Cries of a root

One day a root cried out to God, “What crime have I committed that I am always ignored, remembered only when I have to be killed?

All the hard work rests on me, tirelessly searching, finding food for tree;

Unseen, hidden I always lie, without a complain ever in my eye.

I struggle growing, spreading in the hard ground, held so tightly together by the mother earth, fighting throughout my life. Yet slowly & deeply I tirelessly penetrate only to nourish and experience the joy of my flowers blooming and opening their morning eyes to see this great creation of Yours, greeting the warm morning rays.

Bearing all the dirt underground, I feel proud to see my creation, flowers. But O Lord, inspite of the entire burden taken by me, why is it that flowers always find a place at your lotus feet and not me???”

God smiled.
He looked at him compassionately. He waited for a moment to pass and then said, “Without you, where are flowers. Without your existence, how can flowers grow? You are the reason for the flowers to flourish. You are the reason for their standing high to receive the warm rays of sun. Isn’t their reaching me amount you reaching me?

O child, it is because of my extreme love for you that I keep you always in my bosom. Not letting you leave me. Even a flower which owes its existence to you betrays you, leaves you. But I do not leave you. Did you ever realize your working harder gets you closer and deeper into me?”

He then took him by his hand and made him sit in his lap. He continued, “Your birth is in me, your growth is in me, finally when your end nears you, your death is in me. You are kept away from all the sufferings of this world: heat, cold and wind. You are safe with me, in me.

You are never far away from me, O child, then where is the question of you reaching me. You are living in Me than I living in you. How much ever hard you work, the peak of the tree will never reach Me in skies, whereas irrespective of your abilities, capabilities and activities, you are within me ever. Because of your association with the tree, it gets all the advantages of My association with you.

I am so possessive about you that I do not even let anyone see you lest, they take you away from me.

You selflessly sustain the tree, in turn animals, birds and man too. You are the basis for my creation. What more credit, rank and position could I give you son!

People talk of me as unknown and unseen. Aren’t you too, in the same way, unknown and unseen? I am the creator, sustainer and destroyer of this world. But you are a notch higher than me, since you are the creator and sustainer of the tree, birds and animals, thus ultimately supporting the life-force on earth. Destroying is left only to Me and man.” God laughed.

“Realize you are as much of Me as much as you know you are Me.”

Root silently slid and rested in God’s lap, into a peaceful sleep ever granted.

This post was never planned or intended. It visited me last evening...I just allowed it to write...flow...

God – an Individual or a Designation?

Administration

We know of the God-trio: Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva (Please append “Lord” ahead of each of their names incase they are particular about it :) ). Then we have lord Indra, Surya, etc etc. According to Indian philosophy, we have 3 crores, 33 lakhs, 33 thousands, 3 hundred and thirty 3. If we follow the structure of each Gods positioning in Heaven, Hell (are their Gods here in form of demons?), we will know it’s another governance system like our present government, lead by President, Prime Minister, Chief Ministers, Governors, etc. etc.

After having said all this said, on our other hand we have our mind-blowing mythology (I call it mind-blowing, because we truly don’t know how magnificent is our past, Mythology, Vedas, Upanishads, etc.) which say God is one. Aham Brahmasmi (I am God), Ekonaam Bahusyaami (One God called by different names), Sahasrasheersha Purusha, Sahasraaksha….. Here it gets perplexing. One end we say, there are crores of Gods. At another front we say God is one. Maybe we are not aware of things in complete perspective. One of the simple reasons being, we do not know our past.

It is said, give importance to the chair one holds even if you do not have any regard for the individual sitting on it. Respect an individual because of the designation he/she holds, if not the individual, at a personal level.

Thus, clubbing our earlier observations, if we fix God as designation, we always have a Supreme God (President) and the subsequent designations that follow it. This position of Supreme God can always be taken by any of the present ‘individuals’ and he becomes He. Implying there is only one God. Earlier Sri Rama took this seat, then was taken by Sri Krishna, Lord Buddha and so on. Thus we understand, Messaih, Allah, Christ, Rama all sat on the same throne and professed same principles. But man got caught with the person on the post than the post as it is happening in our country. We still talk about Atal Bihari Vajpayee, P V Narasimha Rao. But when it comes to all legal documentation, more valid is the designation ‘President of India has approved of Nuclear Deal’. Now if these different ‘individuals’ on the post of God have created hatred among masses, then these ‘individuals’ (idols – as they are talked about in their absentia) are anti-social elements.

Now imagine attrition in this administration. Even this aspect can be imagined and thought of, Privileges that one attains by claiming a particular post - recognition, responsibility. One example can be Person A was writing what an individual is doing on earth (post Chitragupta). From now on ‘A’ will be our Brahma (I mean post Brahma) where he will start writing what a person is expected to do on earth. The difference in these columns (of expected behaviour of a individual to the actual behaviour of the individual) is the difference in Karma that one has performed.

Retirement Plan

But one thing that is a dilemma is whether there is any retirement age for these posts? If yes, then what happens to the post-holders after retirement? The population of their village too would be increasing. Paapam, they don’t even have an option of dying! Do they have any retirement plan? Is there an option of Voluntary Retirement? I doubt. Or is there no concept of retirement?

