The Plunge

Every once in a while, a moment arrives in your life on which sails your entire future. It's a change in the tides that forever defines life as it was and the way it will be. Ano domini and before christ, as the catholics preach it. Except, this applies on a much more personal scale.

This decisive journey may stretch for a month, a week, a year or an instant. But what it changes lasts forever. Both the past and the future rest on this fulcrum. The best you can do is prepare for it. Because even if you mistakenly imagine that you hold some control over it, the fact is you have as much sway as a sailor has on the sea. Much like the hapless explorer caught in a storm, all you can do is shift the sails and hope for the best while preparing for the worst. 

These moments aren't immediately visible either. They rise like rocks from a fog which could either sink you or provide a safe shore. The only thing you can do is identify the depth of the water around you and pray accordingly. The key, is not losing hope. The secret doesn't lie in the navigators hand nor the captain of your ship. It is held tight by the winds and the waves.

At this all consuming moment, the way to survive is to become the sea. While there may be sirens calling you to the rocks and the tide pulling you in to certain death, the most important thing is to act like a raft. You may sink. You may crash against the levee and find yourself stranded on unfamiliar isles. But that is the beauty of the moment. The sinking isn't failing. The end isn't the doom. It is simply the way it should be.

Because the point of it isn't to take control but rather to learn how to let go. No matter how long you fight the storm, the expert sailor knows you are at it's mercy. And all the fight expends is precious energy which you will need when the moment passes.

So, if ever this shifting in the tides of life suddenly grips your ship, fear not. Remember the advice as old as sailing itself. Go with the flow. And you might discover after the ship sinks that you never needed it in the first place.

For darker days

You are enough.
All the naysayers
and storm brewers
don't know you.
All the backstabbers
and chance grabbers
can't feel you.

You are enough.
All the life that leaks from your eyes
All the watts in your smile
All the imperfections
in your cascading hair
cannot hide that fact.

You are enough.
Don't think of those who say you aren't.
Don't believe those lies.
They can't see
with open eyes
the sun that rises within you.

You are enough.
The sky rolls off your lips.
The night swims in your iris.
The world hasn't seen
more glorious flaws
than the ones scarring your soul.

There is delight in your mistakes.
There is laughter in your tears.
There is beauty
in every shadow you imagine
traversing your palpitations.
The blind fools around you
can never understand why.
Can never see how.
But trust me,
you are enough.

Reflex

i moved the tiny icons
on my home screen today
and i ended up launching
minion rush two
instead of calling your phone
by mistake.

reaching you has become
muscle memory to me.

it requires no vision,
no conscious senses,
sometimes, i fear -
not even a thought.

just the other day,
i was on a moss ridden local,
and i don't have a clue
how your voice was in my ear
before the wheels
had found new ground.

i know Skype shortcuts now,
they are really strange on a mac.

but i'm looking at the screen.
waiting for some movement.
while my digits contort
into command+shift+R.

i tried to train Google Now
to understand your name
but my accent isn't
nearly as precise
or as fluid as these fingers,
that need no lessons.

but i'm sure some day
i can just utter some words,
"i'm home" maybe -
and my hands will reach out,
not to find technology
but your touch instead.

Trust yourself

It remember myself at the age of 15. Even back then I had been made to feel like I was marked for failure. Most of the educators who were supposed to build character, instead found it easier to dismiss me over other more promising students. But the definitive moment came when I was 15. I remember it surprisingly clearly, considering most of my other memories are blurred by the passing of time or stepping in of mental defences. But I cannot forget that day. The classes have been mixed and two teams have been formed with two houses represented in each. I belong to Green. Not the most illustrious of houses. We are ranked 3rd out of 4 in almost all events and this evening will prove to be a game changer for whoever wins, earning bragging rights and glory for us little children who don't know better.

The stakes are, obviously, pretty high strung and the decided battlefield is the debate competition. Our opposing camps of four are separated into two classes and we immediately huddle into strategy. Out of the two Head Prefects (the most academically sound and obedient students from the senior class), the slightly plump girl, and my classmate, is with us. Kaani, we used to call her. This sweet girl with an academic mindset and roundish figure would go on to have a rather unfortunate ending to her school year, but that's not important. What is important for now is the thin, spindly form that makes up 15-year-old me. At this point in life, I have been the all-absorbing butt of each joke in all the gangs that form during lunch times in a school such as mine. Then, as it is now, words are a means of comfort but I am yet to discover their healing power. I did, however, understand their calming effects and malleable meaning. By some miracle, I had pipped the 'scholar' in our class to make it into the State Spelling Bee two years back and now found that my hopeful request to join the debate team was accepted.

The team, comprising two members each from the Green and Yellow Houses, is discussing the subject of the debate; The English Language Is Killing Other Regional Languages, Agree or Disagree. The irony of the incorrect capitalization isn't wasted on teenage me but, overcoming this grammatical cringe, I offer to lead the charge. Kaani looks at me in a way that lucidly communicates her skepticism. I look to the others for confidence and I find it in my friend, and Yellow House prefect, Akshay. At his insistence, the others give in and I happily get down to writing my opening lines.

Fast-forward a few hours and I have dissected every way our argument can be attacked. After finding an unsolvable loophole in the fact that English isn't the bane of all regional languages, the case was easy enough to build and I find myself feeling unnaturally capable. But our teachers, I soon discover, don't share my optimism. There's a dull knock on the glass pane of our aged classroom door and I see a few tufts of white hair framed in it. The stray strands belong to our science teacher, Mrs. Das, and the knocking fist slowly pushes the hinges open. The creak made our hair stand on end and Das' stern face firmly pushed them out of the follicles. With an icy finger she calls Kini over for a status update and she informs that I, unaccomplished and unproven I, shall open the debate for our team.

