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| Thursday, March 21, 2002
, 11:53 PM |
Mornings never cease to fascinate me. There is something in the stillness that affects unlike most of my other fascinations that are to do with motion of some kind.
Sometimes it's almost surreal like today with 74-75 playing in the background and the cool morning air slowly (almost) caressing my face, I can see the entire city from here. I feel like I am in a movie only it's a little more real. There are lots of things missing in the picture but it feels perfect for now, even without them. I wonder if this is what all those wise men mean by happiness.....what the heck maybe it's just sleep induced numbness but hey it wouldn't be such a nice picture if I described it like that :-)
Seriously sometimes there is such a fine line between the romantic and the real it's hard to see....Shut Up Rahul!!! |
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| Monday, March 18, 2002
, 8:10 PM |
CRY, THE BELOVED COUNTRY - Reflections on the Gujarat massacre
by Harsh Mander
Numbed with disgust and horror, I return from Gujarat ten days after the terror and massacre hat convulsed the state. My heart is sickened, my soul wearied, my shoulders aching with the burdens of guilt and shame.
As you walk through the camps of riot survivors in Ahmadabad, in which an estimated 53,000 women, men, and children are huddled in 29 temporary settlements, displays of overt grief are unusual. People clutch small bundles of relief materials, all that they now own in the world, with dry and glassy eyes. Some talk in low voices, others busy themselves with the tasks of everyday living in these most basic of shelters, looking for food and milk for children, tending the wounds of the injured.
But once you sit anywhere in these camps, people begin to speak and their words are like masses of pus released by slitting large festering wounds. The horrors that they speak of are so macabre, that my pen falters in the writing. The pitiless brutality against women and small children by organised bands of armed young men is more savage than anything witnessed in the riots that have shamed this nation from time to time during the past century.
I force myself to write a small fraction of all that I heard and saw, because it is important that we all know. Or maybe also because I need to share my own burdens.
What can you say about a woman eight months pregnant who begged to be spared. Her assailants instead slit open her stomach, pulled out her foetus and slaughtered it before her eyes. What can you say about a family of nineteen being killed by flooding their house with water and then electrocuting them with high-tension electricity. What can you say?
A small boy of six in Juhapara camp described how his mother and six brothers and sisters were battered to death before his eyes. He survived only because he fell unconscious, and was taken for dead. A family escaping from Naroda-Patiya, one of the worst-hit settlements in Ahmedabad, spoke of losing a young woman and her three month old son, because a police constable directed her to 'safety' and she found herself instead surrounded by a mob which doused her with kerosene and set her and her baby on fire.
I have never known a riot which has used the sexual subjugation of women so widely as an instrument of violence in the recent mass barbarity in Gujarat. There are reports every where of gang-rape, of young girls and women, often in the presence of members of their families, followed by their murder by burning alive, or by bludgeoning with a hammer and in one case with a screw driver. Women in the Aman Chowk shelter told appalling stories about how armed men disrobed themselves in front of a group of terrified women to cower them down further.
In Ahmedabad, most people I met - social workers, journalists, survivors - agree that what Gujarat witnessed was not a riot, but a terrorist attack followed by a systematic, planned massacre, a pogrom. Everyone spoke of the pillage and plunder, being organised like a military operation against an external armed enemy. An initial truck would arrive broadcasting inflammatory slogans, soon followed by more trucks which disgorged young men, mostly in khaki shorts and saffron sashes. They were armed with sophisticated explosive materials, country weapons, daggers and trishuls. They also carried water bottles, to sustain them in their exertions. The leaders were seen communicating on mobile telephones from the riot venues,
receiving instructions from and reporting back to a co-ordinating centre. Some were seen with documents and computer sheets listing Muslim families and their properties. They had detailed precise knowledge about buildings and businesses held by members of the minority community, such as who were partners say in a restaurant business, or which Muslim homes had Hindu spouses were married who should be spared in the violence. This was not a spontaneous upsurge of mass anger. It was a carefully planned pogrom.
The trucks carried quantities of gas cylinders. Rich Muslim homes and business establishments were first systematically looted, stripped down of all their valuables, then cooking gas was released from cylinders into the buildings for several minutes. A trained member of the group then lit the flame which efficiently engulfed the building. In some cases, acetylene gas
which is used for welding steel, was employed to explode large concrete buildings. Mosques and dargahs were razed, and were replaced by statues of Hanuman and saffron flags. Some dargahs in Ahmedabad city crossings have overnight been demolished and their sites covered with road building material, and bulldozed so efficiently that these spots are indistinguishable from the rest of the road. Traffic now plies over these former dargahs, as though they never existed.
The unconscionable failures and active connivance of the state police and administrative machinery is also now widely acknowledged. The police is known to have misguided people straight into the hands of rioting mobs. They provided protective shields to crowds bent on pillage, arson, rape and murder, and were deaf to the pleas of the desperate Muslim victims, many of
them women and children. There have been many reports of police firing directly mostly at the minority community, which was the target of most of the mob violence. The large majority of arrests are also from the same community which was the main victim of the pogrom.