Now that we have some idea about the administrative structure, let’s move to their creation – MAN. Ofcourse, I am not taking away any credit from them for their creation of remaining 3 crores, 33 lakhs, 33 thousands, 3 hundred and thirty 2.

Documentation

But one think that must be accepted is that there is no proper documentator within their organization. The Dos and Donts of Man should be a available as Rule-book or Instructions, for everyone and anyone whenever man needs to know at any time and any where. Like how we have ‘Help’ documentation for online available softwares and tools. But unfortunately, in this creation, there is no such documentation. Safely and cleverly, the administration passed this baton to MAN. “Boss, you document from your own experience and pass on your knowledge to others”. With this order, it was an obvious that there would be correct documentation and incorrect documentation. Now who was to validate these texts? God Himself had/has to do that. Vedas, Upanishads are the approved ones whereas Novels are rejected ones :)

After the above texts are authorized, many read it, another aspect we hear is that the documentation lies within you. You are the creator, you have the complete knowledge. So find it and you would know about it. But now the ‘bridge gap’ is in knowing how to access these hidden folders within, so that we get the knowledge (or should I say wisdom). The whole jugglery in life and the concept of Sages, Saints, Gods coming on earth is to let us know about this ‘path’ (do I mean ‘address bar’? in Windows Explorer) to these hidden folders. Yeah, we know, in command prompt, you need to know the complete path with the folder name; else you do not have access to them especially if they are hidden. The UI for these folders are these Sages, Saints, Gods, etc. who advent on earth with a certain validity period, after which their license expires and are back into their abode.

Say, we are shown the correct ‘path’ and we do reach the hidden folders, texts, visuals (‘In Mahabharata, Vishwaroopa Darshans’), audio files (remember ‘Akaashvaani’), etc. From now onwards, we learn these lessons and imbibe the teachings, and thus we become the all knowing. All-knowing meaning, one who knows the path to the hidden folders, texts, materials available within them and have also imbibed them. So far so good. Thus, we have knowledge which is same as the ones who came down to earth (Sages, Saints, Gods, etc.) to teach them earlier. Thus we become God. In other words, these are few designations (Technical Officers) who are sent by the Developers to the Client to help them out with these little little issues. Pre-requisite for the client is to understand what the sent Technical Officers convey or want to convey. Gods had Sanskrit as the mother tongue. But, these Technical Officers have improved their versatility over a period of time by becoming multi-lingual. Apart from that – MAN, also has been bestowed with ‘Language Tools’ to overcome these linguistic troubles. To put it, Client-side browser is upgraded (with upgraded Java Engine V8) to handle heavy processing and improve the overall performance of the transmitted data.

Maintenance Plans

There are these periodic reviews on the progress with a threshold limit for defects. Whenever there is heavy loses (in their stock market), the higher decide to take up the Annual (‘annual’ term as defined by them) Maintenance Plan. There is restarting of Servers when the whole world is stopped for a brief period of time. Before Restart, it is made sure that all the connections are handled, that’s when the follow-up of the clients is taken up. Multiple officers (Sages, Saints, who knows maybe even Gods) are sent to this Client, where they try to finish up with connections so that no data is lost, and backups are taken…After this a new Yuga starts.

Interestingly, this client wants to know its vendor’s other clients (Possibly, the other clients too might be in this pursuit). Mars Rover, is one such endeavour. This search for life on other rocks (called planets) has been going on, and is on. Not that the vendor is not aware of it, but they may not get panicky until we catch their other clients and compare our performances with them.

In conclusion, we have a group of developers who continuously are working for this site called Earth, buzy creating multiple projects (species) as experiments…and if it was anywhere closer to Google then surely Man was part of that weekly one hour project! :)

Rahat Fateh Ali Khan

Who has not heard of this mesmerizing singer. But not everyone knows about his personality. At least I was not aware of it till the following happened.

This saturday I was hooked to my Sony WEGA 2.0 television (Oh God. Everything seems to be coming with some versions; anything to do with Web 2.0?) . Though out of touch with TV for years, Reality-Shows get me hooked on to it, after it got exposured to me recently. Especially with Tata Sky and 5.1 Dolby Channeled television, who can miss the thumping music rocking this young soul ;) That is how my Friday and Saturday evenings and almost whole of Sundays are glued to this supposedly 'idiot' box.

Coming back to Rahat saahab. Who doesnt know him. 'Jiya Dhadak Dhadak...' from Kalyug, 'Main Jahaan Rahoo...' from Namaste London have enthralled and smoothed each and every soul in this country and abroad. This sunday, as I was browsing through multiple Indian channels hosting these reality shows on singing, dancing and comedy, the remote stopped on one program 'Yeh Shaam Mastani' in Sony channel (too much of Sony uh?). He was the guest and he was to be anchored by another famous Minnie Mathur. She did a wonderful job. (Rahat Fateh Ali Khan on Yeh Shaam Mastani)

In this show, they call famous singing personalities, viz. Shaan, Sunidhi Chauhan, Shankar Mahadevan, Sukhwinder Singh (end of S's), Rahat Fateh Ali Khan, Kailash Kher, Kunal Ganjawala and likes. Some personal things are revealed, some fan-following (they get one of the hard-core fans on the stage to let them talk and sing with these famous personalities) are highlighted. And todays' show had Rahat Saahab. Really, unki awaaz sunthey hi logon ko raahat milti hain (in English: listening to him, gives one comfort, peace, calmness).

