Thursday, December 27, 2012

Imprisoned in time

We are locked up between our past and future? Or do we take free rides to and fro? No, we pay, we pay with words. Am I a cynical explorer? I only ask? But what can give my words any certainty? Not punctuations for sure, to hold them in place and not fall apart? Punctuations do not punctuate enough. Boom! An explosion attacks my words. Oh what a timing! They have lost their memory and form in an irreversible manner. How do we put them together now? They are shaking, trying to regain composure. They feel several things at the same time and cannot decipher. But they cannot die. They are slaves of someone's memory.

Saturday, December 8, 2012

Oh 'reality', who are you?

With the sense that many of us refer to reality differentiating it from it's opposite (whatever that is), mostly referred to as imagination(?), we seem to see clear lines between the two. It's as though 'reality' is that which is enforced on us while 'imagination' is what we think about it.

Thursday, October 11, 2012


The night seems to have something to do with it. Do not blame me entirely. It was a choice. Can you feel the fragility of my existence? I could be dust. I could as well haven't existed. The possibility had existed 23 years ago when I didn't yet come into existence, there was a choice to be made. There still is, if only memories could be erased so easily. Existence itself is not so natural, not so real. Nothing is./? (If only I had something between a full-stop and a question mark?) Forgive my lightness. Forgive me. By existence or the lack of it, we may just mean two ends of a continuum of weights, one end heavy while at the other, complete lightness. How we experience it is to each one's own. Do you wonder about the hollow in the flame of a candle? Between the blue and the yellow?

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Attentive words

From my window. A man in a white baniyan and pajamas is standing with an empty can in front of him on the road. He’s walking around liesurely adjusting his shirt, feeling his belly, under the golden orange street light. Two orange lights and one white light in a triangle march forwards against the backdrop of complete darkness. A young girl is holding the hands of two adolescent men, walking amidst them swinging her hands, pushing the night to postpone the boredom of sleep. The man gathered his cans, hung them on his cycle delicately balancing their weights and moved on. End of night. He didn’t know he was part of the over rated certainty of a few words transmitted across a long distance with a few clicks forming images in another’s eyes. He will never know. Would he be amused if he did?

Their story about them

They were a bunch of idiots called so by them. They didn’t as much know who they were, what they wanted to be or where they were going. They just lived from one day to the other with no aim or ambition. They were looked down upon by them who were a judgmental lot and made comments on what they were and what they should be. They didn’t understand. They could just never relate to them. They lived on and often questioned them, ending up being called mad by them. They too thought they were mad some times. Then, they became them or they remained labelled mad or they tried to increase their lot so the madness could shift balance towards them.

An unborn story

There is a story I want to tell. Please hear it. It fills me with excitement every time I am reminded of the thought of telling it. The irony is that it isn’t yet born. It’s not even a foetus. It is just there. And I know it. I can feel it. Can you, as I say this, feel it? Are my words expressive enough to make you feel the existence of that which is still unborn, does it make you believe that it will happen? Can you hope for it? Do you think it is there?

delta x. delta t

When A started believing and is convinced of the partial truths being mistaken for universal truths in the name of various discourses crafted by them mortals to amuse themselves while optimizing their performance on surface earth, A wonders if there’s any basis to direct her actions. A finds endless regression trying to find a basis. So, when A shifts the focus to her truth to guide her, she sees none. A fails to think of herself with any amount of significance. A could as well be non-existent for all she knows. A doesn’t see herself as an active agent poking around the ‘existence’ around her. She asks, Who am ‘I’ anyway? But she seems to have no choice but to breathe unless she wants to move to the other extreme of erasing her existence which is too demanding of her energy. Hence, her existence starts and ends in gaps of delta x in space and delta t in time. And her only guide during these infinitesimal space-time gaps can be her emotions and instincts which provide a convenient ever-adjusting compass however momentary they may be. And momentary they are. A is upset no soon. 

Writers’ Secrets

So why do writers pretend that they do not exist in their writings? As if it just all came to be out of the blue. Restricting our entry to the knowledge of their relation to what they write, how they came to know of it or constructed it. Oh wait, methodology? That doesn't seem to speak much but to make it sound all the more like it was all there.  Hanging somewhere while they just happened to discover it and present it to us so we could pass it on and be enlightened. 