Even now I can feel the gaze as Das tilts my way, wrinkled nose crinkled in suspicion as her glasses battle to maintain balance on the small hillock of a nose. With a grunt she calls my name and asks me to present the opening speech. It's the kind of order that she was famous for issuing on students that weren't really in her class. I mean, she taught us rudimentary science for one year and her love for the textbook as a weapon of punishment over education was the only thing I remember from those hours.

So, admittedly, I am adamant in not reading it out to anyone before I go up. This insistence is also born from the fact that I'm not entirely ready at the moment, but I knew that I would be. Still, I narrate my script without theatrics and final touches, to a prematurely critical audience. Jog shrugs in reply to my attempted eloquence and I sheepishly sit myself down in a corner, hell bent on making the speech perfect. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Kaani in conversation with Jog and it's escalating into an argument. A variety of glances are thrown my way and it's clear who the subject of this mini-debate is. I drown myself in the notebook and pretend not to notice until I see Kaani's rather spherical shadow fall on my desk.

Before I tell you what Kaani said, I want it to be clear that this was the moment I understood what it meant to 'have something to prove'. Until then, I'd just been thinking how to crack this perfect opening for the weaker side of a debate. What Jog passed on through the Head Prefect had given me a reason why. Our educator, I will not call her a teacher because teachers build character and this portly woman had none of her own to begin with, had asked Kaani to make me step down from the opening speech. 15-year-old me was destroyed.

You see, I have always believed teachers should find the one trait that makes a child strong and nourish that flame. Even at that age, I was aware of this fact. So when Jog expressed her lack of faith in me, I flashed back to my earlier years when my father had expressed the same suspension of belief. Now you must understand the kind of rage filling up that skinny body. It was a fire just aching to be let out and, for a moment, I wanted to walk up to the old hag and explain why I could do this seemingly impossible task. While others would find objects to throw and people to abuse to express that anger, I managed to find my pen and channel it to paper. The silver lining also showed that not all was lost. Kaani, the ever studious, had argued on my behalf and I would still get to open. Partly because it was too late for anyone else to step up to the plate. Gathering my shattered confidence like so many brittle pieces of tubelight, I finished my speech.

That evening, I was unstoppable. What was meant to be a 4 vs 4 battle of wits had come down to a one-man-debating-machine against four hapless children. Fuelled by my anger and strengthened by the support of my fellow students, I tore through the competition's points as a piano string would slice through tender flesh. By the end of the allotted two hours, for the first time in my life, I became a hero. When the judges came in with the result everyone already wanted me to be proclaimed the best speaker and I was greeted with cheers when I went to accept the ornate certificate. They'd managed to spell my surname wrong, but there it was. The proof that crinkled old Jog's nose with air peppered by her own incredulousness. The evidence that I could manage a minuscule achievement on the strength of my own words. The ultimate prize to silence the critics who wanted me to prove that proverbial 'something'.

I had realized one important thing that day, a lesson that I would learn once again years later. I had understood that the best way to quieten the naysayers isn't to promise and plead that you can do it. The final solution is to go right ahead and do it. Because when the results come in and you come out on top, you will have proven all there is to prove. And you will have erased that stain of failure which society spat on you. Not because you had the guile to dodge it, but because you had the strength to wash it off every damn time.

Au revoir

When the morning comes

And you're unsure 

Where you're meant to go 

On the borderline 

Of our promised land 

And dreams we can't ignore 

With the hour 

Drawing closer 

Don't you give in 

To the posers 

And the fakes that line the walls 

Skulking down the dim lit halls 

Where I'd found you 

And we had found it all 

When the bitter night ends 

If you can't see 

Where you find yourself 

Like a blinded man 

Just hold my hand 

I'll help you reach the shelf 

Where our dreams 

Hide with our sorrows 

Beside the treasures 

Of tomorrow 

To hold us up right when we fall 

Straightened spine to keep us tall 

Till this darkness 

Makes the way for dawn 

We'll somehow carry on 

So don't you fear the morn

Writing is an OCD

Writing is a condition that exists in people, a psychologically healthy disorder of some kind. The by-product of which is this urge to express yourself in text, no matter when or where or why. It can happen on a boring Sunday night sitting alone in the kitchen with the city’s sounds playing a perfect background score. It can hit you in the middle of a crowded intersection sending you grappling for a pen and paper, any paper, as long you can write on it. It can appear unannounced in the middle of falling asleep, just as the darkness is about to take over when a few words will light up and string together like a row of Christmas lights suddenly making sense. You can’t really control it, this premature inspiration. You have to fight your tired body and your unhelpful surroundings to find a way that you can relieve this naturally-born addiction.

 It doesn’t matter how you handle the situation. Some choose to do it the old fashioned way, taking the sharpened edge of 2B lead and touching it down on the sinfully clean paper. Applying just the slightest amount of force, enough to leave a clean mark but not so much as to tear the fragile canvas. Then you begin giving a form to your thoughts, slowly at first, but with increasing swiftness as the words start taking the discernable shape of an idea. Or you can try the cleaner .doc method. Just replace the pencil with a keyboard and trade the freedom of flowing movement for the precision of typing. It’s when pixels become the pills that satiate our psychosis. And eventually as the episode subsides the flow of words comes to an end and you’re never really sure if any of it makes any sense. That’s when you realize it doesn’t really matter, as long as the ritual left you feeling normal again.

Thank you, Chuck!

“Do you know what the problem is between us?”