He is nephew of sensational singer, Late Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. All those who have heard Nusratji, will hear his voice in Rahat saahab. What a voice? In this show, first time I heard him speak. Softly, sweetly...one easily got captivated by him. The way he spoke, reacted and received the compliments...Waah. Its a must watch.

Apart from this show, saw him on another reality-show on singing where, he was one of the judges. On Sonys' Yeh Shaam Mastani, he was a guest to perform. Whereas in this show on singing competition, he was a judge, rating participants. The way he pointed out their shortcomings, gave them suggestions, marks him as a man of high self-respect. Always smiling, down-to-earth attitude, speaking with complete dignity with everyone are the things that will strike first. His traditional grace adds value to tradition itself!

As I searched for his works on net, found that there is new album of his - Charka. Need to hear this (how can one miss his singing!).



He is one person of whom I was a fan because of his songs and singing. Now, I have a become a die-hard fan after having a look at him as a person. Raahat Saab, aap ko salaam! If you are reading this, then please know that I am your big Big BIG Fan! :)

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Simply Living...

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Its fun to observe how we live. We all live with our own notions that we tend to develop from childhood. When we were kids, we lived to grow. As a teenager newly into a college, we were little scared to get ragged in front of other colleagues. Later we got buzy with studies, I need to top the class! This followed by placements, jobs and so on...All these form one aspect of life, the purposeful part to be successful.

But pleasures form that part of life, which we all like to recollect wherever we are, however we are. Nostalgic we are about events that make us smile, laugh and thus always yearn to get back to those days. If we scrutinize, most of the time those are small pleasures that live with us and we love them being with us. Though we all tend to shield ourselves in an external mask, our inner being wants to be free, simple, without any pressures.

It was a chilly wintry morning. I had my cozy overcoat with me that I was wearing everyday to beat the chill thats gonna welcome me on my way to office. The road that leads to my office is without any buildings but with trees on either sides for some part of it and open mountainous light-grassy ground, a sight of beauty, for rest of the 15min ride. The spin gets spicy in winters with this greenary adding their share of coolness to already chill weather.

So I wore my grey, fluffy english overcoat, armed my light sky-blue frog shaped bag on my back, sat on my Ambition and started off. I also put some cotton in my ears to avoid cold catching my ears for in recent past I had suffered from viral. But there was something that was making me feel good that day. I was feeling so good about my self. The reason was, i was not wearing any chappals (footwear). Imagine someone wearing all that packing and finally riding on a bike without any chappals. There could have been a odd, inferior feeling that could have arised in me some years back. But now, I enjoy it. For I know simple things matter most.

• Having a coffee early morning (I am gonna start from tomorrow, watch out!)
• Sitting and just chatting...
• Having a get-together and cooking food for your colleagues (then notice their reactions too!)
  
• Watching a movie with your friends
  
• Shouting at the top of your voice, when you feel so..
• Singing in bathroom
• Taking-off chocolate from a kids' hands
• Pulling your friends' legs (not literally)
  
• Telling each other our bosses' stories and rating them
• Dancing especially when not known
• Sitting with friends at a road-end wearing tucked-in formal dress
• Trying to lick even the last bit of juice from glass
  
• Lying down on the grass and looking at clouds, etc...etc...
  

and most importantly,

• Learning to love your life

Any more additions to the list...?

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Cirkuit of Orkut

Orkut is one social networking site that swept globe in a sweep to such an extent that every household kid seems to be knowing which opening and closing tags are required to render a 'winking' emoticon. I am not here to market orkut or expain its features, but to tell a story of orkut & me. So just sit back, ease yourself and enjoy the read...

Though my first encounter with it dates back to my 1st year Post graduation, I got completely into it only after my post graduation when I was relaxing at home. Within 3-4 days of signing in I found scores of friends, maximum current batch-mates and few oldies (school-mates). That set the ball rolling. Everyday morning till night, I indulged myself on net. What was Google upto? What new Microsoft was trying? How Intel was getting subdued under AMD...all became secondary. Primary was Orkut. How communities in Orkut were so exciting! Reply to a message and keep on traversing to the community just to check as to who felt my message stimulating enough to reply. This went on for days together. All the while finding friends - this kept the excitement on. Within first week, my friends' list crossed two tons!

Soon a feeling captivatedly disturbed me - how could someone block orkut in offices? Infact it should be made mandatory for all to use! Google employees had their share of contribution in using it within their company, among their employees - and Google was growing. So, I was like shouting, you want your company to grow, better allow orkut to be used by your employees...

But the companies appeared more satisfied in displaying,

The URL you tried to visit contains one of the following keywords

orkut.com orkut

falling in the one of the following web categories:

Entertainment Chat Sites

Please contact your Administrator if you feel this is incorrect.

