Genius under contruction

I've been quiet on the blogging front for a while now. Been writing lots of drafts but I don't seem to be getting enough motivation to sit down and spend time on the thoughts in my head.

Long discussions with Bujji Mama have resulted in me coming down from my exulted bubble and face reality. People won't give a shit if you don't prove them what you are worth. All the artistic blah-blah one side, if you want to be a part of the system and live on your own terms, you cannot be one among the crowd, yell and say nobody is listening to me. There's a reason people who've reached a certain level in life, are asked to step on stage and tell the world what they want to. And beyond this is the simple fact that without technical prowess never will yours be truly great art. Artistic genius is very fleeting. And if you want to shine in its glory, you have to be technically, mentally ready to face it. Einstein's e=mc^2 was genius, true, but then a lot of people must have already dreamed of traveling at the speed of light. Einstein had the ability to show the world what exactly his intuition told him. Now, that capability was unique. Messi might see a hole in the defense 40 yards off the post, but if he didn't practice day in and day out, he wouldn't be able to show the world that display of stunning art.

Producing glimpses of genius is no big deal. Like Einstein said, "Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to fly, it'll live all its life thinking that it is stupid." When I first read One Hundred Years of Solitude, I thought Garcia Marquez was the most gifted writer of his generation. Only after I read of his struggle in Living to tell the tale, writing for more than 10 hours everyday despite not making enough money to buy food, did I realize the amount of diligent preparation that catapulted him into immortality. In fact, Malcolm Gladwell argues in his Outliers that when somebody studies the life of any genius, the most under appreciated trait is their discipline and hard work. He argues that any man who spends more than 10,000 hours truly practicing his art will be a master in it. I remember once having read that whenever JD Salinger was writing something and couldn't get the right word, he stopped wherever he was and painstakingly went through every word in the dictionary until he found what he was looking for.

All along I had been under the impression that talent was inherent. Maybe it is but it will take you only that far. When people praise Federer for his artistic imagination, they tend to forget that for that idea in his head to be translated to reality, he must have practiced that forehand slice millions of times until it reached clinical precision. Without technical know-how, no artist or athlete can do justice to his ideas or abilities. And if you're wondering why I always compare athletes to artists, it is because a great backhand is equivalent to an exceptional interlude.

That through ball, that cover drive, that ace, that maneuvre are so good to look at and so awe-inspiring precisely because they've been worked upon over and over again until they've reached perfection. It is only after turning up every morning to train, pushing every muscle until it can do no more but still pushing, that every cell in the body turns into a living entity, breathing, thinking, understanding and responding. And that is what we call artistic intuition.

This life is to be explored, to be pushed to the brink, to be experienced and to be loved and the only way to do it is by pushing yourself to the edge of your capabilities. I recently read somewhere that God has not given us this body to preserve it to the coffin. Any man in the coffin should be battered, spent and exalted.

What's in the name?

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

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

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.

Abbaji

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

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 piece yesterday about Sangakkara, sometimes character, principle, idealism and humility can do things that even immense talent cannot.

dusting the soul

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

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."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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."

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

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, it's 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 its people, or its food and culture but transforms itself into an organism, a living entity which forms a symbiotic relationship with everyone of its 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 plane 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.