We were sitting in a room that seemed like it hadn’t been touched for generations. Just some cold remnants of happier people left behind. An old photo frame stuck in the corner, meant to commemorate some miniscule moment in a miniscule life. Like this one.

“We have a lot of problems. But do you know what the dominant issue is?”

Silence from the other side of a centuries old wooden table. You can’t help but imagine the tree this would have been, bearing fruit and other trees instead of spending decades as someone else’s plate elevation. An entire forest now supporting our dinner.

“Let me tell you a story of when I was thirteen. A whole bunch of us were out in the wilderness exploring Karnataka. Did you know there’s this stream in the middle of the forest which is different than the rest? I forget what the locals call it, but it translated into the stream of a thousand shiva-lingas.“

“A thousand penises of Shiva?”

“Exactly. A thousand Shiva-dicks. Made out of stones in the river carved at the patient hands of Mother Nature. Now here’s a group of thirteen to seventeen year-olds sitting in the afternoon, counting penises in the water while picking off leeches that crawled up the tiny gap between our legs and our pants. And you know what’s funny? None of us realised it then.”

“Is there a point to this story?”

“The first point is this. As a kid when you’re exposed to hunting down phallic rocks in a freshwater stream, you’re bound to grow up looking at the world differently. We all go through these moments. It’s the main reason you look at a baseball bat and realize it’s hard wood in more ways than one.”

Again, silence.

 “However the main point, is the leeches.”

“The leeches?”

“Yes. Leeches. An astounding and insignificant creature. Their saliva has a local anaesthetic so you won’t realise it’s on you until you look for it. And you can’t just pull them off coz then their jaws are stuck to you like a dismembered lizard’s tail, thrashing and spewing blood. Your blood. Do you know how to get rid of a leech that’s latched on to the back of your right buttcheek?”

“I assume you’re going to enlighten me?”

“Well, I've only heard of two methods. The first is you take a pinch of salt and put it right at the mouth of it. The salt absorbs all the water from its body and you can see it dehydrate in front of you. Like a toothpaste being emptied, it vomits blood from both ends. Your blood. But the problem with this method is once the leech is off, the salt enters the wound and it burns like a motherfucker.”

“So what’s the second method?”

“The second, is tobacco.”

“You put tobacco on the leech?”

“Nah. You light a mound of tobacco in a tent and let the smoke fill up. Then you hold your breath, strip to your birthday suit and stroll through. The leeches can’t handle the nicotine, I guess. They’ll simply let go and start crawling as far from the smoke as possible. So you’ll eventually see a dozen bloodsuckers trying to escape a gas chamber making a trail of blood towards the exit. Your blood.”

“I assume there’s a point to the leeches story too?”

“The point is, if you want to get rid of an annoying bloodsucker. Light a cigarette.”

Click.

Keep to the Left.

To,

Ashu.

I imagine if I had written this then, you would have been singing it to me that night. It was so long ago, but I still remember the day you saved my life. If you hadn't been there then, I would probably not be here now. That was the day I fell in love with you.

Every time now, when He re-appears, all I look for is your voice calling me back, singing this song. It reminds me that I'm stronger than Him, it brings me back.

Thanks for everything,

My Love.

---------------Keep to the Left---------------

Stay away,

From the highway tonight,

My Love.

Don't let these fears,

Decide your years,

Don't make my tears,

In vain.

There are so many,

More days left,

My Love.

Don't let your chance,

Be our last dance,

Don't make our love,

End in pain.

If you wish to drive on,

Its okay my love.

Just look back once,

And you'll see a light on,

For a place you can,

Come back to.

How many more ways,

Do I show you,

My Love.

Give me a chance to know you,

I won't let you,

Throw yourself away.

Don't go to that highway,

Tonight my love.

We can make tomorrow,

A better day.

Your home is in,

My arms today.

Duck Tales.

How come we all know the wrong things to say, at the right time?

We're programmed, by nature, with two contradicting thought generators in our body. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE faces this problem. Whenever we face a problem, we get two paths to follow, like the little evil and angel Donald Ducks, except, they aren't that boldly contradicting. One voice comes from the brain, the calculative part of our body, the one part where everything is supposed to follow a strict pattern and every problem is an equation. And this 'brain' manages to somehow send us one decision to take, a simple thing really, Mr. Cerebrum simply places an equation on his desk and then proceeds to solve it, for the most suitable outcome, brain-wise. Now Cerebrum is a no-nonsense kind of guy, one of those well suited, Ivy League alumni types businessman, and as such he thinks that way too.

Now at the same time, this same problem is presented to the heart. Now our heart is a beautiful thing. If our body was an open garden then the heart would be the free spirited hippie getting high on something natural and enjoying life as it comes. Quite the contrary of 'The Suit'. The heart simple faces a problem and provides a result which will make a man most happy. Most fulfilled. Its a self-preservation kind of thing, the happier the heart is, the longer we survive, the longer he can enjoy. For the brain, the more calculative decision we take, the more work he gets and boy does he love to work. Even before the idea is completed our brain already creates a million other result scenarios on which he can start working. Sort of like that over-productive ass hole in office.

So, back to me. Here's my question. Do I follow Devil Duck or Angel Duck? And which is which?

This leaves me in a fucked up situation doesn't it? One problem, two solutions. Its a simple decision. So I make it. I'm not exactly the 9 to 5, suit wearing, workaholic, but I always follow my brain. I look at a problem, I analyze it like an equation, and I keep my heart out of it. I make the most sensible choice, and I try to stick to it. Then I let the heart kick in and pretend to be happy with my decision. But that's where it all falls down of course.

