There are times when you realize that your best friend is You.
You don’t need anybody else to be complete, to find that fulfillment and contentment we crave so much.
I need to go home for a while; walk alone on the beach at sunset - watch the waves go about their business - never ceasing, never resting.
But I need a rest.
That’s why I want to go home.
***
Private Blues to see you, Sir.
What is it Blues?
Sir, the men tell me you’re an atheist. I thought I was an atheist too, but then this morning I suddenly found myself praying.
Well, you can pray all you want, son, but the only one who’s gonna get your ass outta here alive is You – you’re a fool if you think there’s anybody looking out for you. That’s why I've never believed in no God - I believe in myself!
I use to say the same thing, Sir, but today I realized I do believe in God; its just that I don’t believe he can or will do anything for me.
You’ve been here a long time, son. This place can do crazy things to a man. I hope to God we all get to go home soon.
Did you just say …’God’, Sir?
August 24, 2004
August 19, 2004
Tiring day. I still have some energy in reserve though …must be the exercise.
Playwin Super Lotto jackpot is around 10 crores today; but I didn’t bother to buy a ticket.
Sad to hear about our woman weightlifter Pratima Kumari failing a drug test at the Olympics. But is it really such a terrible thing to bring shame to a country that gives you little by way of encouragement and support? I think this incident might actually end up being a good thing in the long run because our sporting authorities will now be forced to get off their backsides.
She says I’m a cynic. I guess she’s right. So does the world need cynical farts like me?
I ain’t no macho man, Manu. We all know it’s a tough world and only the strong survive. The strong in mind, that is.
Losing it is not an option. Winning it – that’s what its all about. I’ve always wondered why Anita’s blog is so titled.
Peace, love, and a large dose of nandrolene.
Playwin Super Lotto jackpot is around 10 crores today; but I didn’t bother to buy a ticket.
Sad to hear about our woman weightlifter Pratima Kumari failing a drug test at the Olympics. But is it really such a terrible thing to bring shame to a country that gives you little by way of encouragement and support? I think this incident might actually end up being a good thing in the long run because our sporting authorities will now be forced to get off their backsides.
She says I’m a cynic. I guess she’s right. So does the world need cynical farts like me?
I ain’t no macho man, Manu. We all know it’s a tough world and only the strong survive. The strong in mind, that is.
Losing it is not an option. Winning it – that’s what its all about. I’ve always wondered why Anita’s blog is so titled.
Peace, love, and a large dose of nandrolene.
August 16, 2004
You know, I just realised that all our local television news channels have stopped giving us their hourly updates on the hostage situation in Iraq. Now all attention seems to have shifted to Athens 2004. NDTV's Olympic Special on India is called 'Gunning for Gold'. I think 'Battling for Bronze' would be more appropriate.
'Pathetic' is the only word to describe India's performance till now. That air rifle shooter Bindra was in bronze medal position after the first 2 rounds but then slipped to 7th place. I guess Leander and Mahesh are now the only ones who can salvage some pride for our great nation.
But what about our three truck drivers in Iraq? I'm sure a month at least has elapsed since they were taken hostage. Even the newspapers don’t seem too interested in updating us on their fate. Those MEA guys and the government's Crisis Management Unit must be breathing a great sigh of relief.
So what does this tell us about the press then? I don’t know about you, but it tells me that they don’t give a rats ass about Antaryami and his two comrades; just like they don’t give a damn about anything or anybody else that makes the news.
It's a business for them, and their stock-in-trade is real people.
It's sad, but that’s how it is. The mandate of the mass markets, profits, and value for advertisers money has evolved a news culture that seeks to entertain rather than educate, to distract rather than instruct.
So, do you think it would be fair to call our presswalla’s a bunch of frauds?
…I guess there will be three fingers pointing back at us.
BFN.
'Pathetic' is the only word to describe India's performance till now. That air rifle shooter Bindra was in bronze medal position after the first 2 rounds but then slipped to 7th place. I guess Leander and Mahesh are now the only ones who can salvage some pride for our great nation.
But what about our three truck drivers in Iraq? I'm sure a month at least has elapsed since they were taken hostage. Even the newspapers don’t seem too interested in updating us on their fate. Those MEA guys and the government's Crisis Management Unit must be breathing a great sigh of relief.
