Casino Royale: review

Bond is back, with his characteristic charisma and the license to kill. Daniel Craig fills the place vacated by the impeccable Brosnan, and held earlier by biggies like Shean Connery and Roger Moore, and he does justice to this coveted throne, in style.
Based on the first Bond novel by Ian Fleming, it portrays a novice Bond, who has recently achieved his ‘double o’ status, but is yet to gain his cold blooded, emotionally disconnected self.
Take away the fancy gadgets and their father Q, exit sexy sirens; do we still get a great Bond movie? Yes, we do.
Judy Dench, plays M for the sixth time, acting as chaperone to the beginner bond, as he combs the globe in search of an international terrorist gang. From Uganda to the Bahamas, our valiant hero follows cold leads, shoots the bull’s eye and exchanges fisticuffs. Repeat; no gadgets to pull him out of nasty situations. The series of events culminates to a high stakes poker game at Casino Royale, so brush up your poker playing skills to follow Bond, as he beats a mathematical prodigy at his own game.
Eva Green plays Vesper Lynd, the treasury attaché with whom, Bond uncharacteristically falls in love.
With some beautifully written dialogues and great acting, this movie scores full marks, a deserving feather in the James Bond saga.

The Ig-Nobel Prizes

An article i wrote for the PT magzine

You are a researcher, but conventional research does not turn you on. Don’t worry, if you’re interested in explaining ‘why woodpeckers don’t get a headache’ or you wish to write the equations of motion of the hula hoop, you still get a prize, not the Nobel, but the Ig-Nobel.
These prizes, instituted in 1991, are given out by the scientific humor journal Annals of Improbable Research (AIR) for ten achievements that "first make people laugh, and then make them think."
Originally concieved as a parody of the Nobel prizes, these prizes are given out by Nobel laurets, for genuine research in whacky areas. To give you a taste of the types of ‘research’ that wins an Ig-Nobel prize, here is a list of some recent winners:
PEACE: Howard Stapleton of Merthyr Tydfil, Wales, for inventing an electromechanical teenager repellant -- a device that makes annoying noise designed to be audible to teenagers but not to adults.

MATHEMATICS: Nic Svenson and Piers Barnes of the Australian Commonwealth Scientific and Research Organization, for calculating the number of photographs you must take to (almost) ensure that nobody in a group photo will have their eyes closed.

PHYSICS: Basile Audoly and Sebastien Neukirch of the Université Pierre et Marie Curie, in Paris, for their insights into why, when you bend dry spaghetti, it often breaks into more than two pieces.

The prize ceremony takes place at Harvard every year, around the same time as the Nobel prize ceremony, and is marked by numerous comic antics. The ceremony traditionally closes with the following words: "If you didn't win a prize - and especially if you did - better luck next year!"

So, if you have a crazy research opening, an eye for the comic aspect of science, there are the Ig-Nobel Prizes for you.

Falling in Love

Has it never struck to you as strange, this expression ‘falling in love’?? I mean, I have never heard people saying, “I walked in love”, or “I feel love” or anything that does not imply blunder! Looking at the word “fall”, we know it is something you do when you do not know the path properly, and hence stumble on an obstacle and “fall”.
Do we not know love? Then why do people keep falling in love? To me the word fall is a bit intimidating. Whenever I’ve tried to analyze rationally, the word love, I always end up wondering about this particular ‘fall’ that everyone encounters.
All feedback I’ve had from people, who have ‘fallen’ in love always points that it is something that is out of their control, something that somehow happened to them, and they were not prepared for it. It is only after ‘falling’ in love that people suddenly realize the horror which is veiled as long as you are the envious observer.
I guess that what people say about love is true. Because only when you are oblivious to the fact that there is this big pit right in front of you, are you able to fall in it, in my case, I see the pit too clearly, and hence………..
How does it feel, to fall in love? I ask everyone who has had the good fortune of falling in it. “ohh, it’s lovely” “it’s beautiful”. To my unpracticed ears, this is funny, partly because here, we are talking about a ‘fall’ and people are enjoying it. Is the pit called love, lined by velvet? “Yes” is the unanimous answer, and suddenly I feel the urge to take a plunge, but as I said, you cannot ‘fall’ if you know that there is a pit, you can only jump, but no one has heard of “jumping in love”. Have you?
One way is that I close my eyes, and pretend that I do not know there is a pit, be a complete ignoramus and ‘fall’ but I guess that’ll be cheating.
Man, how did I come to know of this pit, not everybody did, and they are falling happily, again and again, and here I am, standing on the edge, listening to cries of joy, coming from within, and wondering, why do I think so much??

“So you see it too”.
I turned, surprised. Because, one it was a female voice, and two, I thought I was the only one who knew about the pit, all others were just merrily coming down the road, and falling.
“Yes. And that is the problem”. I replied.
“This means you cannot fall in it”.
“Wow. A chick who thinks, and understands”. I thought aloud.
“I can say the same about guys. Not all chicks are dumb”
“But. But that’s impossible… I mean…. cool. ”
She walked towards me. I could not do anything but admire her. Those piercing eyes, the lone strand of black hair that fell across her face; she was beautiful, and for once, I mean the word ‘beautiful’. But my insufferable thought process said ‘this is seemingly irrational’
“Rationale and love do not go together” She read my thoughts.
“I like guys who can think” She moved a step closer. I could smell her scent, and I was suddenly giddy.
“You.. yyou do” I couldn’t speak. She moved closer.
I wanted her. In one freak moment of thought, I banished all rationale, I wanted her to be mine, and I wanted the world to end, so that no one could lay any claim on her.
She was closer than ever, and I involuntarily took a step back, to place my foot on ‘nothing’. I lost my balance and caught her hand for support. In a frozen moment of time I see myself toppling over the edge of the pit, falling, my hand holding hers.
I ask her breathlessly “who are you?”
“I’m Aphroditis”
And I knew.