As one who has served in the Indian Administrative Service for over two decades, I feel great shame at the abdication of duty of my peers in the civil and police administration. The law did not require any of them to await orders from their political superivisors before they organised the decisive use of force to prevent the brutal escalation of violence, and to protect vulnerable women and children from the organised, murderous mobs. The law instead required them to act independently, fearlessly, impartially, decisively, with courage and compassion. If even one official had so acted in Ahmedabad, she or he could have deployed the police forces and called in the army to halt the violence and protect the people in a matter of hours. No riot can continue beyond a few hours without the active connivance of the local police and magistracy. The blood of hundreds of innocents are on the hands of the police and civil authorities of Gujarat, and by sharing in a conspiracy of silence, on the entire higher bureaucracy of the country.
I have heard senior officials blame also the communalism of the police constabulary for their connivance in the violence. This too is a thin and disgraceful alibi. The same forces have been known to act with impartiality and courage when led by officers of professionalism and integrity. The failure is clearly of the leadership of the police and civil services, not
of the subordinate men and women in khaki who are trained to obey their orders.
Where also, amidst this savagery, injustice, and human suffering is the 'civil society', the Gandhians, the development workers, the NGOs, the fabled spontaneous Gujarathi philanthropy which was so much in evidence in the earthquake in Kutch and Ahmedabad? The newspapers reported that at the peak of the pogrom, the gates of Sabarmati Asram were closed to protect its
properties, it should instead have been the city's major sanctuary. Which Gandhian leaders, or NGO managers, staked their lives to halt the death-dealing throngs? It is one more shame that we as citizens of this country must carry on our already burdened backs, that the camps for the
Muslim riot victims in Ahmedabad are being run almost exclusively by Muslim organisations. It is as though the monumental pain, loss, betrayal and injustice suffered by the Muslim people is the concern only of other Muslim people, and the rest of us have no share in the responsibility to assuage, to heal and rebuild. The state, which bears the primary responsibility to extend both protection and relief to its vulnerable citizens, was nowhere in evidence in any of the camps, to manage, organise the security, or even to provide the resources that are required to feed the tens of thousands of defenceless women, men and children huddled in these camps for safety.
The only passing moments of pride and hope that I experienced in Gujarat, were when I saw men like Mujid Ahmed and women like Roshan Bahen who served in these camps with tireless, dogged humanism amidst the ruins around them. In the Aman Chowk camp, women blessed the young band of volunteers who worked from four in the morning until after midnight to ensure that none of
their children went without food or milk, or that their wounds remained untended. Their leader Mujid Ahmed is a graduate, his small chemical dyes factory has been burnt down, but he has had no time to worry about his own loss. Each day he has to find 1600 kilograms of foodgrain to feed some 5000 people who have taken shelter in the camp. The challenge is even greater for Roshan Bahen, almost 60, who wipes her eyes each time she hears the stories of horror by the residents in Juapara camp. But she too has no time for the luxuries of grief or anger. She barely sleeps, as her volunteers, mainly working class Muslim women and men from the humble tenements around the camp, provide temporary toilets, food and solace to the hundreds who have gathered in the grounds of a primary school to escape the ferocity of merciless mobs.
As I walked through the camps, I wondered what Gandhiji would have done in these dark hours. I recall the story of the Calcutta riots, when Gandhi was fasting for peace. A Hindu man came to him, to speak of his young boy who had been killed by Muslim mobs, and of the depth of his anger and longing for revenge. And Gandhi is said to have replied: If you really wish to overcome your pain, find a young boy, just as young as your son, a Muslim boy whose parents have been killed by Hindu mobs. Bring up that boy like you would your own son, but bring him up with the Muslim faith to which he was born. Only then will you find that you can heal your pain, your anger,
and your longing for retribution.
There are no voices like Gandhi's that we hear today. Only discourses on Newtonian physics, to justify vengeance on innocents. We need to find these voices within our own hearts, we need to believe enough in justice, love, tolerance.
There is much that the murdering mobs in Gujarat have robbed from me. One of them is a song I often sang with pride and conviction. The words of the song are:
Sare jahan se achha
Hindustan hamara...
It is a song I will never be able to sing again.
(Harsh Mander, the writer, is a serving IAS Officer, who is working on deputation with a development organisation) |
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| Friday, March 08, 2002
, 10:43 AM |
| There's no fool like an intelligent fool |
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| Wednesday, February 27, 2002
, 1:09 AM |
A Message from the Emperor
The emperor, or so they say, has sent you - his single most contemptible subject, the miniscule shadow that has fled the farthest distance from the imperial sun - only to you has the Emperor sent a message from his deathbed. He has had the messenger kneel beside his bed and he has whispered the message to him; so important was this that he has made him repeat it in his ear. He has confirmed the accuracy of the words with a nod of his head. And then, before all the spectators assembled to witness his death – every wall obstructing the view had been knocked down and on the free-standing, vaulted staircases, all the dignitaries of the empire were gathered in a circle – before them all, he has dispatched the messenger. The messenger sets off at once, a strong and tireless man; sometimes thrusting ahead with one arm, sometimes with the other, he beats a path through the crowd; where he meets resistance, he points to the sign of the sun on his breast, and he forges ahead with an ease that could be matched by no other. But the throng is so thick, there’s no end to their dwellings. If only there were an open field before him, how fast he would fly; soon you would surely hear the glorious rapping of his knock on your door. But instead, how vain his efforts are; he is still only forcing his way through the chambers of the innermost palace; he will never reach the end of them, and even if he did he’d be no closer; he would have to fight his way down the steps, and even if he did he’d be no closer; he would still have to cross the courtyards, and after the courtyards the second, outer palace, and still more stairs and courtyards, and still another palace for thousands of years, and even if did finally burst through the outermost gate – but that could never, ever happen – the empire’s capital, the center of the world, flooded with the dregs of humanity, would still lie before him. There is no one who could force his way through here, least of all with a message from a dead man. – But you sit at your window and dream it up as evening falls.