So what does this tell us about the press then? I don’t know about you, but it tells me that they don’t give a rats ass about Antaryami and his two comrades; just like they don’t give a damn about anything or anybody else that makes the news.
It's a business for them, and their stock-in-trade is real people.
It's sad, but that’s how it is. The mandate of the mass markets, profits, and value for advertisers money has evolved a news culture that seeks to entertain rather than educate, to distract rather than instruct.
So, do you think it would be fair to call our presswalla’s a bunch of frauds?
…I guess there will be three fingers pointing back at us.
BFN.
August 15, 2004
I was watching women’s weightlifting at the Olympic Games on TV last night. That Turkish girl Taylan who won gold is really something – with a body weight of 47 kilos, she managed to lift 97.5 Kg. in the Snatch and 112.5 Kg, in the Clean and Jerk. Is that amazing or what? – more than twice her body weight!
The sweet taste of victory - how it eludes us for much of our lives. How it eludes me I should say.
Independence day today. I blame the fact that I spend most of my growing years in a foreign country for my total lack of patriotism. Days like these mean nothing to me; and I wonder how much it really means to you guys. There should be a reason to be proud of something, and I don’t seem to find any such reason to be proud of my country.
Those brave men of the freedom struggle would be appalled to see what we’ve done with the freedom they fought so hard for. It’s like giving an expensive toy to a little boy - he’s going to take it apart no matter how many times you tell him how much it costs. And when its broken, he won't be getting another one. He’ll have to make do with the pieces.
Like us. We exist here because we have nowhere else to go. This is our home – or what’s left of it.
Peace, love, and nothing left to lose.
The sweet taste of victory - how it eludes us for much of our lives. How it eludes me I should say.
Independence day today. I blame the fact that I spend most of my growing years in a foreign country for my total lack of patriotism. Days like these mean nothing to me; and I wonder how much it really means to you guys. There should be a reason to be proud of something, and I don’t seem to find any such reason to be proud of my country.
Those brave men of the freedom struggle would be appalled to see what we’ve done with the freedom they fought so hard for. It’s like giving an expensive toy to a little boy - he’s going to take it apart no matter how many times you tell him how much it costs. And when its broken, he won't be getting another one. He’ll have to make do with the pieces.
Like us. We exist here because we have nowhere else to go. This is our home – or what’s left of it.
Peace, love, and nothing left to lose.
August 10, 2004
"The Perfect World" from: The Madman by Kahlil Gibran
God of lost souls, thou who are lost amongst the Gods, hear me:
Gentle Destiny that watchest over us, mad, wandering spirits, hear me:
I dwell in the midst of a perfect race, I the most imperfect.
I, a human chaos, a nebula of confused elements, I move amongst finished worlds - peoples of complete laws and pure order, whose thoughts are assorted, whose dreams are arranged, and whose visions are enrolled and registered.
Their virtues, O God, are measured, their sins are weighed, and even the countless things that pass in the dim twilight of neither sin nor virtue are recorded and catalogued.
Here days and night are divided into seasons of conduct and governed by rules of blameless accuracy.
To eat, to drink, to sleep, to cover one's nudity, and then to be weary in due time.
To work, to play, to sing, to dance, and then to lie still when the clock strikes the hour.
To think thus, to feel thus much, and then to cease thinking and feeling when a certain star rises above yonder horizon.
To rob a neighbour with a smile, to bestow gifts with a graceful wave of the hand, to praise prudently, to blame cautiously, to destroy a sound with a word, to burn a body with a breath, and then to wash the hands when the day's work is done.
To love according to an established order, to entertain one's best self in a preconceived manner, to worship the gods becomingly, to intrigue the devils artfully - and then to forget all as though memory were dead.
To fancy with a motive, to contemplate with consideration, to be happy sweetly, to suffer nobly - and then to empty the cup so that tomorrow may fill it again.
All these things, O God, are conceived with forethought, born with determination, nursed with exactness, governed by rules, directed by reason, and then slain and buried after a prescribed method. And even their silent graves that lie within the human soul are marked and numbered.