The Integrator

“ Vijayanagar??”
“Jaayegi !!”
And so I step into, or rather hang on to the gate of an overcrowded bus. It takes some time to gouge out standing space for oneself. Having done that you can heave a sigh of relief and congratulate yourself on being successfully accepted into this box full of bodies, and have a look at the other passengers (bodies) around you. Each face reflects the day it has seen, weary faces of office goers, tired faces of students; having sat through hours of grueling lectures, exhausted faces of day laborers, blank faces of drunks, curious faces of those new to the city, smug ones of those who’ve been here long, twisted faces of crying children, innocent ones of those too old to cry. Every tone of emotion, reflected so openly, it makes you think.
“Ticket!”
I fumble with the change and grab the pink token in my sweaty hand. The conductor moves to a pudgy man, with well oiled hair, sporting Ray-Ban sunglasses, clad in an impeccably white kurta- pyjama, with a tri-colored dupatta draped around his neck. His sharp moustache shows 10:10 on his face. He sits there with an uncomfortably complacent aura around him.
“Ticket sir!!”
Where did that ‘sir’ come from? It wasn’t there in my case. I look down; I’m dressed in a decent shirt-pant with a tie, why was the ‘sir’ missing then? I guess it must have been the aura.
“ Humara naam Munnalal Yadav hai”
Now, what kind of an answer is that? When asked for a ticket you pay for it, or show your pass, or in the worst case you show your incapability of paying the fare, in any case your name has nothing to do with the ticket.
But somehow it turned out to be the right answer. How much would the ticket cost? 3 rupees – 4! But this neta, as we call them, found it beneath his dignity to pay for the ticket.
Seated next to him is an old villager, a complete contrast to his co-passenger. The wrinkles on his face speak of the hard days he has seen. He wears a dusty dhoti and a worn off shirt, and a fluorescent turban which strikes a remarkable contrast with his otherwise morose attire.
“ Dewas naake ka kitta lagega?”
“4 rupiye”
The expression this answer brought on that man’s face is something I won’t forget in a hurry. The sudden pain in those eyes, the mental calculations he made, the things he thought he will have to compromise. He then opened a knot at the end of his dhoti, interrupted by the conductors’ irritated “ jaldi karo baba” . The open knot revealed some coins and a 10 rupee note folded and folded again. I somehow could not look anymore and I turned to look in another direction.

A bai, had just occupied an empty seat beside a teenage girl. The girl immediately reacted by shrinking in a corner of her seat, visibly uncomfortable. We very enthusiastically talk about how the youth is forgetting the whole ‘untouchable’ dogma and moving on. But I think I’m getting this all wrong, it has nothing to do with the untouchable idea, it’s almost an involuntary act, and even I would have done it had I been in her place. How exactly this has come into out behavioral pattern I do not know. As the bus jumps a few potholes, and drones on, the girl loses the initial reserve and is now sitting normally, not trying to shrink away.

I hear snatches of conversation
“ this time the juniors have lost it. I’ll slap them one by one tomorrow. Fucking bunch, what do they think…..” and he guffaws .

“ Haan, haan….. ho jaayega sir. Nahi. …haan.. abhi bus mein hoon….. Thik hai….. Par woh bola 5000 toh dene padenge kam se kam. .. haan sir…” some contractor is shouting on his phone.

“jai ram….jai ram….jai ram….jai ram….” the old man’s lips move, almost soundlessly, his hands fumble with the rosary.

“ tum bhi, koi kaam thik se nahi karti ho… abhi ghar jaake jaldi se khana bana dena, kal office mein bade saab aa rahe hai, jaldi jaana padega…” a man scolds his wife.

“papa… papa… mai toh darwaje pe khada hoon…” a child shouts, at which his flabbergasted father jumps to grab him and pull him into the insides of the bus and scolds him, not entirely angry.

A man smokes a bidi, though several notices prohibit him to. But I guess he cannot read, and nobody around him says anything, some make a face.

The conversations and the engine noise mingle into a monotonous hum. I feel like I’m in a trance. I’m seeing a lot of things and thinking.
I feel as if I’m breaching a private domain of all these people. I am not meant to hear what they are saying, or am I?
What a thing these public transports are, they bring together the widest variety of humans, and with this thought I stick a recent word I learnt at college, INTEGRATOR.

Nationalism: A discussion

This is a discussion I had with a good friend of mine about nationalism. Some interesting points were raised, and discussed.

Vinod:
As you wished me -- Have a Proud Independence Day! Although, I derive little or no pride in such organized nationalism.

Me:
It's not the organized nationalism that I wanted you to appreciate, but nationalism itself. It is sad that most people feel this spirit only momentarily, that too on incorrectly called national 'holidays'. It should be national 'festivals'. Went to school today. I like it a lot to see all those children singing the national anthem, even though they may not feel the depth of it, or may deliberately avoid it. But in that moment of chorus (forced it may be) I derive my pleasure.

Vinod:
You will perhaps find it sadder that one of your good friends does not appreciate nationalism in any form. In fact, I have trouble understanding the concept of nationalism itself, at least in the Indian context. What exactly is a nation? What exactly is the Indian nation? And even if you can satisfactorily define those two, why should I swear my allegiance to any nation? There are the questions that elude and trouble me. What exactly is deep about the national anthem? Why exactly do you feel pleasure when you hear people sing it? One possible reason is that you see people united for a common cause in all this. I have seen that only in films and yes, it does give me the Goosebumps. However, when it comes to nationalism -- what exactly is it that we are or should be united for? And if you are talking about national identity, I firmly believe that India has none.

Me:
I'll start by answering the questions first. A nation is not the political boundaries. It is the culture you relate yourself to. The Indian nation is the geographical region that is inhabited by people who share a common thread of religion, language or culture. The diversity is of course there but still there is something that you can find common in all the people. And now as to why you should pledge allegiance to the nation is because you're in her debt. The person you are, the social standing you have, the facilities you avail of, the moral code you follow, and the directions your thoughts take, all come finally from the country. I'll tell you how. The culture that brought you up, decided what you think and how you think, agreeably you'll say that you are an independent thinker and say that all that you think and do is inspired from a lot of factors that are non-Indian. But still it's your decision of right and wrong, the choice of what to do and what not to do finally comes from the code of conduct you have derived form the culture.

Vinod:
So you say that a nation is the culture that you can relate to. True. That is how most nations have been defined. However, you must also accept that while the concept of a nation evolved naturally in Europe, it was almost forced upon the Indian subcontinent. Thus, in Europe you find nations with fairly uniform cultures and languages and in India you find a forcibly put together assortment of peoples who find it really hard to relate to each other. If you need a first hand experience of this talk sometime to Shashank about Chennai. The trouble that man has in adapting to the Tamil culture is phenomenal. Still, you say that there is a common thread running through the Indian people. Indeed, entire volumes have been written to prove this. Take for example Nehru's, Discovery of India or Amartya Sen's, The Argumentative Indian. The fact that such long texts are needed to 'define' India proves, in the least, that it is difficult to define the Indian nation. Anyhow, whether India is a nation or not is rather irrelevant to my anti-nationalistic feelings.You say that I should pledge allegiance to my nation since I'm in her debt. I fail to understand how this is so. A. The nation has not purposefully provided me for my various needs. The nation is not a conscious being B. I never asked for it. I never asked for myself to be born. In essence this whole 'debt' has been forced on me. I was never consulted in whether I wanted to accept it or not. It is as if you catch a beggar from roadside. Give him a million bucks without his asking for them. Force him into becoming a successful millionaire and then say that you are in my debt. The poor fellow never asked you to do it! Thus, I do not see it as a debt.Even if you do see it as a debt, how do you resolve the fact that the education that you are so proud of comes largely from outside the country. The culture that you so proudly inherit is a product of thousands of years of history none of which even mentions "India' since India wasn't invented then. Why then do you feel indebted to this particular political and cultural unit? And since you emphasized so much on culture, the entire subcontinent, including China, Afghanistan, and the south East Asian countries can be seen as one cultural unit. Why should I not swear my allegiance to all of them then?