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Bigness and Smallness

Acceptance of inequality seems to be easy when it is everywhere

Who is big? Who is small? But seems it is pretty seemingly obvious when something is called big or small. Through proper channels! To the extent where you want to know the full form of a word! First ask your colleagues (in your cadre) and then, the next in the pecking order and then, the next! Oh, you didn’t know this! (Never mind if the subject of this arrogant question ever had a chance to know) “You there! Do you know this?” (All the while it was obvious that she/he didn’t! Still!) “Well, this is what it is! So simple!” (You didn’t even know this!) ~a constant superior smirk~  The oppressor becomes the oppressed? A cycle, you say? It is a necessary evil? Necessary for what? To get things done! Isn’t that supposed to be more important? Ok, what does getting things done result in? A greater purpose achieved through a group of people working together like a machine! And what does it all boil down to in the end? Never mind! 

We hear some voices or rather whispers against gender inequality. Why not over ‘general’ inequality? How different were the caste hierarchies of so called yesteryears from organizational hierarchies of today to the extent that they promote inequality so blatantly. Both are dominant forms of people’s institutions. But it’s everywhere! So, it’s fine! And moreover, that’s how it works! You can’t work without it. It’s in our culture. Even the management theories preach it. We need it. Never mind if the culture promotes inequality. When the same thing happens in gender, it’s a different issue altogether, since it is still talked about, it is in the open, so we agree with them. But yes, we are against the caste system. 

Broadly, then (and even today in implicit ways), for example, the dominant Varnas: Brahmins, Kshyatriyas. Vaishyas, Shudras and broadly, today, in the organizational hierarchy: Chairmen, CEOs, Managers, Technicians, Clerks, Peons. How different? Maybe, one would argue, and yes, very rightly, that the first set of classified groups have been given the opportunity to redistribute themselves in the second classification irrespective of their identities from the first classification. Hurray! You now have a new nomenclature! But hey, we just can’t do away with the hierarchy, one above the other is the guiding principle, it’s in our bloody culture, sorry not my intention but you see, culture, can’t be changed so easily! Similar discourses about culture have sustained gender inequality for quite some time before questions were raised and whispers became voices though still not widely accepted. 

Okay, I hear you say - but it’s just functional, differently qualified people just doing different things. So, why do they have different privileges, why are some considered superior to the others as a rule, the way they address each other, the way one talks to the other, the way one sits in an office, the way one asks permission from the other to enter, the chairs, the tables, the rooms, the physical spaces, the bathrooms, the vehicles one gets, the access to information, the way one’s interpretations are privileged over the others, the power to be called to one’s room, who stands up first, who sits last, who waits for whom, who wears what, who decides when. A whole culture is taking shape now! 

Inequality in the caste system was justified by who you were born to, a brahmin’s daughter = a brahmin. And today, inequality in the hierarchical organizations is justified by merit. Starting from schools and colleges. Above 90%? Please sit here. 60%?sorry, higher fees for this dull head and please sit with the others in that other room there, no but you’re not good enough for being coached for this competitive exam.  

Oh how do we organize ourselves then, do we not? I recall from a college interaction. You drink coke, so someone has to supply it right? Hence it seems, whatever they do, whatever form they operate in, whatever their structure, whatever inequality they promote, all is justified if you want to continue to have your coke! Never mind if production of coke could be done in alternative ways. And then I hear, enough of this ideological talk. You want to change something, go to the top and change it! So, there you go! All the way to the top! Only then can you change it! Change can happen only if you are at the top. Down below can only nod! And there you go justifying the very structure that is problematic!