It is a perfect world, a world of consummate excellence, a world of supreme wonders, the ripest fruit in God's garden, the master-thought of the universe.
But why should I be here, O God, I a green seed of unfulfilled passion, a mad tempest that seeketh neither east nor west, a bewildered fragment from a burnt planet?
Why am I here, O God of lost souls, thou who art lost amongst the Gods.
August 3, 2004
THE RAINY DAY by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
July 24, 2004
It was around lunchtime. I was sitting there on those stone steps leading to the entrance of a building that’s over a hundred and twenty five years old, just looking at the people walking by, and others zooming along in their cars and on their 2–wheelers.
The thing I like most about these old British stone buildings is that they give you a sense of tranquility, of peace. The issue section has their annual inventory happening – all the old books being dusted off and stacked neatly – Byron, Keats, H.G. Wells, Homer – great names, great thinkers. They are no more, but they live forever in those yellowing pages.
…and I’m thinking: what must life have been like in 1875 when this place was built? And how many before me have sat here on these steps watching the world go by? Were they just like me? Did they eventually go on to do great things and leave their mark on this world, or did they just go with the flow and end up in the ocean everybody else?
Then a guy parks his car in the no-parking zone across the road. I watch him step out – one of them doodh-malai mama’s boys – highly paid software chap probably, who’s got everything he could possibly want in life. His Little Miss Muffet steps out on the passenger side. They hold hands, smile at each other – newly weds.
“Bhaiya, yahaan parking allowed hai? she asks the rickshaw driver who was stopped in front of them. “Haan haan”, he shakes his head. Nothing like having a little fun with Little Miss Muffet
“Oi buddy, you cant park there”, I shout across to him. He looks at me funny and says “but the auto-walla said… ”
They walk away, still holding hands. Less than ten minutes later, traffic police tow-truck comes and takes away the car. Rickshaw driver gives me a wicked grin.
And I thought about it: does the world need people like me any more?
Why is it so hard to live and let die.
The thing I like most about these old British stone buildings is that they give you a sense of tranquility, of peace. The issue section has their annual inventory happening – all the old books being dusted off and stacked neatly – Byron, Keats, H.G. Wells, Homer – great names, great thinkers. They are no more, but they live forever in those yellowing pages.
…and I’m thinking: what must life have been like in 1875 when this place was built? And how many before me have sat here on these steps watching the world go by? Were they just like me? Did they eventually go on to do great things and leave their mark on this world, or did they just go with the flow and end up in the ocean everybody else?
Then a guy parks his car in the no-parking zone across the road. I watch him step out – one of them doodh-malai mama’s boys – highly paid software chap probably, who’s got everything he could possibly want in life. His Little Miss Muffet steps out on the passenger side. They hold hands, smile at each other – newly weds.
“Bhaiya, yahaan parking allowed hai? she asks the rickshaw driver who was stopped in front of them. “Haan haan”, he shakes his head. Nothing like having a little fun with Little Miss Muffet
“Oi buddy, you cant park there”, I shout across to him. He looks at me funny and says “but the auto-walla said… ”
They walk away, still holding hands. Less than ten minutes later, traffic police tow-truck comes and takes away the car. Rickshaw driver gives me a wicked grin.
And I thought about it: does the world need people like me any more?
Why is it so hard to live and let die.
July 18, 2004
I was just reading Jivha’s post titled ‘Teresa the Merciless’. It seems people are saying that Mother Teresa and her Missionaries of Charity weren’t so charitable after all. They allege that she hogged all the poor for herself, to serve her own purpose and benefit.
It's true that what starts off as the mission of doing good often ends up becoming the business of doing good. But then again, doing good is almost always ‘bad’ work, isn’t it?
I remember reading in the local papers some time back on how the men who clear garbage from the municipal bins every morning earn up to 10 grand a month. "Unbelievable!", I said. Here you have graduates who cannot earn half that much, and these guys get 10 grand!
But would we do it? Even if picking up garbage paid a lakh of rupees every month, would you and I do it?
Now I’ve never been to Calcutta, and so I haven’t seen first hand what the scene on the streets there is like, but all I can say is that people like us have no business questioning the ethics or the ulterior motives (if indeed there be any) of someone who has done, or attempted to do, those things that we, sitting comfortable on our backsides at home, would never ever think of.