-Franz Kafka
A friend of mine once remarked "Kafka means different things to different people and therein lies the beauty". I don't know if they were his words but he was absolutely right. This one will remain one of my favourites for a long time to come. |
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| Sunday, February 17, 2002
, 12:30 AM |
| Politics breed incompetence. |
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| Saturday, February 09, 2002
, 9:30 PM |
| Love is highly over-rated. I do not know of any other emotion that justifies so many stupidities. |
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| Thursday, January 31, 2002
, 8:25 AM |
Very interesting.......
Complexity theory is the symptom, not a cause. Complexity theory is coming out of all the sciences and all the arts. We’re seeing that the world is structured in a formational view. It’s a view where biology displaces physics, where Darwin displaces Newton, where the computer displaces pencil-and-paper analysis. There are many movements here, but we’re coming into an organic view. Once we’re in an organic view, then the separations we made – subject/object, problem/solution, and so on – don’t make sense anymore.
When you do away with those distinctions, you’re in a completely different set of problems for management. The odd thing is that the more complicated and developed that technology gets, the less mechanistic it becomes, and the more organic. This is true of everything. The Internet is essentially very organic. It builds from what’s laid down already. It’s not easily describable. It’s not very homogenous, and it tends to reach out and just unfold..
-extract from Interview with economist W. Brian Arthur via The Obvious? |
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| Sometimes all it takes is a little determination not let anything bog you down. |
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| Monday, January 28, 2002
, 11:17 PM |
Q. So how do u like your bathrooms?
A. Dry. 50 feet wide. Brightly lit. A floor that will make you want to lie on it. Jacuzzi. Art disguised as fittings. Soft huge towels. Bean bags. Potted plants. Big mirrors. Huge cabinets. COLOR. Lots of soaps. Lots of cologne. A book. And all the time in the world. |
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Satisfaction lasts for 7 and half minutes. Whether
it's a job well done, amazing sex or the success you have dreamt of all your
life. Satisfaction lasts for 7 and half minutes.
Here is a dedication to all my unsatisfied brothers and ladies by one of my all time favourites.
Slow down you crazy child
You're so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you're so smart
Tell me why are you are still so afraid?
Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?
You better cool it off before you burn it out
You got so much to do
And only so many hours in a day
But you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want or you can just get old
You're gonna kick off
Before you even get halfway through
When will you realize
Vienna waits for you
Slow down you're doing fine
You can't be everything you want to be before your time
Although it's so romantic
On the borderline tonight
Too bad but it's the life you lead
You're so ahead of yourself that you forget what you need
Though you can see when you're wrong
You know you can't always see when you're right
You've got your passion, you've got your pride
But don't you know only fools are satisfied?
Dream on
But don't imagine they'll all come true
When will you realize
Vienna waits for you
Slow down you crazy child
Take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while
It's alright
You can afford to lose a day or two
When will you realize...
Vienna waits for you.
- Vienna by Billy Joel |
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| Wednesday, January 23, 2002
, 1:34 AM |
A LITTLE OFFICE PRAYER...
Grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change things I cannot accept
And the wisdom
To hide the bodies of those people
I had to kill today because they
Pissed me off.
And also,
Help me to be careful of the toes I step on today as they may be connected to the ass that I may have to kiss tomorrow.
Always give 100% at work....
12%on Monday
23%on Tuesday
40%on Wednesday
20%on Thursday
5% on Friday
And remember....
When you're having a really bad day and it seems like people are trying to piss you off, remember it takes 42 muscles to frown and only 4 to extend your middle finger.
Now get back to work... |
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| Wednesday, January 16, 2002
, 6:27 AM |
| Music holds no solace. Thoughts betray the disillusionment. Pain yes sometimes but in the background like a crouching carnivore just waiting to leap in and devour whatever little joy there exists. A dull throbbing nothingness devoid of any meaning, purpose or feeling clouds the mind. The perception lost in a haze. Flirtations with lady death hold their own morbid pleasures. Humour gives way to hidden interpretations that remain unrevealed to an otherwise sane mind. Complexes fester beckoning to a destruction. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Just a feeling of complete helplessness. What can you do with a weary mind and a willing body. Nothing. Now shouldn't have existed. |
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| Monday, January 14, 2002
, 5:27 AM |
| The greatest loss is a life unlived. |
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| Saturday, December 29, 2001
, 10:04 PM |
.......................and the Major focus area for 2002 will be HEALTH AND FITNESS
Resolutions I intend to keep:
1. No smoking.
2. No alcohol this year.
3. Exercise, Exercise, Exercise.
4. Hair Oil.
5. Regular and balanced diet.
Resolutions I don't intend to keep:
1. No Universal Burgers with extra mayonnaise
2. No aerated drinks
3. Work from 9am to 6pm only
4. Total abstinence from all worldly pleasures
5. Total Annihilation
6. Stop analyzing life.
7. Suicide
8. Stop being such a pain in the ass
9. Stop believing in Extra terrestrial life
10. Stop using swear words
11. Stop making resolutions I don't keep. |
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| Monday, December 24, 2001
, 5:54 AM |
| Myopia. Myopia. Myopia. GO AWAY. GO AWAY. GO AWAY. |
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| Thursday, December 20, 2001
, 9:13 PM |
Wear sunscreen.