Thursday, August 23, 2012

The Non-Professionals

The suppressed creative potential, the burdened souls, handcuffed in shame; insulted by those favoured by the arbitrary logic of the market: the twice born, the lucky few who got into those fancy places, made fancy contacts, came out with degrees with fancy names that can assure their entry into fancy places paying handsomely and thus, felt it is all right, that they made it there, they had it in them and they deserved it all through, they were born like that to be what they are one fine day, it was just a matter of time before the series of "you are the chosen one" events happened (chosen by the invisible hand!). And those who weren't part of the race, who didn't quite understand the market dynamics of who is privileged by it or just found it too arbitrary are told you are lazy, you are incompetent, shameless, a burden on your parents, what use are your so called creative scribbles if they don't sell in the market (Market is the arbitrary God that has the sole right to give the verdict and it is final, unquestionable. Put your complete faith in it or be doomed!).

Maths, physics, chemistry? No? Not interesting? So, what say, Biology? No? Lets try commerce then? No? Well, you are good for nothing then. You want to live like a beggar, dependant on somebody all through your life? How will you take care of your parents, your family? It is your fault! All your fault! You never worked hard!

Now that I have vented it out, coming back to the extent of injustice that kills and dulls down several minds, we can take up a simple exercise. If we enumerate the several occupations that a person can take up (assuming that a person does the same thing all one's life which is however quite a brutal assumption), how many do we arrive at? Let us scale it down to 100. Now, if we enumerate the number of occupations that are favoured by the market, how many would they be out of 100? 5%, 10%, 15%? Lets be a little 'market friendly' and put the figure at 20%. Still, 80% are doomed. They have to convince themselves to like one of those market favoured occupations or feel a low self-esteem, looked down upon for no fault of theirs, to live with the idea that they were never meant to be anything that is considered something.

Monday, June 25, 2012

What jobs are jobs?

With a job, seems like life has a shape and size now. Enter the formal sphere. Somehow most people seem to recognize and agree with the formality here probably because there’s an exchange of currency. Without it, it probably wouldn’t have been so. And to add meanings to it, we have a whole series of names; of organizations, of positions, of departments, of functions, of processes, of days, of holidays. Aren’t we creative now?

Sunday, June 24, 2012

"Oh yes, Wasseypur!"

Sad to note that it's either utter ignorance or blind admiration for Anurag Kashyap. Wasseypur, close to reality? Oh yes, sure! Whose reality is it? Just the men's if you ask me. The women in the movie were only living for the men and no complaints from them; they seem to enjoy it. The problem is not whether that's the reality. It's that they're shown to be fine with that sort of reality. Their perspective is not brought out. Durga is clearly shown to seduce Sardar Singh and the skin show is quite evident. And in the scene where Durga and Sardar Singh are getting intimate, it's the girl moaning and it was disgusting to hear the men in the theatre laugh in pride as if they themselves are in Sardar Singh's shoes. Even the sister of the bride of Sardar Singh's son is shown on similar lines. It's a demeaning way to depict women as if they only exist for men, to be their objects of pleasure.

The women in DevD and Gulal were different. They were breathing. They had their own characters. They were shown from their own perspectives and not from the perspectives with which others might have looked at them. You see, these are two different things. The way you show a character from her/his own perspective and the way you show them from the perspective of others. The way we look at ourselves is different from the way others look at us. A character would be given due respect only when the character's perspective of himself/herself is brought out. We wouldn't want us to be shown in a way some third person looks at us which is different from the way we look at ourselves and then, make it look as though that's how we look at ourselves, would we? We wouldn't want the two things to be confused. The line deserves respect, even if it is thin!

Thursday, June 21, 2012


To be aimless, purposeless, isn't it natural? Who are we? We weren't born with any purpose, right? But somehow, we seem to have developed such notions. I wonder when we have started indulging ourselves in happiness that only comes with purposes in our lives. When was there any? Isn't it all transitory? What can be so great about anything I do? I have always felt insignificance, low confidence, self-doubt. Never could I really afford the luxury of a clear thought process, connecting dots with certainty, never satisfied. But was always told that that's what one is supposed to pursue. When I started writing this, I was empty and blank, with low spirits. Then, as I was writing, it started raining and it was good to know I had no control over nature and was allowed the luxury of the surprises it offered. It was scorching hot in the afternoon. Who'd have expected it to rain? So fragile living is and how arrogantly we force certainty onto it, killing the freedom of interpretation and expression.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Locked in Riddles

What do they do who find language inadequate or too simplistic to express themselves? They seem to be accused of speaking in riddles. Riddly riddly riddles, hiding thoughts, trying to feign mystery. After all, no one trusts anybody these days anymore. We seem to have given up on trust as a rare commodity since it cannot be bought and sold, traded in the market-place, even globalization doesn't seem to help. Are we just a bunch of masks? Or rational humans? Seeking pleasure from fooling each other?

