. But then we always ignored the signs. Atleast until Al Gore decided to make The Inconvenient Truth.

But I don't want the World to come to an end just because of this. I know we don't deserve to live on this planet after ravaging her so much but then being the selfish humans we are, I look back and pity the human race and the concept of society and man being a social being and all. I think I've talked about the Intricate Web of Human existence or maybe I thought I'd write about it. Cynics may tell us that all of us deserve it for our actions and its time we repent. But I'm not blaming no one. It both amuses me and evokes pity. Amuses me because How could we ever imagine getting away with all the shit we've piled up and fills me with sadness because it isn't just our fault. We couldn't get the bigger picture. We were never supposed to.

We have thousands of pages of literature written on the human quest for Truth and its pursuit of utter simplicity. And the inevitability of death. But then millions of pages written how to prolong life and plan for the years to come. It makes me smile. We might be run down by a truck today, can be burnt or be frozen to death, or we might simply run out of oxygen. No, I'm not being cynical. I'm just telling you the unpredictability of the next moment and instead of living in what maybe our last minute of existence, we are bothered about where we might be buried and who should get the majority of our accumulated wealth. OMG! I think it was Einstein who said, "The difference between stupidity and genius is that genius has its limits." Honestly, how dumb can we get.

I was a part of this system, this society too. Or maybe I still am. But then shouldn't we be doing something because we want to do it instead of what we may get at the end of it. 'If you live everyday of your life like its your last, one day you will be correct.' Write the exam for the heck of it instead of the result. Go to the office because you like the work, not the paycheck at the end of the month. I can't believe I'm saying this but something Rancho says has a lot of sense- Do the work you love doing. And then you wouldn't have to bother about what is to come because every moment you are living for the sake of it. I'm not being able to put this properly but I hope you get the point.

The system which we live in, and here I refer to the state of mind as the system, has been so messed up with that if we don't have an incentive visible for every action, we are never doing it. How long has it been since you've done something for the heck of it. I might've said fun or satisfaction but then they'd be incentives too. All I'm saying is we need to stop living either in the past or the future. If I'm planting a tree, I'm not doing it so that I can eat its fruit ages later. No, not because I'm trying to make the World a better place. And not even because I like doing it. Simply put, I'm planting a tree right here, right now because I'm supposed to do it. As I'm writing this, somewhere in the back of my mind, a process is running which makes me think as to how you might react when you read this. But I'm trying to submerge it because I'm writing this not for anyone else, not even for me but because I'm supposed to.

Is that destiny then? I don't know. I don't mind looking at it that way though. Some people find it discomforting to believe that their life is being controlled by higher Purpose and that they are just a part of the huge gameplan. Infact, I think making them think that way is also a part of the plan. If I can be a little harsh, to all you people who don't want to believe in the prospect of destiny, how can you believe that your life is in your hands when you are neither born nor will die when you decide. Let me clarify that I'm not being a pessimist here. I'm not telling you that a man cannot rise to whatever he wants to.

Infact, the reason we dream, we hope and fight for that better cause is also a part of our destiny. You want to be next SRK and you have the courage to dream of it, that in itself is a testimony that you have it in you to be that. But then living every moment by itself and doing what we are supposed to will lead us there. When man grew out of his animal like behaviour, living in search of the next meal, the signs came(remember Ice Age?). Once we started storing food and started taking our own world's with us(started living in our own heads), we lost connection with the real world. I want all of us to be like we were earlier. I want all of us to start afresh. I want that day. And I call that day, the D Day. But for those of you who are suckers for happy endings, I'd call it the E Day. Is that the Enlightenment Day?

The Great Writing Odessey

2010-01-20T20:22:00.002+05:30

Its been ages since I penned something original. I wouldn't call it the Writer's Block but a little of that and a lot of laziness have conspired into this long break. I have about 35 drafts and quite a few new experiences to write and I'll finish them soon. I luckily have this urge to write again and I'm not going to let it go this time.

If I can be a little immodest, wait for the stampede because it is about to be unleashed.