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long- term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.
Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.
Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.
Do one thing every day that scares you.
Sing.
Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.
Floss.
Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.
Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.
Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.
Stretch.
Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.
Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.
Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.
Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.
Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.
Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.
Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.
Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.
Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.
Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. Travel.
Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.
Respect your elders.
Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.
Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.
Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.
But trust me on the sunscreen.
- "Everybody's free to wear", Mary Schmich
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| Thought for the day. "Everything Matters. Everything" |
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| The unrestrained wind is on my face. Unrestrained because nothing can bind him so high up here. Nothing ever can anywhere I guess.Too alive to be controlled he is. The wind doesn’t quite care whether I am here. He hits me slightly as I try another maneuver with my wings. I turn. It’s another point of view. Another fragment of the same universe. There is nothing around. There is everything around. The trees look like tiny blotches of green on an amateur painter’s canvas. There is as much ahead of me as there is behind. ALIVE…..because I can feel this and here. Alive because this and here exist. I wish I could tell them that it doesn’t matter that I can feel this and they can’t. I wish I could tell them of the things I dream of. If I had arms…If I could speak….If I could make her laugh………..if only she could laugh. It doesn’t matter. I have this moment. It won’t last…but I have it and it’s mine. |
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"Control is an illusion, you infantile ego-maniac. Nobody knows what's gonna happen next: not on a freeway, not in an airplane, not inside our own bodies and certainly not on a racetrack with 40 other infantile egomaniacs. "
- Nicole Kidman to Tom Cruise in Days of Thunder |
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| The irony of it never ceases to amaze. But how many are amazed? Maybe they do not have the time for it, maybe they've lost the faculty for amazement over the years, maybe they never speak about it (like me) for fear of the ridicule. Maybe... |
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| Somewhere along the line, there was a fusion. Like an alloy of sorts, like 2 fundamentally distinct entities that found peace with each other in an indiscerpible union, like perfect sex (maybe). It started with a calefaction of the mind by the music…a slow and awfully pleasant intermingling…and it flowed……starting somewhere in a broken thought process in my dreams, moving onto every single cell in my body. A sensation so complete and so overpowering it couldn’t last and it didn’t. I woke up with a start. It was past 1 in the morning. I took off the headphones and went back to sleep completely happy, but with a slight tinge of sadness thinking, “It might never happen again”. |
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In itself, every idea is neutral…but man animates ideas, projects his flames and flaws into them….Idolaters by instinct, we convert the objects of our dreams…into the unconditional. [Man’s] power to adore is responsible for all his crimes: A man who loves a god unduly forces other men to love his god, eager to exterminate them if they
refuse….Once man loses his faculty of indifference he becomes a potential murderer…We kill only in the name of god or his counterfeits…In every mystic outburst, the moans of victims parallel the moans of ecstasy…scaffolds, dungeons, jails flourish only in the shadow of a faith- of the need to believe which has infested the mind forever.
The devil pales beside a man who owns a truth, his truth…A human being possessed by a belief and not eager to pass it on to others is a phenomenon alien to the
earth, where our mania for salvation makes life unbearable. Look around you… everyone trying to remedy everyone’s life… The sidewalks and hospitals overflow with reformers. Society- an inferno of saviours! It is enough for me to hear someone talk sincerely about ideals, about the future…to hear him say "we" with a certain inflection of assurance – for me to consider him my enemy. I see in him a tyrant…we mistrust the swindler, the trickster, the conman; yet we can impute none of history’s great convulsions; believing in nothing, it is not they who rummage in your hearts… In every man sleeps a prophet, and when he wakes there is a little more evil in the world
E.M.Cioran - " A Short History of Decay" |
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| Thought for the day. "If that's your foot over me. It don't really matter". |
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| Wednesday, December 19, 2001
, 11:57 PM |
| RESPECT LEISURE |
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| Sunday, December 16, 2001
, 6:53 AM |
| Ok I admit. I am a snob and an insufferable egomaniac. So?? As long as I don't act the part it doesn't make a damn difference to the world now does it ? |
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| Thursday, December 13, 2001
, 5:34 AM |
The Radiant Beyond
I missed my chance to become a teenage suicide. Not that it's an event I sorely regret, but it's sad when you outgrow things.
The reason I bring up such a morbid topic is because I had a chat with death today, she was more gracious than I could have ever hoped. At one point she even offered me a lick of her Chupa-Chupa but I graciously declined, mostly because it was cola flavor. Who ever decided to blend candy production with the cola industry made a dreadful error, the stuff tastes like my feet.