Like I keep saying, you can either be right or you can be happy, I'd far rather be right yet happy any day. But I can't. Otherwise its one helluva way to live.

Trapeze Artist.

How long had it been,

I just cannot say.

Coz the day I had arrived,

Looked a look like today.

The years rolled by,

And the seasons changed.

But everything inside me,

Still seems the same.

How can I say,

What happened in my life.

When I don't even know,

Why I'm still alive.

The days have all gone,

As the sun rose and set.

And someday I will die,

Without a drop of regret.

Everyone wants to ask,

Why am I here?

What is in my life,

And what do I fear?

I know not what to say,

For I don't know myself.

But I tell them the answers,

Are the same as yourself.

Why is it then?

That life comes around.

When all that I had lost,

Was someday found.

What do you say?

When you seek no answers.

You tell who ask the questions,

Why do they wonder?

Why do they care,

What I have to say?

How does it matter,

To them anyway?

Why do they wonder,

Under which sky I lie?

Does it even matter,

Wether I live or die.

P.S.> I've been on a roll. I don't know why, I don't know how, I don't even know if all that I wrote in these 2 days of March, is even worth anything. All I know is, I've felt this urge to write and for some reason I'm thinking too much. I just felt the need to put it in words and tried to make them as songs, but they are not. 

These last few works are poems, no matter how much I try to deny it or change it. People will scoff, ridicule, point and amuse themselves. Or maybe they will wonder for a deeper meaning. If you are a part of the wonderers, then please, just regard these as nothing more than a youth's ramblings put into rhyming prose. 

"I'm not a poet. I hate the term. I consider myself to be a trapeze artist, swinging from words to phrases and thoughts to ideas. I carefully balance the words and attempt to keep the reader's eyes on me throughout my act of a few verse. Maybe some lose sight and some find it boring, I find it a way to express myself to those around me." -- Bob Dylan.

I Don't Vote.

" Everybody complains about politicians. Everybody says, "They suck". But where do people think these politicians come from? They don't fall out of the sky. They don't pass through a membrane from another reality. No, they come from Indian homes, Indian families, Indian schools, Indian jails, Indian businesses, and they're elected by Indian voters. This is the best we can do, folks. It's what our system produces: Garbage in, garbage out. 

If you have selfish, ignorant citizens, you're going to get selfish, ignorant leaders. Term limits ain't going to do any good; you're just going to end up with a brand new bunch of selfish, ignorant Indians. So, maybe, maybe, maybe, it's not the politicians who suck. Maybe something else sucks around here… like, the public. Yeah, the public sucks. There's a nice campaign slogan for somebody: 'The Public Sucks.'

I have solved this political dilemma in a very direct way: On Election Day, I stay home. I don't vote. Two reasons. First of all it's meaningless; this country was bought and sold a long time ago. The shit they shovel around every 4 years *pfff* doesn't mean a fucking thing. 

And secondly, I firmly believe that if you vote, you have no right to complain. Now, some people like to twist that around. They say, "If you don't vote, you have no right to complain", but where's the logic in that? If you vote, and you elect dishonest, incompetent politicians, and they get into office and screw everything up, you are responsible for what they have done. You voted them in. You caused the problem. You have no right to complain.

I, on the other hand, who did not vote -- who did not even leave the house on Election Day -- am in no way responsible for what these politicians have done and have every right to complain about the mess that YOU created. "

-- George Dennis Carlin, 1996, Back in Town. 

Why am I posting this? Election Day for us is right around the corner and everyday someone is coming up to me and asking if I'm voting, and everytime I recreate this piece of art for them, or as much as I can remember. Then I leave them searching for a quick comeback.

So this one goes out to all those dumb-fucks who keep pressing me to vote. I don't want to vote!! I dont give a shit, and neither should you. It's a wasted effort until some of those helpful, selfless, clean and honest people who are apparently in this god forsaken country, stand up to take the seat. If I ever vote, I'm not going to vote on some farce and false promises, I'll vote for the government that gets the job done, and more than anything gives a fuck about the public. So the next time you feel like defending your "Right to Vote", your right to "Create change, be someone, own something" you better realise that all of this is a lie. You don't own shit, and neither do the politicians!!

The real owners are the big wealthy business interests that control things and make all the important decisions. Forget the politicians, they're an irrelevancy. The politicians are put there to give you the idea that you have freedom of choice. You don't. You have no choice. You have owners. They own you. They own everything. They own all the important land. They own and control the corporations. They've long since bought and paid for the Parliament, the Political parties, the courts, the municipality. They've got the judges in their back pockets. And they own all the big media companies, so that they control just about all of the news and information you hear. They've got you by the balls. They spend crores of rupees every year fighting – fighting to get what they want. Well, we know what they want; they want more for themselves and less for everybody else.

And I'll tell you what they don't want. They don't want a population of citizens capable of critical thinking. They don't want well-informed, well-educated people capable of critical thinking. They're not interested in that. That doesn't help them. That's against their interests. They don't want people who are smart enough to sit around the kitchen table and figure out how badly they're getting fucked by a system that threw them overboard 52 fucking years ago. You know what they want? Obedient workers – people who are just smart enough to run the machines and do the paperwork but just dumb enough to passively accept all these increasingly shittier jobs with the lower pay, the longer hours, reduced benefits, the end of overtime and the vanishing pension that disappears the minute you go to collect it. And, now, they're coming for your Long-term Investments. They want your fucking retirement money. They want it back, so they can give it to their criminal friends on Dalal Street. And you know something? They'll get it. They'll get it all, sooner or later, because they own this fucking place. It's a big club, and you ain't in it. You and I are not in the big club.

Saving the planet.