Me:
Fine, it was not your choice, being born, but then nobody has that choice. But once born, you were asking for debts, they were not pushed to you forcefully. You wanted food, you wanted shelter, security. Your parents wanted education for you, a ‘settled’ future. And how was all that taken care of? Because of the country you were born in. Okay it was your hard work that brought the money, but the fact that you are able to earn money in return for work was ensured by the country. This hard work would have been no good, had you been born in Somalia. And this may be broadened to include your ability to buy. You are able to get products worth your money, because the country ensures so.
Agreeably, the Indian nation was formed in the most dynamic circumstances and a lot of different cultures were forced together. But once together, they learnt to coexist. No doubt everyone asserts the unique existence of his culture but they still are voluntarily Indian.
Getting to the factor of political boundaries, that is more of an unwritten rule that the area I’m able to control is mine and I can take as much economic advantage of that area as I fancy. The fact that our country spans such a large area is of germane interest to us, because that will ensure we get food and other things.
And I think I should define nationalism here. It obviously does not entail joining the army and hating Pakistan. It involves a feeling of pride in the culture you belong to, in the heritage you’re an heir to and faith in a fund you’re investing in.

Vinod:
Even assuming that all the things you said in paragraph 1 are reasonable (although I still have trouble subscribing to the concept of debt) why only nationalism? Why not a monarchy? Why not just familial bonding? Why should one subscribe to the concept of nation?Then, coming back to the question of debt. Since nobody has any choice in the matter of birth and birth is, in a manner of speaking, 'forced' on the individual by his parents. Once the parents bring an individual to life it is their *duty* to fulfill his needs. They are not obliging the child by being good parents. If they did not want to be good parents they had no right to bring the child to life. To extend the concept further, if a society or 'nation' is bringing a new life to earth, it is its *duty* to see to the needs of that individual. The nation is only fulfilling it's *duty* I don't see any debt involved. Second, once born the child has not idea that he is asking for debt (according to you). The very concept does not exist in the child's mind. How then does the question of debt arise? When you feed a pet in your house, will you say that it’s under your debt? If you take a pet in, it is your duty to feed it. Otherwise don't take it in. If I were ever to define a nation, I'd define it as a group of mutually cooperative individuals who are cooperating because they believe that together they can grow more than if they were fending for themselves.You assertion, that all people of India are voluntarily Indian, is questionable. I don't think majority of the populace had any say in the matter. Colonial decisions were largely taken in bureaucratic offices.Surprisingly, you give a very agreeable definition of nationalism yet bottle it in a package that is totally loathsome. What is this debt crap? Yes, I am proud of my culture and the more I travel across the country (the recent Hyderabad trip for instance) the more I fall into love with it. I get Goosebumps when I realize how people so diverse can live in such harmony. No region is truer to the nature of humanity than the Indian subcontinent with its diversely textured culture.Yet, why I should restrict what I claim to be mine within the name 'Indian' is beyond me. I find the Chinese or the African to be as fascinating as I find my own people. My own people are special only because I understand them way better. I wish to claim the entire universe as mine.

Me:
Well since we started of this discussion with the idea that you did not subscribe to the idea of nationalism, I switched into this debt mode. I use this explanation for the worst cases. But now I know you are not a 'worst case', so I’ll talk of more tangible aspects.You very correctly defined the idea of a nation as a cooperative, and everyone works for that cooperative because everyone identifies the fact that each one of them will grow, if they work together. It is the feeling of loyalty for this cooperative, the urge to do things for its well being is what I define as nationalism.Most parents are responsible and they fulfill their duties. But many do not. It is not right to bring life, if you are not able to care for it, but then are all people righteous?Fine the nation is fulfilling its duty, but are you? I cannot just leave my parents one fine day, and say that you performed your duty well. I too am supposed to perform *my part of the duty*. In the case of our family we perform our duty by reciprocating the love, by ensuring their material and moral comfort. In the case of the nation, I respect it for what it did for me, I work for its well being, and this is nationalism.Yes, I understand the feeling, one gets when one encounters different cultures, and their seamless intermingling. It comes to us because it is basically an opportunity to *understand*. It is something we're trying to do, voluntarily or involuntarily, to learn, to understand.Colonial decisions were taken in bureaucratic offices, and most people did not have a direct say that, but someone must decide for the masses that apparently are not all that intelligent to decide for them. Someone has to initiate the formation of a cooperative.

Pyaar ke side effects: review

If you thought Bollywood could only produce cliched love stories, think again. There are some directors, like Saket Choudhary, bent on proving you wrong. The story indeed is passe, with the girl eager to marry and the boy dubious about commitment, but the wrapping is new and delightful.
The perfectionist Rahul Bose teams up with the whistling crowd's favorite Mallika Sherawat in an uncanny but well oiled duo. The movie takes you through the ups and downs of a relationship in a novel way, with special stress on the "side effects".
All boys get ready to say "I love you" a hundred times a day, and sit through long shopping hours, and the girls, be ready to have boys with short attention spans, ready to have all but responsibility. The subtleties of a regular relationship are brought out so beautifully; that for once you realize love might have so many 'side effects'. The humor is witty, the acting decent, the narration gentle and the flow smooth. No fancy locations, no long love songs, its a nice watch in an otherwise boring collection of movies released this week.