Death said the reason she approached me of all people was because I had an undeniable tolerance for muted absurdity. I had to agree.
“Would you like to come with me?” she asked.
“Where, exactly?” I replied inquisitively.
“Away from this place. I know you don't like it here.”
“That's not true,” I said. “Life has many opportunities”
“Death has many opportunities” she injected.
“That's beautiful, I think I'll have that embroidered on a quilt.”
“Why are you being so pedantic?”
“Why are you being so romantic?”
I don't know why exactly that sentence came to mind, and I’m really not sure why I said it. I suppose it was because I didn't know what pedantic meant, so I figured a rhyme was in order. Nevertheless, the confusion threw death for a loop and forced her to re-evaluate the whole conversation. She began to stroke her sickle, rather erotically, and began to bite her bottom lip.
“You haven't made much of your life, have you?” she said as she continued to caress the shaft of her death tool.
“Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans.” I quoted.
“Paul McCartney?”
“John Lennon.”
“Good one.”
“Thanks.”
“I was close…”
“Yes you were, very good.”
At that point I figured that death was either going to take me to hell or kick me in the nuts, neither being an especially desirable option. As it turned out, I was wrong, at least for the time being.
“Your job,” I said, “isn't it relatively uneventful?”
“Not really, I get to travel.” She replied as her tone fluctuated.
“Yeah, but isn't it kinda like shooting a deer at a petting zoo?”
“Not at all, I mean…”
“What I'm saying is, there's no challenge involved, doesn't it get boring?”
“No cause…”
“Well I think it would get boring - but I get bored in the shower.”
I thought as long as I kept talking it would at least delay any plans she had for me. I was really worried about the kick in the nuts.
“Hey?” I asked. “If you're here talking to me, does that mean nobody's dying?”
“Not at all.” She said confidently. “It doesn’t work like that. Okay, My turn…”
“Alright then.” I encouraged.
Crap.
“Have you found god.” She asked, as she tilted her head to the side.
“No… I tried to once, but apparently he doesn't live at the bus station.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Okay, maybe he does live at the bus station, but when I went looking, he wasn't home.”
“He's never home.” agreed death.
I'm going to hell.
“So what then, sir, do you think happens to you when you die?” she asked as she lifted up her robe and began to tug at her black knee-high stockings. Death had beautiful legs. I was afraid to answer the question honestly, so I said nothing.
“Do you want me to tell you?” she paused for a while as I stared at her with the same look my dog gets when I put him on the phone. And then she shouted – “Nothing!!! As soon as you die you are born, only, not in the way you think. That whole reincarnation thing – crap! You don't 'come back as a turtle or the Prince of Egypt, in fact, you never leave where you are. All the religions and teachings you people put so much faith in have it all wrong. There is no cosmic secret; there is no holy grail. The trick is – you have to figure out where you’re going, and you have to get there. But, if you’re path is thoughtless, and you’re journey isn’t true, it will last for eternity, like mine.”
“I think I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I said.
“You will in time.” She said as she smiled. Death had a beautiful smile.
“Just remember what I just told you, oh, and try not to drive so quickly in your car.”
And then, just as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone.
I guess you could say my talk with death taught me nothing, but that would be untrue. I do wonder though why death chose me of all people to carry her message. I mean, I’m not going to carry it very far; I’m staying on the couch.
But even so, I just can’t stop thinking about how sexy death looked today.
From Fried |
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| A lot can be attributed to our proclivity for complication. A lot more than what meets the eye at a first glance. |
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| Wednesday, December 12, 2001
, 10:07 PM |
| In a perfect world of mine....I would be the be the smartest man alive. I would be the handsomest too. I would always get what I wanted. I would be the richest man in the world. I would have the smartest and the most beautiful woman for myself. Gravity wouldn't apply. Neither would time. I would only have great dreams. All dreams would come true. Perfect sex would be every time. The mind would be completely free of conflict. There wouldn't be a single demon to fight. I would never die unless I decided to. I could come back after a death if I wanted to. I would never fall sick. I would never make mistakes. Never falter. Never fail. There wouldn't be hate, prejudice, ego or mindsets. I would never know depression, disillusionment, sadness, unquenched desire or pain. Everybody would love and respect me. Tears would be alien. Everything would be PERFECT. Only I would be so bored I couldn't possibly survive. |
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| Tuesday, December 11, 2001
, 9:43 PM |
| Easiest way to live. Dread only one day at a time. |
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| Monday, December 10, 2001
, 10:49 PM |
| Don't believe in Miracles. Depend on them (and trust me it ain't the post-CAT state of mind speaking). |
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| Monday, November 26, 2001
, 9:18 PM |
The most unfair thing about life is the way it ends. I mean, life is tough. It takes up a lot of your time. What do you get at the end of it? Death. What's that, a bonus? I think the life cycle is all backwards.
You should die first, get it out of the way. Then you live in an old age home. You get kicked out when you're too young, you get a gold watch and you go to work.
You work forty years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement. You do drugs, alcohol, you party, you get ready for high school.
You go to grade school, you become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities. You become a little baby, you go back into the womb, spend your last nine months floating and you finish off as an orgasm.