Arrey baba, every employee would have contacted the system administrator, if only their requests were paid heed to. Never knew whether they would be, with a cold face, bluntly shown their cabin to return to or exit door to help them permanently end their disappointment.

This fascination for orkut took to its heights when the only thing I spoke to anyone I met was ‘Orkut…orkut…orkut…..’ ‘Are you in Orkut?’ ‘What? You don’t know orkut??!!’ (never knew if this added to their assets or my sins!)

Soon I came out of this reverie when the activity of finding, adding friends came to a close, all the features explored and used with possible permutations and combinations. World became silent again.

Now, its once in a fortnight job to check any new activity – primary use still being finding friends. Orkut gets a lot of value for a reason known to all. After oxygen, orkut seems to occupy life-breath of many. Finding old friends still gives orkut all its credibility for existence. It will ever be remembered for getting together long lost friends which was once left to chance, luck…in other words, to God. Even God might be thankful to orkut for relieving Him from one of His responsibilities.

long live orkut…Long Live Orkut…LONG LIVE ORKUT….

But soon a day may come, where you wont require orkut to find friends. Looking at the trend at which people are getting used to systems and internet, a new born child may very well be presented with a email id as a new born gift on his/her’s naming ceremony day with family name as the domain name! A gift for being born on this planet where not only are humans bound together by the same air touching all of us, same earth under everyone’s feet but also the same web connecting humans virtually through wires and electrical signals.

Orkut is amazing to unearth and find oldies, sharing info about ourselves but communication is still a drawback. Mails is a better choice and that’s what Gmail is for!

Blog or Diary?

From my diary dated 22nd Feb' 08

Ah! Years passed I touched this book. So, very different I was earlier. Simple readings of my own writings from the past gushes across my mind the thinking and energy I had with me that time.

I have changed a lot from then. Stopped writing in my diary and started a blog, explored it and then it changed. I could never be myself. It looked as though I was writing for others' sake. I had heard that Blog is like an online diary. But I was wrong. It is not.

Diary is for me and me alone apart from few with whom I would like to share my thoughts. Not that blog does not provide that. Blog can be similar with access given to few to read and comment. But use of blog changed my outlook, attitude and understanding rushing past multiple events that eventually reverted me to get back to this paper - my very own diary.

i dont know why but my thoughts seem to flow freely when I pen down my thoughts than e-print them on screen. There is some 'apnapan', some belongingness with ink flowing in strokes, pinning the unseen voiced language to the uniformly glued paper holding the ink effortlessly for posterity for one to read and feel the same years later that I felt today on reading my writing of yesteryears.

Somehow the slant words seem to reflect me better. One may argue that I can choose appropriate font type from the plethora of font-faces available on the screen. But dear friend, my handwriting is not so uniform and perfect for a particular character to appear in the same way all the time, thus not reflecting me! I am not perfect in curves and dashes, thus electronic characters are not me.

Blog, alongwith brings many other options on the screen. Sometimes that seems more than distraction. Whereas here I just have a plain paper, pen and most importantly my thoughts flowing in sync with my thinking, with myself. Atleast for me personally I seem to loose myself when I sit in front of screen to type in my thoughts. This diary-writing is more intuitive. Ofcourse advantage of electronic media cannot be denied in terms of quick-sharing. That may be one of the reasons why this post would make itself to my blog.

What an evening today has been! A good chat and a stroll over a capuccino in the open air with like-minded collegues. Chat about what? About bloging and diaring, IPL, Pervez and what not. To top it, me writing in my diary gets back to me my hostel days where I frequently spent time to fill this same diary. What better setting could have I asked for than this, where currently I am relaxing on my bed, listening to 'Happy Days...', 'Jill Jill Jilla...', 'Arey rey...' from our very own Happy days to repeat the history that left me a couple of years ago...

आज अपने कल पराया हो सकते हैं|
और कल के पराये अपने आज हो सकते हैं||
ज़िंदगी में अपने न कोई रहे तो|
अपने क्या, ज़िंदगी ख़ुद पराया हो सकते हैं||

Ever thought 'Mister'?

Something interesting I came across in one corner of some book lying in some(other) corner of a yet another some room in some building existing along some lane (simply got lost, uh!)...

In News Writing, they have 'some'-thing (again?) called Style Sheets. It contains rules for preparing Reports. Something ('some' again!!!) like,

'First time an organizations' name is spelled in full with its abbreviation in brackets. This abbreviation can be used at every other instance of its mention'.

Similarly, it contains even the grammatical, semantical guidelines. Like, 'all the statements will be in Passive Voice', etc. etc. Every News paper has its own set of rules that are collectively called as Style Sheets. This ensures uniformity in the language throughout the News Paper giving it a homogeneous look and feel

Now coming to a point. One of those rules is this. If a persons' name is William Smith. First time his name is mentioned, its written as 'tom-dick-harry...William Smith... some other tom-dick-harry' and next time onwards just Mr. Smith is written instead of the full name. It is said, that whenever Mr. is used, only the Surname follows it. In short, Mr. William Smith is wrong.

This means, even the Presidents', Prime Ministers' names are directly mentioned at first and from second instance of its mention, Mr. Vajpayee, Mrs. Patil is used.