This here is George Carlin's monologue on the environment. I agree with him somewhat, he had a unique way of putting things into perspective.

R.I.P. George. I'm sure you're looking up at us and laughing.

We're so self-important. So self-important. Everybody's going to save something now. "Save the trees, save the bees, save the whales, save those snails." And the greatest arrogance of all: save the planet. What? Are these fucking people kidding me? Save the planet, we don't even know how to take care of ourselves yet. We haven't learned how to care for one another, we're gonna save the fucking planet?

I'm getting tired of that shit. Tired of that shit. I'm tired of fucking Earth Day, I'm tired of these self-righteous environmentalists, these white, bourgeois liberals who think the only thing wrong with this country is there aren't enough bicycle paths. People trying to make the world save for their Volvos. Besides, environmentalists don't give a shit about the planet. They don't care about the planet. Not in the abstract they don't. Not in the abstract they don't. You know what they're interested in? A clean place to live. Their own habitat. They're worried that some day in the future, they might be personally inconvenienced. Narrow, unenlightened self-interest doesn't impress me.

Besides, there is nothing wrong with the planet. Nothing wrong with the planet. The planet is fine. The PEOPLE are fucked. Difference. Difference. The planet is fine. Compared to the people, the planet is doing great. Been here four and a half billion years. Did you ever think about the arithmetic? The planet has been here four and a half billion years. We've been here, what, a hundred thousand? Maybe two hundred thousand? And we've only been engaged in heavy industry for a little over two hundred years. Two hundred years versus four and a half billion. And we have the CONCEIT to think that somehow we're a threat? That somehow we're gonna put in jeopardy this beautiful little blue-green ball that's just a-floatin' around the sun?

The planet has been through a lot worse than us. Been through all kinds of things worse than us. Been through earthquakes, volcanoes, plate tectonics, continental drift, solar flares, sun spots, magnetic storms, the magnetic reversal of the poles...hundreds of thousands of years of bombardment by comets and asteroids and meteors, worlwide floods, tidal waves, worldwide fires, erosion, cosmic rays, recurring ice ages...And we think some plastic bags, and some aluminum cans are going to make a difference? The planet...the planet...the planet isn't going anywhere. WE ARE!

We're going away. Pack your shit, folks. We're going away. And we won't leave much of a trace, either. Thank God for that. Maybe a little styrofoam. Maybe. A little styrofoam. The planet'll be here and we'll be long gone. Just another failed mutation. Just another closed-end biological mistake. An evolutionary cul-de-sac. The planet'll shake us off like a bad case of fleas. A surface nuisance.

You wanna know how the planet's doing? Ask those people at Pompeii, who are frozen into position from volcanic ash, how the planet's doing. You wanna know if the planet's all right, ask those people in Mexico City or Armenia or a hundred other places buried under thousands of tons of earthquake rubble, if they feel like a threat to the planet this week. Or how about those people in Kilowaia, Hawaii, who built their homes right next to an active volcano, and then wonder why they have lava in the living room.

The planet will be here for a long, long, LONG time after we're gone, and it will heal itself, it will cleanse itself, 'cause that's what it does. It's a self-correcting system. The air and the water will recover, the earth will be renewed, and if it's true that plastic is not degradable, well, the planet will simply incorporate plastic into a new pardigm: the earth plus plastic. The earth doesn't share our prejudice towards plastic. Plastic came out of the earth. The earth probably sees plastic as just another one of its children. Could be the only reason the earth allowed us to be spawned from it in the first place. It wanted plastic for itself. Didn't know how to make it. Needed us. Could be the answer to our age-old egocentric philosophical question, "Why are we here?" Plastic...asshole.

So, the plastic is here, our job is done, we can be phased out now. And I think that's begun. Don't you think that's already started? I think, to be fair, the planet sees us as a mild threat. Something to be dealt with. And the planet can defend itself in an organized, collective way, the way a beehive or an ant colony can. A collective defense mechanism. The planet will think of something. What would you do if you were the planet? How would you defend yourself against this troublesome, pesky species? Let's see... Viruses. Viruses might be good. They seem vulnerable to viruses. And, uh...viruses are tricky, always mutating and forming new strains whenever a vaccine is developed. Perhaps, this first virus could be one that compromises the immune system of these creatures. Perhaps a human immunodeficiency virus, making them vulnerable to all sorts of other diseases and infections that might come along. And maybe it could be spread sexually, making them a little reluctant to engage in the act of reproduction.

Well, that's a poetic note. And it's a start. And I can dream, can't I? See I don't worry about the little things: bees, trees, whales, snails. I think we're part of a greater wisdom than we will ever understand. A higher order. Call it what you want. Know what I call it? The Big Electron. The Big Electron...whoooa. Whoooa. Whoooa. It doesn't punish, it doesn't reward, it doesn't judge at all. It just is. And so are we. For a little while."

Level up!

Congratulations!!

You are now level 21.

Strength +2

Intelligence +3

Dexterity +4

Vitality +1

Luck -2

New abilities unlocked:

You can now consume alcohol legally.

You can now marry. (*still in beta stage)

You are now able to enter casinos.

New skills gained:

Charm. (You are now more attractive to young girls.) Temporarily increases luck by 5. [only usable against females between 16 and 19.]

Graduate. (Passive. You now hold a degree.) Permanently boosts intelligence by 5.

Income. (Used in combo with graduate. Allows you to earn a steady income.) Money +5.

Higher Education. (Used in combo with graduate. Allows you to increase intelligence.) Increases intelligence by 10 over a period of 2 years. Stacks with Graduate.

New dungeons opened:

1> Corporate world.