-Anonymous |
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| Sunday, November 25, 2001
, 10:41 PM |
| Amazing |
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| Tuesday, November 20, 2001
, 7:08 AM |
Me and Arun were sitting yesterday outside coffee day indulging in our favorite pastime ie loafing around, cribbing about life and discussing variety in the omnipresent boredom in our respective existences."Variety?Boredom? eh??" did I hear someone say.
Trust me you gotta talk to Arun on that subject. Either you'll get throughly screwed or you'll attain Nirvana from sane and rational thought processes. Either ways you are screwed. Anyways coming back to where we were…..so we were getting bored as usual discussing the absolute lack any meaning/ possible presence of any in our existences and got talking about spending the money we are going to make.
Here are some of the ways that we thought were pretty good. If you strong believer in material value begetting material value I suggest you stop reading now. On the other hand if you aren’t, read on.
1. We could take up an agitation to destroy all cars in the world.
2. Make Electric razors for a target market of Sikhs. The razors don’t really shave they just make a buzz and try to simulate actual shaving for Sikhs who want to find out what it’s like.
3. Have a Car silencer agitation where we hire people to use Diwali bombs to blow up Car Silencers
4. Set up self-punishment stalls where the people are paid by the degree of punishment they can inflict upon themselves
5. Sell packaged and tinned ice to the Eskimos (that’s an old one)
6. Stick One thousand rupee notes all over your naked body stand on tank bund with a sign which says “Even the rich are crazy”
7. Make a movie with Sanjay Kapoor in it. Female lead played by Khushboo. We’ll call it “Atlas tried”. The highlight will be the song sequences where you have scenes like Sanjay Kapoor trying to carry Khushboo , Khushboo trying to hide behind a tree etc etc
8. Buy tickets of hit movies and undersell them outside the theatre. We will call it the Purple ticket market
9. Start a “Bash the Merc.” Competition where each of the competitors is given an ambassador. The guy who bashes up the most number of Mercedes with the Ambassador gets a brand new Merc. (which is then bashed up in front of him to give a feel of what he just did)
10. Take over Microsoft and use the windows platform to spread Viruses that propagate Linux
11. Take over Red hat and use the platform to spread Viruses for Windows
12. Take over Sun Microsystems and convert it into a food chain
13. Start mega-events titled “death by studies” where all the teachers in a city are locked up in a room and lectured by the rest of the teachers.
14. Supply all the people in prisons with rubber dolls to relieve their frustration.
15. Start a B-school that teaches you anti-capitalism with subjects like Management through Socialism, Management though politics, Management through communism, 1000 ways to push work onto others etc etc
16. Fuck it. I am bored.
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| Sunday, November 18, 2001
, 9:21 PM |
| I just read this today in a magazine: "The Information Age gives us all the power in the world to bore everyone with the details of our existences". Hahahahahahhahaaaaaa Haaaahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Hahahahahahhahaaaaaa hahahahahahhahaaaaaa ( If you are wondering why I am laughing like a crazed madman take a look at the post I made below from a mail I wrote to my friends) |
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| Friday, November 16, 2001
, 6:27 AM |
Boredom does strange things to you. A manifestation............
Dear Buddies, Chappies and other assorted creatures,
Been a long time since I wrote a nice long mail to the nutbasket so I decided it would be the ideal way (in the absence of a girl )to spend a nice lazy sunday afternoon. So here I am. I am gonna blabber, I am gonna blither, gonna talk all kinds of crap and in the process maybe make some sense (purely accidentally of course). You have been forwarned so reading the rest of this mail is solely at your own risk. I am not responsible for any adverse affects this particular mail might generate in your oh so hectic existence (yes that was sarcasm....just in case you are wondering....didn't you know that is one of my most favorite styles of communication). To begin with I thought I would just spread our names out (not unlike we spread butter over bread) to make some sense of our respective existences. I am a Virgo and I am supposed to be narcissistic so I will begin with me.
Rahul
Rotten Agnostic Hell-raiser Under influence of Love for life (that was fairly simple)
Hatim
Hair - Another Tryst with Imaginative Megalomania. (Imagination, Megalomania what the F^*&& am I saying ??!!!!!!!!!!!!. This one doesn't make any kind of sense to me although I wrote it. If you can figure it out do let me know.)
High on Another Tryst with alcohol In the Middle of dreams of hair. Hey Hatim we will be 2 taklus in a bunch of hairy headed nuts. Not bad as far as standing out in the crowd goes huh!
Abhishek
As Beautiful women Have Imaginations So His Eyes Kill.
Sajan
Sutta Abstained(since childhood) Just Alcohol Now
Ahana
Aaj-kal mein Hyderabad Ayegi. NA na na na re... naaa re naaa...........na na na na re... naaa re naaa (Daler Mehndi Ishtyle). Before you get mad at me moi dear Ahana lemme remind you of the caveat that was inserted at the beginning of this mail. This is not supposed to make any sense. Any semblance to sense in this mail is purely accidental.