Perhaps, Cascading Style Sheets got its name from its similar function in HTML

Anyway, any similar observations?

Are they heard?

We at our work place have few timings that we adhere to, whatever happens. 10am in the morning: F&H (Fresh and Honest – our coffee cafe), 12:30pm: Lunch, 3pm: F&H. Today we were there at our usual time 3:30pm, being late is part of work right – be it office-work or coffee. As we started sipping our respective refresher, mine being a hot black coffee, one man shyly in a trying-to-approach mode moved towards us. We looked at him and he diligently handed over his Orthopaedic OP Consultation Report to us. Being part of the Ortho implementation of eHIS, I saw it and understood his concerns of reviews and follow-ups and told him that he has to come back to hospital and go to Urology department, room no. so and so day-after-tomorrow i.e. 21^st of July.

He was an old guy, not completely ragged but looked struggling. We asked him where he is from for he was to return after a day, could he afford to go home and come back? I just glanced through his report and knew he was from Anantapur. That was local. But his reply was surprising. “I don’t have any house. I just keep moving around and stay on whatever I get”. This came as no surprise to us. It has always been a case with the kind of patients that we get - from a poor village who come all the way just with a hope to see themselves and life better.

Though the hospital gives all its services free, was it enough? He was prescribed of medicines. Our hospital does not provide medicines for Outpatients but for Cardiac, though all prescriptions are taken care off for Inpatients including their diet. He was supposed to buy his medicines. Next obvious question from him was, “Sir, I cannot afford food, what I will buy medicines?” Then it struck. Here was the man, who didn’t have money for food, of what use was a free hospital for him? Person needs to supplement himself with proper diet if he had to recover. Fine, his entire Laboratory, Imaging tests will be done without his spending a pie, but how much of it was to improve his life? Biologically, may be substantial but in terms of life…?

We did what we deemed best in our limited perception. We bought him medicines for 2 days, not for 5 days which was prescribed for him, anyway he was to come back after 2 days to Urology Department which could always change the prescription and gave money for a meal. One person who we discovered as a pharmacist was following this conversation closely. He had come on some work to the hospital. He too at the end offered money for another meal and explained to him in pucca local language about his next course of action of coming to hospital, etc.

We have hospitals which offer free medicare, irrespective of any barriers, to all. We have educational institutions which give free educare to all, irrespective of anything. But do they solve all of their problems? These are building blocks for improving once overall life. But just individual existences are like cotton and plastic. Unless they are woven and molded into cloth and buttons, we don’t a single good piece of shirt! These are institutions which solve the monetary problems. But it’s the unique human who can change lives of each other. Make life a better place to live and let live.

More of Human Care is required than just the Health Care. Counseling, spending some time with the person and talking to them in the language that is understood to them makes such a great difference to them. The Consultation Report of this patient was in English. Of what help is it to the poor who doesn’t understand the black and white ink on the screen. It was worse than the black smoke coming out of their beedi, they understood it! But how much can an institution go to make things better for people. The people whom the hospital caters to are illiterate. Whether its English or Telugu or Hindi was hardly a concern. It loops back to the Human touch than Biomedical equipments.

Are they understood? Are they heard…

Text Slip - Flip!

ʍɐnnɐ do ʇɥɐʇ? ʇɥǝn ɔ1ıɔʞ on ʇɥıs 1ınʞ¡
...dı1ɟ ɐ ʇsnظ sı sıɥʇ

no No NO! its not some new language i am learning that outlashes even chineese in appearance. Its just some Flips of text. The above lines are Flip of:

"This is just a Flip...
¡ʞuı1 sıɥʇ uo ʞɔı1ɔ uǝɥʇ ¿ʇɐɥʇ op ɐuuɐʍ"

where second line is a Flip of:

wanna do that? then click on this link!

This is one those few cosmetics that appear unfathomable till its found out to be something that happens with just a click of 'some' button on 'some' website. That 'some' is the word that adds value to these stuffs, till they are discovered. So, click on the link in Header that takes you to that 'some' which makes Geek-of-a-Meek!

A Stony Bench-

How many times have we felt simple? Sounds absurd? Another way to say it would be how many times have we felt without any burden or weight on us…light? How many times do we get lost in a thought, scene or a moment?

Recently, I had been with my builder for getting our house registered some 6 miles from my room. On our way back after registration, builder ventured to show his farms to me to which I readily agreed. It was always a delight to see the rural folk and life of the fresh air taming the noise under the skull infusing some purity, serenity. Three bikes soon screeched to a halt at the end of a typical rural path of mud, dung and slush of summer. Means is more important than the end, it is said and known. But here the end of the road (means) was as fascinating rather, more fascinating than the means itself. Later I was to realize that this end in itself was a means to yet another apparent end.

At first look, the scenic beauty of the over-stretching green fields, as described by many, stood indescribable. Statement ‘It is left for one to experience’, sounded convincing. There are two ways of looking at the feelings that were to come my way. Everything in this world is available to all. One chooses to accept that which appeals to ones own self at that particular moment. Another perspective says Nature is the best teacher. It chooses to teach one self at a particular moment that it decides. Without any clue as to which stood applicable that day, I knew what was coming was more of a fact than a bitter lesson we are used to.