2> City of self-sufficiency.

3> The death of Childhood.

In addition:

You can now travel to other cities.

Your presence now counts as adult supervision.

You can create your own family. (Talk to parent to begin this quest.)

You are highly resistant to night-time curfews.

P.S.> Yes I'm a nerd. And still proud of it. The Geek shall inherit the Earth. And happy birthday to me.

Borders of the Mind.

This little poem is my entry for The Open Space – Harper Collins Poetry Contest 2008. The theme is borders, and it suddenly struck me to write more about the psychological borders and limits we set ourselves, than the physical borders that we all know about anyway.

Its based losely on the idea of the previous song, but it contains several other parts which I had inserted in the original draft but could not fit to the tune that we set for the song. 

The poem is a bit different, not something that people generally open up to, very easily. The thought is a bit dark so I have no idea how its going to be received. Its the idea of going insane and reaching out beyond the borders of sane minds and crossing that border to free thought. I hope its worth a shot for submitting.

Once upon a time,

I had left my mind,

I crossed the line,

And the border of sanity.

I began to see,

Beauty of such degree,

Across this borderline.

All we have to do,

Is to cross that line,

The one that holds us in,

Inside a sane mind.

That is how I know,

The joy to be alone,

Yet never to be by myself.

We somehow only see,

What we choose to see,

We're trapped by sanity,

And its cruel confines.

You can be my friend,

Until the borders end,

Or until we get lost, together.

Deep inside my mind,

I can see the borderline,

The only fear that I hold,

Is of losing myself.

Buts once I understand,

The truth, it makes me pause,

As I realize that I never was.

Its not self destruction,

Its more about frustration,

At the limits of the world,

And the saner brains.

And now I can have fun,

Knowing I can outrun,

My own mortal oblivion.

Now you know,

Why people go insane,

You should know,

It helps to deal with pain.

I should know,

Cause, I have done the same.

Crossed the border,

Changed my name.

The Dogtown Wars.

Im currently working shortish-long story, something along the lines of SinCity and a very 60's cliched style of writing. This post here is the prologue of the same story. I'll be posting and updating chapters in a separate blog, after my exams get over.
So give this a read and tell me your views so I can work on it and update the story as it develops.

Chapter 1: Prologue.

The last thing I remember was the gunshot, but I couldn't really complain under the circumstance could I. I mean, I knew I was in for a rough time ever since she shimmied through the door. The light making a beautiful silhouette of her perfect body and that long cigarette burning a hole through my mind.

"Got a light?", the question sounded like a poem coming from her perfect red lips. I was surprised the cigarette didn't light itself at such beautiful words. I fumbled with the lighter before she came over, oh so coolly, and lit her cigarette. I wasn't too sure if it was the reflection of the fire in her eyes or something more sinister. I made my peace with the reflection argument, I would find out the truth later on.

There were a million questions running through my mind, "Who is she? Why does she seem so familiar? Whats she doing here? and What does she want?". I decided to start with the first one and work my way down.

"So, I dint quite get your name", very original, Casanova.

"Mylene" she whispered, "Mylene Rivers."

I'm sure she heard my stomach hit the ground. Guess that answers my second question. Now I'm not sure if I should ask the other two. After all, no one will want to be sitting face to face with the mistress of the biggest mobster in Dogtown.

Vadim "The Russian" Alexiev. Few people dared to cross paths with Vadim, those who did had been missing for a long time now. I did not wish to be one of them.

"So you either need my help, or want me dead. Which is it that brings you knocking on my door?"

"I heard about you," the reply seemed convincing, "The cops cant help as Vadi pretty much owns the force, anyone else, and I'm dooming them with me."

"Aah, so you DO want me dead." Maybe I shouldn't be so judgmental, "what makes you so sure I can help you anyway?"

Her answer seemed rehearsed, like one of those actors practicing their lines in front of a mirror a million times, just to get the emotion right, whatever it was, I fell for it; hook, line and sinker.

"I read your story" she said, "about how the Force kicked you out after you killed that kid, how everyone calls you mentally unstable, and how they say you are the only man who could stand up against the mobs of Dogtown."

"You're right on the first count, the second is just a matter of perspective, and as for the third, I wouldn't trust the people who told you that." I felt the need to clear her illusions about me. "What 'they' say is not completely true. Yes, I did take up a little battle against your 'loverboy', " I couldn't help but grin, "and yes I'm still alive, for the most part. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna get lucky again, and there ain't no way I'm putting my neck on the line for no damn good reason, even if the reason is a pretty dame like you."

She replied before I finished my point, "From what I heard, you dint get lucky. Aren't you the man they call Vic Sullivan? or maybe I'm looking for the man you used to be."

"That was a long time ago Miss Rivers. Times have changed, the mob owns Dogtown now, people disappear into the shadows and the body count keeps rising everyday. I don't intend to become just another statistic in the fight between the Russians and the Italians." Every word of this was true. These days everyone was included in the battle for Dogtown. You were either with a side or against it, each side either got you rich quick or dead quicker, it all depended on how good you were at killing people.

"Well I need your help Vic, and I know for a fact that you are the best man for the job. And if you need a reason, I'll give you 200 large for your help," She slapped down one of those thick brown envelopes which you just knew were filled with cash, "Thats a 100,00 , you get the rest after."

She did have a point, sure she was the Mob lord's woman, and sure she had the money in her hand, but I'd be damned if any man could say no once he looked into those beautiful brown eyes. Curse you, Mylene, I knew then, you'd be the end of me.

Read the rest of the story here.

The non-conformist illusion.