The fashion of 9/11

The anniversary of terrorist attacks on the World Trade centre came and went, with a few tears shed, and some flower wreaths, but a lot of talk. Now I must clarify here that I myself was deeply moved by the horrifying act of terrorism, and I condemn it wholeheartedly.
I got a lot of mails, with messages like, ‘let us remember the dead of 9/11 and vow that their sacrifice shall not go waste’, and ‘we stand united against terror’. And this one was priceless ‘America has been hurt once, and the wounded tiger roars, they’ll wipe off terrorism from the world. We are together in the fight against terrorism’.
What struck me was that the same people (who talk loudly of terrorism and 9/11) very conveniently forget the annual Flag Day, and might have a faint memory of the recent bombings of Mumbai local trains. Black Friday might not even ring a bell. I’d quote a bit misplaced but appropriate Hindi saying ‘ Ghar ki murgi dal barabar’, what we have at home has no value!! Why is it that 9/11 has had such an impact on our minds, than the frequent attacks we’ve faced, which affect our daily lives much more directly and profoundly? I guess the answer lies in the fact that America has very successfully ‘advertised’ it’s agony, while we have been the ones who are tormented, but silent. All of us read with rapt attention, about the proposed reconstruction of WTC, how many of us question whether a memorial for the Bombay blast victims exists or not?
A consumerist mindset, which we are a part of, dictates, ‘buy what seems best’, and the best is what is advertised best. Just because news at home is not as ‘in’ as the news in America, all the ostentatious intellectuals want to talk of 9/11. A pretty catchy term ‘9/11’, isn’t it? Well, it’s just a part of an organized sympathy gaining campaign, with which America wished to justify its acts in Afghanistan, and Iraq.
Our enthusiastic talk of 9/11 is a part of a bigger infatuation with all things American. Wake up, men and women of my motherland. I do not implore you to talk of a Indian problem, and stop talking of 9/11. I request you to take off those ‘Made in USA’ sunglasses, they are tinted and skewed. Moreover, I hope you do not just talk, but act as well.

CARS: review

Life is not just a rat race in the fast lane, because even if you win, you still remain a rat. There are times when you need to slow down, and look around at what the world has to offer. This is the lesson, Lightning Queen; the fastest rookie in the piston cup learns the hard way.
Pixar studios take you to a world inhabited only by cars. There are new sporty car athletes, and there are vintages, there are luxury cars, and there are pickup trucks. There are car restaurants, and car cosmetics, and everything else you dare to imagine.
Lightning queen, gets lost on his way to a big race, and lands up in Radiator springs, a derelict township, that has been cut off due to the new interstate. Here he realizes the truth of life, finds, for the first time in his life, real friends and his love. “So what if you win a cup in a race, it’s still empty”
A beautifully executed story, animated in a prodigious manner. The expressions on the cars are too real, and you find yourself laughing and crying with them. A movie that makes sense to the kids and the grandparents alike. Watch it!!

Lagey Raho Munnabhai:review

All those who thought philosophy is limited to books, and those, who discard Mahatma Gandhi out of fashion, here is the clarion call. Rajkumar Hirani carves out a completely new genre for his movie- a patriotic comedy. Wake up to the new face of Indian Cinema, a movie so refreshingly different, so profoundly important and so enthrallingly humorous, that it is almost to good to be true.
The guts to take the father of the nation, into the middle of road urchins, and still retain his aura; making people laugh with him, and learn form him, is what this movie does, and in the most acceptable way ever.
Oof course there is Munnabhai, and his dependable aide circuit, and there is the refreshingly beautiful Vidya Balan and the impeccable Boman Irani. Hilarity ensues when Munnabahi, in love with a RJ, poses falsely as a professor. In the process he learns about Gandhian philosophy and sets out to implement it, with the Mahatma right on his side. The movie takes you through all emotions, right form the most poignant moments to the most hilarious ones. And all those with the premonition that this is a heavy movie, well take it form me, it is not! The characteristic circuit dialogues are there, and so are the Boman Irnai laughs; it is in the true sense a sequel, and still not one.
The direction is impeccable, the satire subtle but profound. Unlike other movies where songs nowadays are jarring overtones, in this movie, the songs occur out of a logical movement of the story. The jokes are clean, no sleaze, no double ended one liners; only pure unbound laughter.
Watch it to realize that we need Gandhi more than we ever did, watch it for the beautiful direction, watch it for it’s moments of tears, and for the moments of truth. I guarantee you cannot stop yourself from singing “ Lagey Raho, Munnabahi…”

I smoke

Life's short and i'm smoking it away,
who gives a dammn, i'm dying anyway,
slowly, painfuly, in this godforsaken ghetto
breath by breath, blow by blow

the red glow at the tip of my fingers
is the only thing alive, where gloom lingers
twisted in agony, by mandatory sacrifice
from the ashes, will a phoenix rise?

with my soul at stake, the dice rolls
in the fabric of reason, there are gaping holes
with every puff, a fleeting moment of bliss
what's the use,life has lost it's fizz

my bastion of principles, is riddled with holes
betrayed by society, compromised by moles
i fight a lost battle, to retain my hold
my soul haunts me, stand up for what you think, be bold.

i envy them, who traded their principles,
for gems, jewels and glittering metals
they live in comfort, oblivious of the world
for it was their soul they sold

i pity them too, for that's not life
measely cogs, in the mechanized strife
die or be tied to a yoke,
death i choose, and so i smoke

Evolution of the media in a capitalist economy

Reuters admitted that it had engineered the photo of air strikes in Beirut to make the landscape look more devastated.
Now this is news. Till now I used to think that Slimes of India and Aaj Tak were the only ones privy to this cheap method of selling doctored news, but now the granddaddy of all news agencies surfaces with the sheepish grin, "well I hate to admit it, but I too do it"
Things like these have made me shun all news channels alike. God knows what fairy tales they might want to feed me.
Someone I know almost always says "we're living in the world of information. It is the information revolution." and gets so ecstatic about it, almost poignant. What use is all the information, if it is not true? What if it has been all dressed up and spiced to make it look good?
I used to think that the media has a social responsibility to show to the people what is happening around them. My civics teacher used to teach us about the pivotal role that media plays in a democracy. And when I used to read about the socialist governments and how they had a propaganda department so that they told people only what they wanted to. I used to think that in my country the media is free, it can show anything. Only now I realize it is also a propaganda driven agency, only the content is not dictated by the government but by capitalist forces. They show what sells, and not what should sell.
The media has evolved,it too has realized the strength of market forces, and now it bows to them.

The roadside boy- english translation

I'm posting a translation of my earlier post. I'd try and include my perceptions as well.