As the gaze fell all around, everything seemed still including the heart beat. Calmness of the evening increased the wildness within to stay there for ever. Practically, impractical though. The portrait before the eyes went beyond the boundaries of the fields to be bordered only by the mountains, some having a tapering head still in a hope to not just reach the sky but pierce into it. There was something more in that ambience than just the brown and green colors being stimulated by the predominant cons or the sweetness of the fresh sugarcane from the fields that the gullet readily accepted that day after satisfying the ever hungry taste-buds.

Sitting on a stony bench at a seemingly one corner of the field, the open field asked to whisper silence into the vociferous ears that they had become. The language was unknown, yet understood by something again unknown. Mind stood still. Was it a moment or an hour of a moment? Time too chose to be quiet without notice. The pouch containing my cell phone too seemed to respond and lightened its identity.

Soon we were on the bikes with some sugarcane sticks as a token of love given by the fields, the nature that nature was used to – giving and giving. A thought of keeping this moment within me for ever surfaced. Next thought gushed in; a part of me was already taken from me even without my knowledge. I was living in that thought, in that field. It is not the sofa in the veranda that I am sitting on but the same stony bench in the field that I was seeing now again, this time not through the eyes but through the ink of my pen…

'"Atleast once a day be a child, my children" said the happy Master

"Stop kidding!" thought disciples'

New Ear to the New Year!

So here we are back to a day where we hear and and are asked about one thing very casually,
whats your resolution for this year?
Little does the word 'resolution' know that it is only on this day that it is remembered
and little do we know that the word 'resolution' feels proud to celebrate its birthday along with every new year and that everybody in this world knows its age with each year (excluding the dates existing in BC format and firmly believing that resolutions became known in AD alone) passing by

Lets make it different this time
Form a resolution and post it for eternity (provided internet becomes immortal), and anybody asks, just direct them to that url
next year direct them to the same (old) url (and content too!) and let everyone now realize that you are one person who stands on his resolutions, forever and ever!

The Un...

A carve on the branch of a tree

A carve on the curve of a bent

A carve on the stone ancient

A carve on the being of humans old

A cave in the trunk of a tree

A cave in the dark of night sky

A cave in the stone of a mountain

A cave in the heart unseen

A beat in the slap on a cheek

A beat in the clap of a song

A beat in the meter of the heart

A beat in the unknown silent night

Vacuum flowers in a newly grown cavity

From existing unused untouched cave

It does vanish just by a carve on that edge of the cave

Gives life a bent until the edge creates vacuum again

Silence descends in vacuum

As it also does after noise

Vice-versa too holds true

As has this very thought (from sleep?)

**Well the last line just hints as to how this post came up. It was one of those few breezy nights when sleep doesnt need to sleep and mind keeps wandering in the lanes that it creates for itself. The start three lines came as a flash like a flashboard already existing in one such new lane and subsequent boards read the coming lines forming the above thought which got painlessly delivered within few minutes of its birth. Its finally, just a thought...anyway

Debt

It was a wintry evening. The cold of the winds pressed itself against the heated breadth of the land assuring comfort for the ever agonized life on it. Living beings seemed to thank the ubiquitous nature for having this part of the year in its calendar; may be it too has a reminder, they thought. Life was finding reasons to live life, to give life even to lifeless beings; they too should experience the joy of living, if at all, it should be now. Birds too seemed to respond with their sharp, short chirps and frequent fluttering of their small wings letting the coolness of the softly blowing breeze caress every being of their tiny body. Life was finding way into its presumed home, the place where it had been longing to live. It had always wanted to get into as many little hearts as possible and capture the over-growing world. Now was the time, the moment. Give people more and more reasons to live and they will be yours – was its motto.

Silently accepting all this without a revolt was a dark figure half lying on his sofa. Dark made not by God in complexion but by nature through its present composition. The hidden sun looked helpless in helping this being from looking brighter, from looking lively. All seemed to die down in the vacuum present in him. Few sound waves had never found their way into his ear drums. Especially, the like of ones which were getting bombarded on him now, “You know what a burden you have become on me?” Only ‘You’ reached him. Rest of the sentenced redirected itself in every other direction but him. That alone could help the sentence stay alive; who doesn’t want to live!

“Are you listening to me?” shouted the voice. It was vociferous but more silent in magnitude was his mind. Closed eyes seemed to bind calmness within him, neither allowing the people around to have it nor getting polluted by their idealness. “Whole life I have spent with a hope that one day you will take care of me. A day will dawn when I will be able to rest without any botherations and live a life which will give me peace of mind. But you!” His eyes opened and stared right into his father’s. “Were those statements addressed to me?” they seemed to say and closed as soon as they thought the statement was over. There was vacant emptiness in him that did not want to come out. It, too, wanted to capture as many people as possible in this world of increasing restlessness. Give its calmness, or as people said laziness, to people and make life peaceful or full of boredom, as people like to frame it and talk about it. Then the world will be its. Life gave vibrancy, meaning to living. Emptiness too gave the same things but not to the people within whom it resided but to the people around that person. Emptiness flag read – If people want to be peaceful, let them learn to accept me.