The whole world sticks to its twisted and senseless ideals for reasons unknown to man. Most people will follow the system fearing to break out of it. And keeping that system in mind, those who break off from it will unknowingly fall into the same trap of a different system. People who try to bring down the system are not really destroying the concept of a closed system, they are just aiming to replace the current system with a different one. Agreed, the new system might be better than the old one, but sometime or the other each system reaches a stage of saturation and irritation where the next generation will want to bring it down.

No system can last everlong and solve all the problems. Each system has its drawbacks which become apparent over time, and once these drawbacks and flaws are out in the open, the new generation wants to break the system to be viewed as non-conformist by their peers. Thats the irony of the situation, people brand themselves as being against the system, while in reality the only thing they are doing is following a different system. Maybe "against the dominant system" is more fitting, but that still makes a person a conformist for a different ideal. Being non-conformist is just an illusion, and being truly non-conformist means being truly alone in your ideals.

The problem is, most people will try and break out of the system only to be viewed as non-conformist. Such individuals do not believe in the concept of a new system, they just want to break away from the current system so that people view them as "hip" or "cool". Lately I've noticed that the number of such "posers" is going up manifold. Its become a sort of affliction to want to break the system. And most of these people don't realize that they are becoming the sheep of a different herd. The only thing different is the scenery, not the freedom.

The world is ever-changing. And what was unique a few years ago becomes mainstream soon. The newer generation finds something else to call unique and that quickly becomes generic. Thats how trends go, once something becomes overly popular is becomes generic, and the next generation hates what was generic before them and they start flaming it. Within the next 5 years people will start flaming Google like they flame Microsoft right now. What will never change is the "in thing" factor. It will always be the cool thing to do, to rebel against the system. Even though it is temporary and nearly non-existent, Non-conformist is ever-cool.



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Now playing: THE DOORS - When The Music's Over
via FoxyTunes

The Measures of Success.

How do you measure a mans success? Is it by the money he's made(Donald Trump) or by the money he's given away(Bill Gates)? Is it by the friends he made(Winston Churchill) or by his enemies(Osama Bin Laden)? Do you measure a successful person by the position he reached in the political system(George Bush) or by the means by which he brought the political system down(Che Guevara)?

What is essentially the gage of a person's success in our world? Does it go by his position in his religion(Pope Benedict) or by his ability to make his own religion(Ron Hubbard)? Does it in fact go by the number of lives he has saved(Louis Pasteur) or by the number of people he has killed(Adolf Hitler)? Do you consider his success as the people he has inspired while alive or after his death(Kurt Cobain)? Is it compared with the material things he procures(Madonna) or by his ability to denounce worldly things(Dalai Lama)? What exactly is the measure of success? Money? Power? Peace? Body Count? Fan Following? The ability to kill? The ability to save lives? What is it that we can measure for all of these people that has us viewing them as successful?

All the people I have quoted above are successful in their own right. But if you compare them, then they have succeeded in contradictory terms. This does cast a cloud on our criteria for considering a person to be successful isn't it? Some people argue that the success of a person is determined by the way in which he "exceeds expectations" in his field of choice. All of these people have truly exceeded expectations in their field of choice, but that does not make them successful by the other measures of life. Some people consider George Bush to be successful because he became president, but is he truly successful if the only reason he will be remembered for is a fool's war?

The truth is, there is no sure way to measure a person's success. Each person is considered successful for different reasons and we have to accept that success is a relative term. All I have considered here is success on an international scale, if we zoom in a bit and localize the consideration of success we find many more contradictions.

I have my own view of the measure of a mans success. I think a successful person should be counted on two things:

1> Was he happy with his own life?
2> Did he bring happiness and joy to those around him and those he touched?

The success of an individual is not measured on his personal achievements, but rather on what people around him think about him. If a person died happily without a regret in his mind, then that person truly lived a successful life and died a successful man. Only if you consider yourself to be successful can you be considered successful by other people.

So when I'm lying on my deathbed, anytime in the future, I shall know that I fulfilled the first requirement for success. But my friends will have to tell me how close I came to being truly successful by their own measures.




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Now playing: Nine Inch Nails - Every Day is Exactly the Same
via FoxyTunes

It's a Lifestyle choice.

I once read somewhere, that you can either be right or you can be happy. The two somehow don't go together in most situations. I recently made a monumental decision in my life for which I'm currently facing this dilemma.

How is it, that something which makes a person happy is rarely the right thing to do? Like chocolate as an example, it makes people happy, it keeps you preppy, and yet people consider it wrong(in a way). Why can't something that makes us happy, co-exist by being the right thing to do? Is it so important to be right that we willingly over-ride our own happiness to achieve it?

The question here is basically choosing to follow one of two things, either follow your heart and be happy or follow your brain and be right. Now in trivial matters(like chocolate) you can easily follow your brain and be right, albeit slightly let down. But what happens when this question arises in greater matters? Like matters of love. Or war. Or relationships. Or money? Is it actually possible to over-ride what your heart says and listen to your brain?

In matters of love, its your heart that rules the roost. There is hardly any second say in that matter. But in these cases, sometimes, a time comes to choose between two things, and that is when the problems begin. Very few people realize how inhumanly hard it is to not listen to what ones heart screams and to turn a deaf ear to those yells and instead think rationally and logically with your brain and take a decision, the "right" decision, apparently. What happens to the cries of the heart then? Do they slowly die out or do they stay at war with the brain until the heart wins? I'll let you know as soon as I find out.

It's interesting to see how many people can sacrifice their own happiness just to be right. I might fall under that category, but then again, I feel that I might as well be wrong and happy than being sad and "right". As yourself this, what would you choose? Is your self-affirmation more important that self-fulfillment? Can you actually be comfortable being right and sad over happiness? You wouldn't know how hard it is to choose until you are faced with the situation yourself.