"what's your name?"
"Shankar"
"how old are you?"
"twelve"
"What do you do, I mean, apart from sitting at the shop?"
"Arrey bhaiya, I study" this sentence had a tinge of pride, partly because he was thinking I was not expecting this answer. The italicized words are a very common mode of address, it means big brother.
"Oh good, which class are you in?" I replied.
"Seventh"
"but you look like a 5th grader. Which school?"
"Government middle school no.4"
"Do the teachers teach there??" Now this is a very common perception that government school teachers are no good, and hence my remark.
" Earlier there used to be a lot of dawdling, but now new teachers have come, they're foreigners, and teach well"
"Foreigners?? You must be joking, must be from some other city, maybe Delhi, not foreigners"
"No bhaiya, she's so fair, surely she's a foreigner." Here it is apparent the still prevailing dogma that fair skinned people are superior and come from far off lands. Something the British were very successful in drilling in all Indian minds.
"What is the school fees?"
"Nothing, we even get the textbooks for free, we only need to buy the notebooks"
"And do you get the mid-day meal?" This is a scheme introduced by the government to make poor people send their children to school, provide mid-day meals.
"No, that is only till class fifth. There is a boy in out school who failed deliberately, so that he keeps getting the food." Now this shows how 'effective' the government scheme has been and how the poor perceive it.
" Don't you do things like this. Study well and you'll get food automatically"
" One never gets food automatically, you have to work for it, no matter you study or not"
He said mockingly.
Now this shut me up completely and I changed the topic. But the comment has had a profound impression on me. Not that I did not know this, but it being put this way by a 12 year old, somehow shook me. I get food everyday, easily. I take it for granted. Now there is hard work involved in this, but I never see it as closely as this young boy does, and hence the down to earth comment.
Now as I said, the new city transit system introduced by the government is a source of many an excited conversation. This might seem very strange, but one needs to be an Indian to actually grasp the novelty of these spick-span buses running on time.
One of these buses just passed, and I asked.
" Have you taken a ride on the new bus"
" yeah, many times. It's fantabulous. Our Indore is developing too."
Hearing development the way he pronounced, I mockingly ask
"development, what does it mean??"
" it means, the coming of newer things to the city, the beautification of the city, people getting jobs. You know bhaiyya 4 people of my colony are employed by the service."
This is how he perceives development. I observe that the effects of these 'developments' are more direct and close to these people than anyone else.
" Do you know how to drive??"
" I've driven a luna many times" A luna is a small two wheeled scooter, without gears. The simplest of al motorized vehicles to drive.
"doesn't the police fine you? I mean you're 12, legally not allowed to drive"
" No the don't. After all they too know that I do not have much to give them, why would they waste their sweat on me then"
It is very commonly known and experienced that the local police force is corrupt, and take small bribes in return of overlooking small crimes, like underage driving. The thing here to observe is the boy's conscious acceptance of the fact that he is poor.
Again I was at a loss of what to say. This time he asked me a question.
" have you been to treasure island"
Now treasure island is a new mall in our city, and it is like the biggest news to most people since the invention of the telephone. Again, it'd be difficult to understand the fixation with a shopping mall if you're not Indian. It's like this apparently inaccessible 'foreign' item brought to their doorstep.
"yes I have"
"What a great place it is. The bijli ki sidhiyaan (the escalator) are fantastic. They take you up and bring you down, automatically Mangal City (another mall) is useless, they only have the up escalator. It's like as if they want you to stay there forever, it's one-way."
having cracked a joke, he laughs,one of the most beautiful laughs I've heard in a while.

All the time I was mesmerised by the shine in the boy's eyes and his easy guiltless attitude, something we can never have.

The boy on the roadside shop

I observed the road today from a prespective we do not generally do. We generally see it, while driving. But looking at it sitting on an upturned oil can, in front of a roadside seat cover shop, was new to me.
There was this young boy, the 'chharra' of the shop jumping agilely to meet the 'fetch' orders of the proprietor. As the owner worked on fixing my scooter, i engaged the boy in conversation. The transcript is as follows. I'd have translaed it in english, but that would erode the effect. Hence i write it verbatim, in Hindi.

"Naam kya hai tera??"
"Sankar"
" Kitte saal ka hai?"
"barah"
"Kya kaam karta hai, matlab dukaan pe baithne ke alawa?"
"Arre bhaiya mai padhai karta hoon"
"Achha, kaunsi class me hai?"
"saatwi"
"Waah yaar, dikhta to tu paanchwi ka hai. School ka naam kya hai?"
" sarkari uchhatar matdhyamik vidyalaya, kramaank 4"
" teacher padhate hai ki nahi?"
" pehle to farziwaada tha, aajkal naye teacher aaye hai, vides se, to ab achha padhate hai"
"vides se?? arrey dilli se aaye honge, vides se kaise?"
"aree badi gori madam hai, pakka videsi"
" fees kitti lagti hai?"
" kuchh nahi, kitaben bhi milti hai. bas kapi khareedni padti hai."
" aur khana milta hai?"
" woh sirf paanchvi kaksha tak wallon ko milta hai. Meri class ka ek ladks toh jaan boojh ke fail hua, taaki khaana milta rahe"
" tu mat aisa karna, padh lega thik se to khana apne aap milega"
" koi nahi bahiya, khaana milta kabhi nahi hai, humesha kamaana padta hai, bhale padho, ya nahi"

Just then a city bus passed us, it still is a novelty to indore, and it's very common to ask weather you have taken a ride in it or not , and i asked him the same question.
"Yeh nayi city bus me baitha??"
"bahut baar, kya jhakaas bus banaayi hai bhaiya. apne indore ka bhi devlopement ho raha hai" (the spelling of development is knowingly incorrect to stress on the the pronounciation he used)
"devlopement, iska kya matlab hota hai?"
"matlab nayi cheezen aana, sheher sundar dikhne lagna, logon ki naukri lagna. mere mohalle ke chaar log chala rahe hai yeh bus"
" tujhe koi gaadi chalate aati hai?"
" luna chali hai bahut baar"
" police nahi pakadti? tu to 12 saal ka hi hai"
" koi nahi pakadti bhaaiya, usko maloom hai, pakad legi toh bhi mere paas toh kuchh hai hi nahi dene ke liye"

This time he asked me a question.
" Aapne trejur iland dekha??"
" haan maine dekha hai"
" kya mast jagah hai bhaiyya, ise bhi devlopement kehte hai. Wahan kya sidhiyaan hai, apne aap hi upar neeche hoti rehti hai. Yeh mangal city to bekaar hai, upar jaane ke liye bijli sidhi hai, neeche aane ke liye hai hi nahi. One way hai". having cracked a joke, he laughs,one of the most beautiful laughs i've heard in a while.

By this time, my scooter is fixed, so i take leave of this young boy, giving him a chocolate i happen to have in my pocket. Thinking what all this boy sankar told me in such a small time.