Kavita
Kavita (sudden attack of laziness. sudden attack of laziness. sudden attack of laziness. will spare this one. Kavita will stay Kavita. Sweet, small and compact. )
Gokul
GOes here and there Knows all kinds of bull Undermines net Life
Sundeep
So Under influence of music Dat E Expends 1500 on Purchasing cassettes
Uday
U Disappear and Appear once in a Year
ok I am bored. I'll do the rest of the guys later...lemme blabber for some more time and then I will fall asleep. Here goes.........hmmmmm........... A theme, I need a theme. Chal I will describe my desk. I ahve the following items on my desk. An IBM 300 GL comp. with a 1MBPS Applogic Net line connected to it. A pair of speakers . I leather Caselogic Cd-Case which can take 76 of 'em. 2 Books- thinking in java by Bruce Eckel and Business @the speed of thought by the big Bill. THere is a cup with golf balls printed on it in green. It has 2 staplers 2 permanent markers, 2 pencils and 2 pens in it and some drawing borad pins. 2 floppies on the speakers. 1 folder, 2 pads of stickies diff. sizes. One glue stick. one mouse a telephone and my red, black and yellow (yeah red and yellow make no mistake) back bag. a pair of scissors. On the wall I am facing there is a picture of a man trying to climb a mountain.
On the right side ka wall there are a host of assorted pictures. one of is a red piece of paper with a rectangular hole cut into it, another is a composite of things everyone wants in life...stuff on it......a small heart with "a place to park" written on it, a compass, a book with success written on it. a bullet, a globe, a spade with toys in it, a picture with the internals of the brain on it (like which part is for congintion, imagination etc etc). The next interesting piece is a small laptop ka picture with "I think there is a world market for maybe 5 computers-Thomas watson, chairman IBM, 1943" written on it. Beside it there is a nice picture of a slogan in purple saying "CELEBRATE WORK". Then there is a picture of a painting of a man with real colorful clothing bursting out of another who is wearing a drab suit and a nondescript face. There is a picture of a BIG black dog staring at a small doghouse(kennel for people who are more more inclined towards formal thinking...whatever that might be) with the words "Even small requirement errors can lead to BIG problems" written on it.
There is a picture of albert einstien staring at me saying "i wish I ahd thought of that". there is a picture of a human pyramid with the words "herald the age of ideas". there are some 7-or 8 CDs stuck to the wall with the shiny side up. A sharpner and a natraj eraser stare at me from in front of my PC. hey there is another pen lying in that corner. There is also a picture of a flouroscent green alien staring at me on the left wall of my desk. So that's abt my desk. My little world in another world of chaos. THis is where I normally sleep during the day time when I get time off from meetings and mundane matters of men's egos(trust me as a chap who has lost plenty of his his hair contemplating affairs of the men's minds the biggest problems coming up with new ideas in any line of work are because of mindsets, egos and scepticism caused by these....but hey you can get around them once you get used to the same) and bigger matters of world learning and corporate knowledge mgmt using the net as the media (yeah I think of that too once in a while).
I sit on an orange & black colored chair which leans back wiht my body parallell to the ground when I want to. Hey I just realised. this chair ka design is amazing. I don't fall off even when I lean back completely although I should technicaly speaking anyways I have never been too good at Physics. Used to think that was a subject taht was invented to torture poor unsuspecting kids and teach them how tough life is. I think I am losing that particular perspective on things. HEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!! I AM BECOMING AN ADULT (hey that would make a nice t-shirt message for t-shirts) .That reminds me. Don't miss "Children Solve problems" by Edward De bono. De Bono is a guru in lateral thinking and some of his books are simply amazing.
Ok that particular theme didn't quite run too long as I hoped it would. Chal lemme describe what I am wearing. I am wearing a full sleeves half-blue and half-gray t-shirt (sweatshirt) with horizontal white stripes on it. I am wearing my 14 pocket dark blue jeans. I ahve a pen in the front pocket of my jeans and my purse in the back pocket. Wearing a green digital watch on the left hand and a peral ring on the right hand. Chal that one didn't last too long either. Ok lemme describe the trip to Pune and Bombay.
I went for a HCI Engineering workshop conducted in Pune by IIT Povai. 4 days of intensive training and stuff. It was way too good. I cracked lotsa lousy jokes and stuff but I did learn some. I will be taking some sessions here starting tomorrow and will try integrating a Usability engeneering process into our SDLC (Software Development Life Cycle for the uninitiated). Those were the major outputs of the workshop as far as me and my company goes. The workshop itself was loads of fun. we had a competition and stuff where we were made to implement the process on a project . We didn't win but we sure had loads of fun trying to outdo each other. the food was excellent. Guys who are visiting Pune don't forget to eat at the following places. the Bhel Puri at the corner of Aurora Towers. There is a joint called "Touche the sizzler" where you get amazing sizzlers. Also don't forget the Vada-Pav near the park which is behind Aurora Towers (Toohey can give ya better details abt the location). For Frankies there is a joint on Boat Club road called Frankies. Don't eat there. Rather there is a small shop right opposite Frankies where you get Chicken Rolls. Terrific. Also try the Parathas in thsi place called Nandu's Dhaba on Boat Club road. WOW!!!. Toohey will vouch for the same. You can also try this place called the Pizzeria where you get Italian and Mexican food (I frankly dunno the difference except that it'f full of cheese , cream and sauce and tastes excellent). Whatever you do don't go drinking with toohey you will only get to drink Vodka. Toohey is a Smirnoff freak. As far as food goes Toohey is the guru. Also there is this little incident that happened in music shop where I was killing time waiting for toohey. I asked for a CD of Kandisa. the guy was real chweet and said 360 bucks. I said "oh ok" and he says "do u want it" and I say "aw forget it I will get it off the net I am getting an MP3 CD player anyways". He gave me a look that said "Why don't you rot in hell". Moral 1 of the story "music industry is already feeling the effect of music Piracy on the web". You don't need statistics when it becomes as obvious as this. Hey anybody got any ideas on how to curtail this (apart from suing Napster that is).The number of Billions you will make will be directly proportional to the simplicity of implementing a solution to the same. Moral 2 : "Don't talk MP3s in a music store".