A long silence followed. A change clambered with it. Altogether new experience seemed to move into the alcove of his being. Unable to bear the restlessness that galloped seamlessly, unrest set in his eyelids. Out of frustration they opened to see the light outside which stayed unruffled in the shirking silence. They followed the silhouette of an old tired figure crossing the threshold and bang shut the door. The light was short-lived. Darkness alone came from that end. He turned, moved, swiveled and looked in every direction possible. His senses lost sense of directions. He didn’t even know whether his eyes were open or closed. He tried making it out. But eyelids didn’t respond with any sense of touch. Rather the space around his eyes didn’t reflect any sensation of his eyelids or its movement. Or was it that his nervous system too stopped assisting him as his father had?

The restlessness in him grew into desperation. He didn’t want darkness, he didn’t want silence. Father, where are you? Scold me, shout at me. His throat too looked to have taken leave of its master. This threw him in a sense of frenzy. A man who was composed and indifferent a little while ago had suddenly grown wild. Even wild weeds take time to grow. But this one was as instantaneous as thought. He was not able to see. Not able to speak. Not able to hear. Not able to feel anything except for the growing mound of heaviness within him which was weighing him down to the same steady sofa which, just a few minutes ago represented sereneness, peacefulness, emptiness. He let out a cry, finally. The cry reached crescendo and some sound vibrated his throat. A streak of Light flashed. Eyes flew wide open. Ear-drums reverberated and heard his voice; a shout of dismay, of agony, of respite.

He got up. Involuntarily, his right hand moved to his right where a table lay which looked right next to the sofa. Dim light around helped him to recognize the lamp on it. He pressed it on and a sigh of relief swayed him back to peace. He tried to swoosh away this nightmare but he soon realized that this was not just a dream. It was the same thing that had happened in the same house years ago. His father had never crossed that threshold again to come onto this side. He had never let himself seen again. He had left his son as one left a bad bargain in the market. The son had deserved it…

* * *

As he thought of that day, he remembered how very much he didn’t want it to happen again. Yes, he had deserved it but now he didn’t. Days had rolled by from that day like pages in his biography which was never written. Now he had become a respectable person in the society, though more so because of his father’s reputation. He had been striving hard to earn the same for himself, but his father always overshadowed him. He didn’t get dejected, on the contrary felt proud. He had been missing his father, but he loved his life now. He had never seen him again in person, but life showed him his ideals at every stage. He saw his father in every rung of his success. He knew he owed his life to him. He got this life because of him. And he wanted to make him proud of this. Today was the day. He will be meeting his father at the church. Father, I am coming…

Dis'Guyz'ed

“Hi Guys, How are you all?”

“Common Guys, lets move…”

“These Guys, My God, will never improve…” As these thoughts of “Guyness” were craving for getting carved in my mind, I heard a scream from behind, “Hey Guys, you here? What a pleasant surprise!”

My mind, as though, a part of the Surprise-Provider group, answered them, “Isn’t ‘surprise’ part of Guyness?” But only I heard it. I sincerely acknowledged my brain for being so very considerate in answering the call.

I slowly moved out of the over-populated canteen and a thunder hit me. Ashwin was getting into the college compound. An historical event was about to happen and I was there to witness it. The thought though was short lived. Soon I realized that there was some uniformity in the actions of most of the people around me. Standing straight, shoulders a bit curved forward, eyes-bulging out, staring at one and only one single point, the locus – Ashwin. This gave an appearance of a huge circle (or circles) with Ashwin at its centre and every other person a point on its circumference with circles all the time shrinking in size. This looked to be an act of anti-universe-ism to the ever expanding nature of our universe, or as are the North and South Poles of a magnet, Matter and Anti-Matter concept in nature but anytime more close to Prof. K. S. Shridharan’s notes on the board (if any) and its extinction from our mind, the very next moment.

What followed next didn’t follow any laws - Newton’s or Einstein’s. Soon a treat was planned on the occasion of such great importance and magnitude - the incarnation of Ashwin in the college compound. It looked like an annual event of convocation better, when someone graduates out of our college - graduating from our college, an annual event? I doubted. But this doubt soon vanished with reconfirmation of our faith in the ‘open-mindedness’ of the staff in here. First name on the long list of participants of the party – Mr. Keshav Murthy, Principal of the campus!

Familiar sounds with over use of ‘Guys’ noised the whole environment. The event maintained its standards of giving supposed joy for the next 365 days with an exception of unscheduled next darshan of this deity – Ashwin. DJ, shouts, dance and other routine things at the party began in no time. This soon followed with a Farewell Party to this renunciant who gave away everything – classes, books, exams and even money for the ‘safe’ functioning of our great, unique, one of its kind college. We knew that our college had been existent due to quite a few renunciants abandoning the comforts of the college and staying in the hermitage of their palaces for the welfare of the humanity at large.

The dark serene night was lightened with people-men and women, guys and gals each more qualified than Dhruva in terms of body detachments, for them to be given a place in the sky. Wondered – soon there may not be any night due to the luminance of the added stars of our monks. Why should not they be given that status, anyway? With full detachment they were giving up ‘everything’.