On reservation and social justice

The definition of social justice needs to be rewritten, in the light of the recent events where the term has been used to favor reservations, rather than to oppose it.
We live in a socialist, secular state. But one is again forced to question the meaning as is being interpreted nowadays rights an equal opportunities are what one expects when we are told we're born in a free country, and now we're cheated, we feel robbed.
When the Union Jack covering our motherland was lifted, it revealed a gruesome, sordid mess. A poor divided country. Divided by language, by culture, by geographical boundaries and worst of all by religion. Out of this mess we forged our great nation. We used sticking plaster and glue to join the fragments. But some rifts were too wide to be bridged, so we built raised platforms to bring all to the same level, but the foundations of these platforms are weak, supported by makeshift scaffoldings.
The new reservation policy aims to rip out the sticking plaster, to cut the threads and to kick the scaffolding. The pain is going to be the same as ripping off the bandage from a raw wound.
The backward classes were and are still backward, thanks to the high headed snobs in the upper castes. They are socially and economically backward, but if I were to say that they are mentally backward, a self respecting 'backward' boy would gladly beat me senseless ,and I deserve it too, saying what I just said. Because this means that we consider them to be lesser humans, a step down in the evolution ladder.
Agreeably they have not had the same opportunities as we did, but this does not mean taking away our opportunities, and doling them out for free. At the thresholds of our career and our education, we are equal, armed only with our confidence and intelligence.
The government decision is irksome and sad. It stands to divide a society that has just come together. When we had started growing up, shedding the dogmas of the last century, the government is redrawing the boundaries.

I never considered asking a classmate his caste, but now I just might. The consequences of this decision are grave and long lasting.

aaa.. um.. er.. hhhi

This is a poem i wrote for the beuatiful girl in the next cubicle, with whom i'm unable to talk to.


I wait
trying to catch a glimpse
of your oceanic eyes
a shadow of your smile
your angelic face

I walk in desolation
a traveller
in a desert
praying for an oasis,
and there you are, the mirage

Shrouded in a veil of mystery
the deary morning frost
oh! how i wish
for the ice to be broken
for the Peraly Gates to open

I try desperately
to fing my strangled voice
the words, by your aura, overshadowed
die prematurely in the throat
and all one hears is a splutter

give up, i will not
with the passing days i gather strength
to cease being the dumb guy in the next cubicle
and be able to say 'Hi'

Am I mad?

The Strange pleasure of doing things you hate

Contradictory as I might sound, the feeling I mentioned is one that frequently visits me. How do I place this seemingly illogical behavior in my otherwise logical mind? Is it that I define pleasure erroneously or that I do not really hate what I pretend to hate? I am not masochist, or am I ?
It is recently that I have realized that the pleasure in doing things that are forbidden is great. Now the things I hate or I think I hate are things I've been taught to hate and hence are pleasurable, because they are forbidden. But if there is this pleasure, why do I think I hate them?
I'd take this example. I know a girl whom I hate like anything. She's a big liar and such a lousy actress that it makes you want to puke. She's average looking, leaning towards beautiful. I've told her numerous times that I hate the trite she talks about and she's fooling nobody by the lies she tells. Even after all this, I meet her frequently. Now why do I do that? I do not have much time to waste on hearing fibs nor am I addicted to coffee shops. Not one aspect of her is intriguing, but still I talk to her. Why? Is it just out of defiance, that since I'm not promoted to associate with girls, or out of asserting to myself that I can take more than I think I can take.
The same is with drinking. In this case I know a very big reason is the defiance factor, but that is not all. I get nothing out of drinking and I actually hole my pocket, then why do I do it?
I know I want to study, and that I do not have a lot of time to waste, still I will spend hours watching nothing on TV, and I hate channel surfing.
Putting all of what I mentioned above, am I mad??

Being Cyrus- review

Being Cyrus

Here comes a starkly different movie from the otherwise formula stuck Bollywood. An English movie, Being Cyrus takes you into the life of Cyrus( Saif Ali Khan), an orphan working apparently as an apprentice to sculptor Nasruddien Shah. Nasureddien Shah plays a delirious fallen artist now living as a recluse with his frustrated wife Dimple Kapadia, who is instantly attracted to Cyrus. Boman Irani and Simon Singh make up the rest of the Sethna family. The story takes unexpected turns at regular intervals and leaves you confused and ignorant about the actual motives of the characters until the very end when the whole drama culminates to a fantastic end.

The script is beautifully written and the generally Hindi speaking actors have taken to English as easily as one breathes. There is an intriguing novelty in the direction; there a numerous scenes whose relevance remains in muddled questions till the end. Snatches of philosophical dialogues, strange dreams, seemingly mad characters, flashbacks, unaccounted for scenes all add up to form an impeccable story.

But the movie demands patience from the audience, till the interval it takes conscious effort to make you remain seated, and even after the interval it does not gather much speed; the unexpected end and impeccable acting partly make up for it. Humour is inherently missing, and some scenes are sadistically irritating.

The movie, it seems, was a greater pleasure for the director in making it, rather than for the audience seeing it. Still I’d recommend it to all the hogs of novelty and students of movie making. Viewers who ask for entertainment alone may do well to stay away.

Ice Age2- review

ICE AGE 2

The scorching summer has made the ice melt and with delightful results too. The much awaited sequesl delivers all that was expected of it.
It has wit and humor, love and tenderness, tiffs and friendships. Everything in just the right proportion to make a beautiful movie.
The ice is melting and life thrives in all it's glory. But this picnic is not forever and the animals must march to a far off destination, in the face on an impending flood. With beautiful messages like 'conquer your fears before they conquer you' and 'save the world before it's too late' ;the narrative unrolls with a fine needlework of friendship, cooperation and love. It stirs in you the same emotions as your moral science class did years ago, and invokes again the innocence you seem to have lost.
Starring Manny the mammoth, Slater the tiger , Sid the sloth and the obsessive compulsive squirrel, this movie is for the child inside you and of course for the children. A must see for everyone.

V for vendetta- review

V for Vendetta

A futuristic thriller, not on a far off planet but set on earth herself, this movie comes with subtle questions, an entirely new premise and a feeling of rebellion.
From the house of Wachowskis, who gave us the matrix triology, V for Vendetta transports you to a civil war torn USA and a totalitarian UK. The people fear the government. Propaganda and injustice is ramprant. The story speaks of V, a masked rebel, a product of government sponsored inhuman experiments, fighting a lone battle against the system. He's a phantom, who moves noiselessly ,unseen, unknow, commiting fantastic acts of rebellion.
Blowing up buildings, and killing people, the man behind the mask is not a mindless terrorist but an intellectual, who understands and appreciates the importance of freedom. Evy, a reporter finds her life entangled with V's only to have it changed, forever.
Some parts of the movie are overdramatized, an a quick eye can spot continuity flaws, but in all the movie does justice to the storyline.
Based on a novel by Alan Moore and directed by James McTeigue, the movie has a lot to offer.