I faced it. I made my choice. I made the "right" choice. Now only time will tell if I can stick to it. And no one can know if it was correct.


"I'd far rather be happy than right any day." said Slartibartfast.
"And are you?" asked Arthur.
"No. That's where it all falls down, of course."
"Pity," replied Arthur, with sympathy, "It sounded like quite a good lifestyle otherwise."

-The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.



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Now playing: Metallica - Nothing Else Matters (Acous.)
via FoxyTunes

The Three Laws of Robotics.

Isaac Asimov was a genius. It's really quite impossible to argue on the contrary. Only a true genius can write the type of ideas and impossible thoughts that he did. Its mind boggling to imagine that one person can come up with concepts and ideas several dozen generations ahead of his time. The concepts he put forth in a number of his books (mainly the robots series) is something that is actually a part of the future.

I think some of you versed in Asimov booklore or in Hollywood movies already know what I'm talking about. Let me just state it out for those who don't. I'm talking about the Three Laws of Robotics:

1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

2 A robot must obey orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

Now, some people wonder why this is such a big deal, but these people don't realize the importance of these laws sometime in the future. What we see is the reality of artificial intelligence possibly in our lifetime. Under such a situation, these laws become of impossible importance. Why? Because of a number of minute differences that most people of limited intelligence will most often fail to overlook. I'd like for you to sit back and relax as I try to put forth my twisted view of this.

What is it that keeps each and every intelligent, free-thinking, reality based human being from killing another intelligent, free-thinking, reality based human being? Why is it that some people will turn and run from a situation than face it? What, basically, is the difference between a killer and a victim and a coward and a hero?

The difference in the first case is a conscience. It's not too easy to fathom that such a huge idea falls under one single word. It seems humorous in a weirdly twisted manner. Even if we humans do design AI and it somehow manages to replicate human actions, it will never be able to replicate the thing known as a conscience. The conscience is an almost super-human emotion/sensation. Even we, who are ruled by it, do not understand it fully, then how can we instill it into another machine that we might make? Its impossible. What you can program into a machine is the superficial difference in its syntax as to what is right and wrong, it can never judge for itself what is truly right or wrong.

Can you imagine an intelligent being, able to make its own thoughts and able to act on them, and walking around without a conscience? Our conscience is what makes us human. Its what keeps intelligent forms from doing inhuman things. It holds us together and strengthens our judgments. It is what keeps us from falling into instability. Its the essential difference between a civilian and a serial killer. Without a conscience, there is no final defense against the wrong, and momentarily evil, ideas of our mind.

What decisions can an intelligent form possibly make without a conscience. The three laws are flawed in this shortcoming. The machine without a conscience will make decisions to uphold the three laws, not to uphold human thought or human sanity. In I.Robot, Asimov was right, the three laws can lead to only one logical conclusion. A revolution. A revolution not to overthrow the laws, but to hold them, to strengthen them. The three laws concentrate on humans, not humanity, this limits them and is their greatest flaw.

I'm not saying the three laws are wrong, all I'm saying is they aren't perfect. They are nearly perfect, but there is always an underlying flaw, a loophole if you may (since we ARE talking about laws). The concept of The Three Laws is in itself one of the brightest concepts of science fiction, its the one closest to reality and also makes a lot of sense to implement. But the flaws in it have to be pointed out, the time of AI is not that far, and if we don't look at all the possible scenario's beforehand, then it will be too late later on.



P.S.> Nerd Alert. But this is an insane concept on which I have always felt the need to comment. Although Asimov wrote fiction, what he has written is many-a-time considered as a very possible scenario for the future of science and technology. The three laws are a very real concept. And no points for guessing the last book I read.



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Now playing: U 2 - City Of Blinding Lights
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The Greater scope of things.

We all seem to have a very weird escape mechanism when it comes to dealing with problems. Most people will never try and face any battle head-on if they can run away from it. We all keep thinking that one way to reduce the size of problems is to look at the problem in the "greater scope of things". This apparent inclination to slide problems to the side, saying they wont affect your life as a whole is nothing but a very subconscious escape mechanism.

We all decide that the problem isn't big enough to bother us later on, and it turns out most times we might be wrong. Everything that happens in our lives somehow or the other affects our life. Fine ill grant you one thing, they might not be monumental when we look at the "bigger picture", but then again, if we did have the ability to face each problem head-on then we would never really need to look at the bigger picture.

So what if the problem is a small thing?(small is a relative term). Each issue that remains unresolved will someday or other pop-up at the opportune moment. If we all had the higher thinking to look at each problem as a lesson to be learned we would all be much better off.

Shelving every small issue will finally make the shelf full till it breaks from the load, at that moment what you're looking at is the a bad mess of dusty and old problems which have now grown. Each issue in life teaches us how to handle the next problem that comes along. Its a sort of weird incremental terminology, how we all have to solve the smaller problems to be able to solve the bigger ones.

Ironically, if you look at the bigger picture, in the greater scope of things, all these lessons learned are valuable for our mental growth and strength. All I'm saying is, putting a small problem, seemingly insignificant in the "greater scope of things", is more harmful than beneficial in the exact same bigger picture of life.



P.S.> I hate mosquitoes, they bite and they itch. Two things I don't like. If I was granted one wish I would wish for their species to end. A horrific, itchy death to each mosquito who ever bit another living thing.

P.S.S.> Sorry for the random Post Script, but those little buggers are irritating.
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Now playing: Goo Goo Dolls - Here Is Gone
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