And what people do with their money isn’t anybody’s concern either. Sourav Ganguly lives in Calcutta – so why isn’t he doing anything to help the destitute children of that city. Why do we need Steve Waugh to come down all the way from Sydney to start an institution like Udayan?
But this is not our question to ask; just as it is not for us to question what the Missionaries of Charity do with all the donations they get. I am a Roman Catholic and I know that the Catholic Church is very, very rich. They could do more for us - much more, but they couldn’t be bothered. So what do I do? Simple - I don’t give them my contribution. If you think the money is being misused, or deposited into Swiss bank accounts, then don’t give them any.
I’ve heard people say the same thing about the other so called Godmen like Satya Sai Baba, Osho Rajneesh, and that Art of Living chap - Sri Sri something. Well, other people - their devotees – may not be as intelligent as you and I are, to see that they're being taken for a ride (that is, if they are indeed being taken for a ride - who’s to know?). And so in the process, the Godman becomes very wealthy and lives a life of luxury. But, if he is providing a large number of people with what they are looking for in order to lead better, happier lives, then the money he earns is nothing but payment for services rendered. And I don't think anybody can object to, or deny him that.
In short, what I'm trying to say is this: while you may not always agree with the manner in which other people go about doing their 'good', the fact remains that there is really nothing you can do to stop them. Except maybe become a Godman yourself.
...so tell me, how does 'Sri Sri Saltwater' sound? :)
It's true that what starts off as the mission of doing good often ends up becoming the business of doing good. But then again, doing good is almost always ‘bad’ work, isn’t it?
I remember reading in the local papers some time back on how the men who clear garbage from the municipal bins every morning earn up to 10 grand a month. "Unbelievable!", I said. Here you have graduates who cannot earn half that much, and these guys get 10 grand!
But would we do it? Even if picking up garbage paid a lakh of rupees every month, would you and I do it?
Now I’ve never been to Calcutta, and so I haven’t seen first hand what the scene on the streets there is like, but all I can say is that people like us have no business questioning the ethics or the ulterior motives (if indeed there be any) of someone who has done, or attempted to do, those things that we, sitting comfortable on our backsides at home, would never ever think of.
And what people do with their money isn’t anybody’s concern either. Sourav Ganguly lives in Calcutta – so why isn’t he doing anything to help the destitute children of that city. Why do we need Steve Waugh to come down all the way from Sydney to start an institution like Udayan?
But this is not our question to ask; just as it is not for us to question what the Missionaries of Charity do with all the donations they get. I am a Roman Catholic and I know that the Catholic Church is very, very rich. They could do more for us - much more, but they couldn’t be bothered. So what do I do? Simple - I don’t give them my contribution. If you think the money is being misused, or deposited into Swiss bank accounts, then don’t give them any.
I’ve heard people say the same thing about the other so called Godmen like Satya Sai Baba, Osho Rajneesh, and that Art of Living chap - Sri Sri something. Well, other people - their devotees – may not be as intelligent as you and I are, to see that they're being taken for a ride (that is, if they are indeed being taken for a ride - who’s to know?). And so in the process, the Godman becomes very wealthy and lives a life of luxury. But, if he is providing a large number of people with what they are looking for in order to lead better, happier lives, then the money he earns is nothing but payment for services rendered. And I don't think anybody can object to, or deny him that.
In short, what I'm trying to say is this: while you may not always agree with the manner in which other people go about doing their 'good', the fact remains that there is really nothing you can do to stop them. Except maybe become a Godman yourself.
...so tell me, how does 'Sri Sri Saltwater' sound? :)
July 9, 2004
you took your coat off and stood in the rain
you were always crazy like that
and I watched from my window
always felt I was outside looking in on you
I would have been reading the morning papers now, but one look at the Times of India and I said, "forget it". All that colour and those badly drawn caricatures make the front page look like a cheap comic book. Done in the Wild West theme, the headline goes: 'Your Money Your Life' with a huge cartoon of Chidambaram made to look like a Tamilian cowboy - guns drawn and ready to fire. They're calling him 'Quickgun Moneygun'. At the bottom of the page Sonia is shown riding in a stagecoach with Manmohan and that other commie sardarji at the reins. It looks like The Times has some very enthusiastic and overly creative people working for them - who need to be bludy sacked!. Some people may like this kind of stuff, but as for me, I just end up putting away the paper and switching on the computer - listen to some music, type something here even though I don't really have anything to say.