The Pink Panther- review

The Pink Panther

A comedy that defies tradition, one that does not evoke laughter by worn out one liners, rather from the whole setting of the movie. It is the Pink Panther.
A soccer coach is murdered in front of a stadium full of people and a priceless diamond is missing. Who else but the best( or worst?) in the French detective force, Inspector Jacques Clouseau is called upon to solve the mystery. And then ensues the most hilarious fracas; a sequence of stumblings, falls, punches, jabs, bites and English spoken in French.
Clouseau is hot on the trail, assisted by his faithful sidekick and stalked by his lovelorn secretary, only to seem confused as ever but ends up solving the mystery with panache.
The director sure has something against the tour de France. THe movie is a laugh tonic and a must see for everyone who hates slapstick comedy and has a liking for good jokes.

The Da Vinci Code- review

The Da Vinci Code

Amidst much controversy, protests and bans, the movie finally hits the box office.Movie lovers waited anxiously, listening irritatedly to the deliberations of the court, hoping they get to see the movie soon, after the movie the same cinemagoer finds himself stuck with one question, was it worth all of that??
After 40 million readers, the movie will find atleast 10 million viewers, but you won't go to the theatre for the movie, you will go there to see what Tom hanks might have to offer and what is the hulaboo all about.
The movie goes on at a reasonably fast speed, but there is a touch of lethargy .It does not give you the anticipatory thrills, as everyone expects from a thriller. The codes are broken, riddles deciphered, but with nothing more than a cursory glance on the words. The dialogues and the emotions seem constricted. Some trady direction brings you to a state of utter confusion at the middle of the movie, and if you have'nt read the book, god save you. MOst of the mystries are solved by the end, there is even an intresting conversation that shows the charm of hanks, but it's not enough to vindicate the movie makers.
See it if you're curious, about how one can actually spoil a book properly.

MI-3- review

Mission Impossible 3
Starting unmistakably with Limp Bizkit's 'Take a look around' (official soundtrack for the movie), it has all ingredients of it's predecessors: bombs, stunts guns and babes, save a good storyline.
The movie starts off jarringly, blowing buildings and vehicles to smitherness, a trend that would be the mainstay of the movie.
Eathen Hunt (cruise) faces another bunch of impossible missions, trying to tackle his biggest enemy yet, Owen Devian; an arms dealer (apparently) with unimaginable reach in the corridors of power and religion. He kills people with malicious joy.
With the death of a fellow agent, the matter becomes personal, and cruise is moving mountains, acting at his whim, to catch this guy. Only to be faced by treachery right at his roots.
There are guns, and grenades and bombs. Bullets always missing the heroes and fatal to the villians. Invisible communication devices, unimaginably small gadgets achieving fantastic acts, face masks and voice impersonators, they're all there.
The movie makes your palms sweaty, takes you to uncomfortable silences and deafening roars, there are touches of emotion, a smile here, a tear there.
But the movie falls short of expectations. It's more of Q's opera( Bond's gadget man) than bravado of the agents. The centrestone of the story is shrouded into a mist that never lifts, so the cause of the whole conflagration is veiled.
See it just becasue you know you want to, you'll return with the feeling of seeing a movie, whose memories fade as sandcastles in the rising tide.

Corporate-review

CORPORATE

people in pinstripe suits with drinks perpetually in their hands, raoming around with their laptops, doing nothing but holding meetings. That's what you come to think of the corporate top brass once you see this movie. Madhur Bhandarkar has tried to create and echo of Page3 but has failed miserably. The corruption is ramparnt, so is private profit motive; There are unfaithful husbands, motel sluts, pimps and fixers, but somehow the scene does'nt ring true. The humor is coarse, and presentation shoddy.

KK Menon compensates for the horrible show put up by Bipasha basu, but not completely. Corporate secrets are traded, and strangely enough these people have not heard of password protection of data. reality bends for the story's sake rather than the other way round.

There are some learnings from the movie. The director has tried to come up with the reality, but in a very unreal way.

The final moral of the story is: all aerated drinks invariably have pesticides, so don't drink 'em.

PS I did not talk of the songs on purpose.

Omkara- Review

OMKARA
Here is the movie that delivers everything a cinemagoer expects. Starting at breakneck speed, it introduces all it's charachters in a breath. Omakra(Ajay Devgan) , the faithful muscle-man of politician Nasruddin Shah, is flanked by trusty aides Langda Tyagi( Saif Ali Khan) and Keshu Firangi ( Vivek Oberoi). The flurry in the begenning gives way to a relatively slower narrartion, a platform for the actors is created and every charachter delivers. Right from the green eyed monster- tyagi, to beginner muscle-man Keshu. Love is blind, but jealousy in love is maliciuosly blind, and this is what pulls a gifted warlord Omkara, to his doom.
The Indian village has come alive, not only physically, but also in terms of the mentalities of it's inhabitants. There are folk songs and there are item-numbers. The director has doubled up as music director, to produce a delicate interlacing of songs with the setting.
The story unravels to produce expected surprises, with prodigious acting inputs from, Konkana Sen Sharma and Kareena Kapoor.
Vivek Bharadwaj has made Shakespere's Othello his own, and set it beautifully in an Indian backdrop. A must watch for all, yes even you Mr.Shakespere. A word of caution though, explicit language content, avoid taking your younger siblings to the theatre.

Review- anthony kaun hai

Anthony Kaun hai?

Now here is Arshad Warsi, trying again to kick start his career, to get himself into mainstream cinema. There is the same illusion that he might succeed, as it was after really good roles in Munnabhai MBBS , Sehar, Wasia Bhi Hota Hai part2, but will he? only time will tell.
Arshad's exceptional acting ability dares to carry the movie alone , inspite of the presence of Sanjay Dutt, and he partially succeeds. The story drags on slowly, but there is one good thing, there actually is something in the movie that might be called a story. Something inherently missing from most of the recent movies. Comic scenes arise out of genuine situations, rather than someone playing the joker with a slapstick. No pants are dropped and no couples land of the bed, and still the movie grabs your interest.
The delectable Minisha lamba, is smiling all over the screen, she could have done with some acting lessons, but for a beginner, she's good.
The movie in all registers as better than the crowd, but not one of the best. Better editing could have worked wonders for the movie. But still watch it for clean humor, for the genius in Arshad and for the intimidatingly funny Sanjay Dutt.
PS. Wait a minute, i heard someone call it a thriller, well it's as much thrill as lying on the bed, trying to sleep.

The accident

I have'nt been in an accident.