Bombay was damn good. I got there a day late thanks to some confusion but hey it was well worth it. spent some time in the night chatting with Mr. Rock-solid-common-sense-personified aka Hatim. Got drunk on just 3 glasses or beer. Met Maddy and her uncle. Sang some songs on the way back. spent a day with anne, ahana & sajan and had LOADS of fun (I did...ask Ahana, anne & sajan for their respective opinions....I don't think they should be different though). In general it was damn good the trip. Loved every moment of it. There is a painting in the jehangir art gallery I am in love with and hope to own someday.
That was the trip to Pune and Bombay. Now let's see what will the next theme be. hmmmm........did I tell ya abt this new afrrican song I heard by Ry Cooder which goes "soukora". Aaaaaaaamazing.
That is all for now chaps. There is plenty more I wanna write abt but suddenly Mr.Conscience decided to come knocking so will catchya some other time. Please take a minute to read the form below.
100% Love and Affection,
Rahul
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Congratulations. You have managed to read one of the longest and most listless non-official mails in the history of one Mr.Rahul Korlipara. Please fill the certificate below.
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To whomsoever it may concern
This is to certify that Mr/Ms/Mrs (your name goes here) of (such and such institue) has successfully completed reading the mail titled "Best of Luck" which runs to a few thousand words and is one of the longest, most boring and listless non-official ever mails written by this entity called Rahul Korlipara
Signed,
Rahul Korlipara
(CEO, Institue of Dudderheads)
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If this mail wasn't enough here is a tic-tac-toe puzzle. you gotta tell me who won the game below. and don't tell me it's the chap who started first because you gotta find out who started first. Hopefully I got the placement right though so if you spend the entire night not being able to solve it don't blame me. I have warned you already.
X | | O
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X | |
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O | O | X
Hint: Start working backwards. One of the paths is not resolvable logically. The other will give you the answer |
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Here is something Ahana once write that I love.
Adam & Peeve : True Lies
Honey,
The last time I tried to speak over the phone, yu said you had to put it down because something was wrong with your stomach. The rest of you, I am sure, is not any better. As you can see, this letter is not a mating call. I've decided not to persist with you anymore. The purpose of this letter is to put matters in perspective. Of all the women who spurned me, you inspired me to lie the most. In my hurry to win you over, I think I went a bit overboard with hyperbole. I cannot bear the thought of a woman, however peripheral to my scheme of things, imagining that she is any better than what she really is. Since I've greatly contributed to your ballooned ego, I am duty bound today to prick( the noun form of which is what, I hear, you call me now). I remember telling you that i couldnt't resist talking to a woman like you because your eyes had "a certain siren-like mystery about them which an adventurer(like me) will want to seek and unravel".
Well, the truth is that you did not remind me of any hot siren. In fact, first time I saw you, you looked like a morally loose mermaid searching for a foul-mouthed sailor. Those frills on our skirt look more like scales on the lower half of a fish, which of course, completed the mermaid metaphor. I want you to understand that i dont mean to be cheap or rude. I'm merely cleaning up some misconceptions. Continuing this labour of lost love, I would also like to point out that contrary to my uneducated initial observation, your legs are not endless. Since you understand cricket, honey, if you were to stand at the slips you would still be called short leg. And, your butt is not cute. Its over supplied and more significantly, has been inspired by Hindustan Motors Ambassador.
And your poetry is not elevating, though your roommate was on many occasions. Your clay work was never art that was never pleasing to the eye. Many times i wanted to say that you should put the raw material back where they came from. But i believe you can only take stuff out of the cranium, and not squeeze it back in. your mother is not a smart, refined, pleasing woman to talk to. How could i have been so blatant? She is foreboding of where you are headed. And though I may have told you that you are a very intelligent person, here are a few things you should keep in mind when you talk about things you dont know. You will not fall off when you reach the edge of the moon, because the moon doesnt have an 'edge'.
Glasnost is not a person. Mussolini was. He was never pasta. And you shouldnt fantasize about marrying the exchequer because all the money seems to go to him. You may not find him. And, never wonder aloud whether curtains in the East European houses rust. Iron curtain is an expression. And the space in the rear of the car is not called a dick...
Honey, if this letter has brought you any kind of grief please understand that i dont enjoy telling you where you stand in this world filled with bright and beautiful people. Of late, i've discovered that most women have grown up believing all the crap that men who wanted to sleep with them, have said. I thought i should contribute at least one dull and ugly woman to the Society who knows she's dull and ugly. Sleep well honey tonight, beside the liar.
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