Synonymous to the Last Supper with its disciples, our English teacher was giving the Sermon on the Table (asynchronous?) for he was to retire this year. Only object of non-controversy being the absence of Mary Magladene next to him (say cheese, Da Vinci here! Click!).

The end came towards the beginning of the day. Remebered my cliking Start button for Shutting down Windows on my rotten PC. After the crowd receded, I silently approached Ashwin. A familiar smile greeted me. “What man!”, gesturing with both his hands in semi-circle horizontally indicating the big party, Ashwin continued, “THE Guy thing to do, right?” and we both rolled and laughed and laughed.

One thing struck me and got stuck to me. Ashwin had called me ‘man’ and not ‘Guy’. What I saw next was a book by Dave Barry – A Guide to Guys. The page said,"The difference between men and Guys..."

Joy

My eyes opened. An excruciating pain pulled my eye-lids back piercing the eyes. A few moments passed by in anguish. I never thought I would have to go through all this in my life. As time ticked by, my body got accustomed to the pain. The pain became bearable. My beaten body lay motionless on the uneven ground. This was an unusual experience for I could not feel my body, as though paralyzed, yet the pain continued to hit me. Some more time passed. I expected help. But none came. The devastation had been massive. My eyes opened slowly trying to adjust to the ostensible light of the setting sun. The view was clear. The proud building which generally blocked the setting sun had lost its stand. Nature proved itself to be stronger.

A distant cry jerked my insides to the peripherals. It was of a small child. This struck me. Where was my child? My ears twitched to reckon the direction of the cry which seemed to die away. Where are you, cried my throat. Barely was it audible. A pleading scream pierced the silence of the destruction. I tried my best to get up and move. It was now that I realized that my right arm had lost its upper flesh. It was bare; maybe there was no more blood to bleed. Arm had become the heaviest part of the body. My body fell under the weight of a mere arm. Yet, I had no choice. I had to get up.

Mustering all the courage, my legs lifted the body. A smoky dust of the rubble around made the place misty. The rustic view added to the wrath of my burning eyes. The broken windows and walls kept hitting the legs as I tried to clamber. I tried moving faster. But something, as though reading my thoughts, hit my legs and my off-balanced body was to become part of the rubble again. My left arm tried its best to make the fall less painful. It landed on the breast of a cold body. First sight of the body sent an acute chill across my spine. The mouth of the body was gaping at the stunned night, as though calling me, for the last time; eyes staring right into my eyes, now reflecting my helplessness. A soul-less drop of tear oozed out of the corner of my eye and fell on the tender cheek of my son. He was dead. My tired fingers closed his eyes even before they learned to see life. I did not grieve. Something in me kept me detached. It asked for something higher.
The cry of the child screamed in my ears and brought my body back onto the feet. The grim breeze continued to be the villain. Carrying my trembling body and praying for the little kid to cry at least once more, I kept walking. As I waited, I kept waiting. No sound came. A drop of sweat for the first time came dancing down my cheek. Water. Yes, I was thirsty. I knew I was thirsty, but my throat did not ask. I was tired and each step required an effort equivalent to the strength required to move an unwilling elephant nevertheless my body never asked for
rest. My eyes begged each ray of light entering it, not to enter yet my eyelids did not close it. My voice alone betrayed me.

My feet kept taking me, unconsciously, until it reached the place where I could see a kid suffering under the load of an iron cupboard. Cursing my incompetence, I tried shifting it with my left hand. Weight seemed movable. I closed my eyes. Calling for all the strength I could, I pulled the cupboard with both hands. Anyway my throat had lost its ability to function. Any pain would go unnoticed, at least externally. But I was to be proved wrong again. Next moment I trembled. I fell. Under the efficient working of the hinges in my knees, my body effortlessly sank to the ground. I heard a cry, a cry of relief. Then I heard my throat that had not budged from moving any of its vocal cords earlier, screaming to its full strength. Silence vanished. The sun too vanished as though cursing its mocking existence. A veil of dark black clouds covered my eyes. My eyes got the much awaited close. Relief surfaced. Peace at last…

* * *

My eye-lids flickered. A soothing hold on my left palm tightened. It was my wife’s, sitting on a weak stool of an emergency hospital setup for the treatment of all the sufferers of the earthquake, smiling and crying at the same time. I could see her grieve over the death of our child but happy to see her only support, now taking her support. I turned to see my right arm but it did not exist. Another part of me had deserted me. I was happy that though I would not be there, my hand would always be to take care of my only son. A face similar to my son’s was staring at me, silently. I recognized him to be the one whom I had seen under the iron cupboard. He slowly came to me and kissed on my cheek. A smile broke on his lips. A tear from my eye acknowledged it. Something in me had got its answer. I could see my son in his eyes. I could see Joy in his eyes…

Lucifer`

there lies the gloss of life in the tender petals of creation where the creator kept the most treasured life, part of life nay, life itself!

Self?

So guys here it is...finally my Blog (Ah! so tired of repititive questions on, me not having a blog!)
All my fans can now very easily do whatever they wanted to do with my Blog (than me!)

For others, well here is Rampy
Photographer by passion
Philosopher in succession
Philanthropist by nature
Gregarian by social
Self without an attribute...Peace subtle`