The Accident


Every squeal of the brakes
send a chill down my spine
i see a broken body
mine
The screeching of the brakes
the ugly thud
the smell of oil
the blood
the desire to shout
the strangled voice
the murderous silence
the deafening noise
the excuriating pain
the perpetual numbness
the plaster casts
the sling harness
the red flowers
the formic smell
the evanesent dreams
the glimpses of hell
every push on the wheelchair
the hourly chime
a hope of being well again
the mind races back in time

LOOKING FOR LOVE

Looking for love

Is a wild goose chase

You may catch the goose

But love is hard to find

it’s just a ‘hi’

An a cute little smile

And you think this is something

for which you’d run a mile

you sweat and you mumble

at a loss of words to say

you just keep a straight face

and hope she doesn’t think you’re gay

it’s a date first

maybe a movie afterwards

and soon the phone bill mounts

to staggering amounts

suddenly, the world is all beautiful

conversations all poetic

flowers all fragrant

and birds sing the most beautiful songs

you can’t spend another minute without her

and you think you’re in love

this is the best thing in the world

this is your cherished treasure trove

it’s valentine’s day

and you think you’ll propose

halt!! my man,

and think again

it’s just the goose you’ve caught

because it’s as I say, don’t mind

diamonds are easy to come by

but love is really hard to find.

I’M FALLING

I’m falling

No beginning, no end

I’ve my convictions to defend

From those who pretend

The wind whips past me

Needles of cold prick me

Tears brim my eyes

Why do I think I’m so wise?

Took a plunge into the unknown

With nothing but confidence

In myself

The ground I cannot see

But when I reach, there it’ll be

I fall faster

Than those with parachutes

They look at me, as one looks at a grave

But I know it is I who rides on the crest of the wave

Them, with borrowed supports

Drown on the old dusty road

When you chart unknown territories

You buy no insurance, walk alone

Belief clears, will paves the way

He’s an eccentric they say

Let yourself fall

It’s the darkness before the light

Just a longer night

The day will come for those who dared

to jump

I’m falling!

MEET MY ALTER EGO

He fights on

To keep me down

he wants his part of the world

The scramble is on

For total control

And the winner takes it all

He’s been there

Since I was born

The war has been decades long

It’s him ,it’s me

It’s him, it’s me

No one’s ever sure

We’re stretched

To the end of our strengths

Can fight no more

There’s no truce

The struggle goes on

Bloodied and bruised

It’s him ,it’s me

It’s him, it’s me

No one’s ever sure

At times I feel

I’m going out,

I’m lost, going to go

It’s him it’s him him him

Meet my alter ego

It's more the song i wrote than the poem it turned out to be. The lyrics can still be composed into a song, an enterprising musician ca nuse t, with due permission and after negotiating the royalty payments.

Second Hand Lives

This was a result of an objectivist phase in my thinking. Though i still stick to the original theme of the poem, objectivism as such has been diluted in my mind, there are now exceptions and correction in the way i originally accepted the philosophy.

Second-Hand Lives

I don’t like your hair style,
I hate your sarcastic smile,
I despise your approach,
Hell! You’re beyond reproach!

Why don’t you do things the normal way??
Why don’t you listen to what people say??
Not one complaint you spare
Of your despicable “I don’t care”

You fancy yourself an iconoclast, defying tradition,
Too bad it’s only an illusion,
The public decides good and bad,
And not your silly fad.

If you respect public opinion,
And bend to public descision
Your talent will have access
To enduring success

Give up selfish desires,
Do what the people aspire
It’s up to you, end this strife !!
“No”, I say, “I don’t live a second-hand life”

Some 'Machine' poems. Morpheous would've liked 'em. Nevertheless, thse poems potray the frustation that plagues me, when i'm dealing with other people. They're actually droids, even if they choose to call themselves human.

SCREAM

Zombies stalk the road
in an endlessly long dream
they can never revolt
they make me want to scream

Gargantuan ruling machines
churn out exploitation crème
the din pierces my ears
it makes me want to scream

Not a flicker, not a flinch,
it’s fate they accept everything
the machines grind, bones crunch
it makes me want to scream

My shell muffles my voice
I struggle to find the cracks
I want to break free, shout at the top of my voice
Wake up!!
I want to scream.



STUCK WITH DROIDS

The world is stirring,
It’s machinery whirring
Everybody does his job, lives happily
Believes in god
Oh! Help me
I’m struck with DROIDS

They all sit in the assembly line,
Get mass-produced without their spines
They’ll bow and toil till eternity
And no one will ever be witty
Oh! Help me
I’m stuck with DROIDS

The brain and the appendix are in the same fold
Slaves in the galley’s hold
Thinking is abolished, so is imagination
They work silently, pray for salvation
Oh! Help me
I’m struck with DROIDS

It’s here I see the chance
When I hold the lance
They’ll work for me now
And willingly, they’ll be happy anyhow
Oh yes!
I’m struck with DROIDS

This one did not come out as i had composed it im my mind, nevertheless another poem.

I doubted me

A long time ago,
i won a fight
took to the left
forefitting the right

now i look back
and hear a part of me say
maybe i should'nt have come this way

they pointed at me
said 'there goes the madman'
enraged and scared
i ran

i pause to catch my breath
and hear a part of me say
maybe i should'nt have come this way

let me pass, or i'll have to break you
'i make no concessions'
said the wall
'for puny men, with misconceptions'

i step over the rubble, looking ahed
and hear a part of me say
maybe i should'nt have come this way

turn back, you no one,
or in me you will drown
'never will i give up' i say
lest my carcass washes aground

i moor my boat on the banks
and hear a part of me say
maybe i should'nt have come this way

I stand atop the mountain,
illuminated by the new dawn

and hear a part of me say
maybe i should'nt have come this way

but there is no doubt now
I'm vindicated, if i were ever wrong.

poem:Solitude

A poem i wrote as an experiment. I wanted to see that can i deliberately get into a depressive situation and write about it. The result is below, and i think i did the experiment justice.

Solitude
The smoke fills my lungs
the flame of the matchstick dies
the lonliness comes crashing in
the truth of my life, the lies

I lived in a painted room
walled by my convictions
deluded by my present, my past
the emptiness beyond, is vast

love it seemed was infallible
now with truth i reconcile
it was chinese pottery
and not marked fragile

hope, i thought drove the world
i have none left now
the flag of deciet
has unfurled

friends they said, walk with you always
but maybe i was too fast, or they too slow
for now i know
i've left them far behind

ambition was my fuel
i wanted to be at the top
now i realise, there are no crests, no troughs
ans so i stop

i stood in the crowd
i'd be heard, if i spoke out
having shouted myself hoarse
i know i'm alone, my arguments were coarse

the red tip in the dark
each breath brings the fire closer
oh! i see someone
it's the undertaker

i embrace the only friend (death)
i feel noothing anymore
it's dark all around, i'm finally home
i'm alone