You know, at the library yesterday evening, this guy who I used to see in the study room during exam time came and sat next to me and just started talking. He's a CA student and has failed his exams 3 times. I listened to him tell me how hard he's worked without any success; his folks want him to something else, but our man wont. Then I told him how long I've been at it, and he just looks at me in disbelief.
In the next one hour or so he told me about his work, his studies, his family, his goals for the future, and also his thoughts on women and the tricks they play with us guys. But the question I'm asking is: what made him want to come and tell me all of this?. How did he assume that I would listen, or that I give a damn or care about his troubles? Truth is I don't.
Perhaps he was down or confused and someone told him to go talk to this guy saltwater blues who's been at it for a long time and hasn't thrown in the towel yet. Maybe talking to me made him feel better about himself, because his face was much brighter after our talk - it seemed like his burden had somehow been made lighter.
So is that what I'm here for now - to make people feel better about themselves? And what about me - who's going to do the same for me? I'm on my own, I guess.
Playing now is the song 'Foolish Games' by Jewel Kilcher from her album 'Pieces of You'. If you'd like to know more about Jewel and her music, then read Madcaps latest post. BFN.
you'd teach me of honest things
things that were daring, things that were clean
things that knew what an honest dollar did mean
so I hid my soiled hands behind my back
somewhere along the line I must've gone off track with you
excuse me, think I've mistaken you for somebody else
somebody who gave a damn
somebody more like myself
these foolish games are tearing me apart
your thoughtless words are breaking my heart
you're breaking my heart
you were always crazy like that
and I watched from my window
always felt I was outside looking in on you
I would have been reading the morning papers now, but one look at the Times of India and I said, "forget it". All that colour and those badly drawn caricatures make the front page look like a cheap comic book. Done in the Wild West theme, the headline goes: 'Your Money Your Life' with a huge cartoon of Chidambaram made to look like a Tamilian cowboy - guns drawn and ready to fire. They're calling him 'Quickgun Moneygun'. At the bottom of the page Sonia is shown riding in a stagecoach with Manmohan and that other commie sardarji at the reins. It looks like The Times has some very enthusiastic and overly creative people working for them - who need to be bludy sacked!. Some people may like this kind of stuff, but as for me, I just end up putting away the paper and switching on the computer - listen to some music, type something here even though I don't really have anything to say.
You know, at the library yesterday evening, this guy who I used to see in the study room during exam time came and sat next to me and just started talking. He's a CA student and has failed his exams 3 times. I listened to him tell me how hard he's worked without any success; his folks want him to something else, but our man wont. Then I told him how long I've been at it, and he just looks at me in disbelief.
In the next one hour or so he told me about his work, his studies, his family, his goals for the future, and also his thoughts on women and the tricks they play with us guys. But the question I'm asking is: what made him want to come and tell me all of this?. How did he assume that I would listen, or that I give a damn or care about his troubles? Truth is I don't.
Perhaps he was down or confused and someone told him to go talk to this guy saltwater blues who's been at it for a long time and hasn't thrown in the towel yet. Maybe talking to me made him feel better about himself, because his face was much brighter after our talk - it seemed like his burden had somehow been made lighter.
So is that what I'm here for now - to make people feel better about themselves? And what about me - who's going to do the same for me? I'm on my own, I guess.
Playing now is the song 'Foolish Games' by Jewel Kilcher from her album 'Pieces of You'. If you'd like to know more about Jewel and her music, then read Madcaps latest post. BFN.
you'd teach me of honest things
things that were daring, things that were clean
things that knew what an honest dollar did mean
so I hid my soiled hands behind my back
somewhere along the line I must've gone off track with you
excuse me, think I've mistaken you for somebody else
somebody who gave a damn
somebody more like myself
these foolish games are tearing me apart
your thoughtless words are breaking my heart
you're breaking my heart
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