My language doesn't seem to get the point, but my emotions do. I lack the vocabulary, I am locked. Resigned to my limitations of communication. I was told, you need a language to express yourself and you need to learn it when somebody teaches it. Sorry, but you're inadequate and there's only so much of language for you! We do not have enough supply of language, the market doesn't seem to demand it. The invisible hand doesn't seem to feel it is necessary. Sorry. There are very few suppliers of language. Very sorry. Well, don't blame anyone. You had choice, you see.

Friday, February 24, 2012

Thinking made easy!

Some basic rules on thinking. Everybody seems to know them by heart. How much to think? Where to stop? Hey, Silly! Isn't that obvious? Calculate what he thinks, she thinks, they think, the world thinks, you think i.e. if you still manage to think after thinking so much. A quick mental calculation. The world seems to be sadly a function of your thinking too, how ever infinitesimal your contribution might be, how much ever you'd have liked to disappear from such worldly equations. You're taken too seriously for being alive, just for being, even if you didn't wish for it. You're there. You're a part of the act. Play it! Whether you like it or not! You didn't have a choice to choose a role! Just play it. Isn't that obvious?

Tuesday, February 21, 2012


What can be more compelling than an intense unexpressed feeling? Yet, one may be constrained in so many ways from expressing oneself. The feeling need not necessarily concern something of great consequence. Wouldn't one be too lucky to find somebody to whom one can express all that one feels without being judged?

Sunday, February 19, 2012


We weigh our actions with too much deliberation. At least, we would like to think that all our actions are deliberate, well-thought of, with certainty. How much of we do is truly deliberate? In that case, at another extreme, should we be held responsible for all that we do? What is freedom, but to be free of any responsibility or, at a fundamental level, identity? Can one live free of identity? Identity, if I may say so, is again one level of certainty about oneself.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

A Promise of Romance


Of realities, revealed
Staring in the face
Compelling to act

Now or never

The mask of protection uncovered
A journey starts again

A Promise of Romance


Monday, January 9, 2012

A Good Night

Only silence, I thought, there should be but I'm wrong. I can still hear the waves, the breeze, a distant song, some vehicles still moving on the roads. The insects haven't slept yet. It's 00:30. I hear some voices too.

There are a few ships on the beach seeming to be at a standstill, their lights still glowing. Why do I feel so pleasant? It's so nice.

Light, from the street lights and that coming from various other sources is still not letting it get completely dark. And here, I just don't feel like sleeping. The air conditioner next door makes its presence felt every while, now and then.

There's a couple clicking photographs near an elephant in a park against a glowing street light.

After all, who said, everything closes at night? The light coming from so many places illuminating so many things makes everything look so different, adding a kind of beauty to everything typical of night.

And no, the sky doesn't look completely dark. It glows due to the illumination of the fog. There's a bird flying against the clouded sky, not yet in its nest, like we hear and expect.

Good night!

I think I should sleep now. The mind doesn't stay. It gets bored so soon. It's just a law of nature and so it should work.

Often, things aren't very clear but we try to see them clearly. Otherwise, we do not understand them.

(Written a long time ago)

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

String of thoughts

Here I connect mine. There you connect yours. Gentle. Thoughts are delicately held in memory. Once lost. The memory up there or wherever it is is too vast to be searched. And the chance of finding it is not directly proportional to the space available. How many GBs do you think?

There joins another while some other has dropped away. I only know it dropped, unaware of what or where. I feel lighter. But I'm worried about what I missed. What if the loss permanently took away all chances of the possibility of a beautiful string? I seem to have no choice. I move on and join another.


There are no lines. No boundaries. Never. Just different shades mixing with each other in a narrow bandwidth. Lines do not exist. And so, nothing is ever so distinctly discernible from anything else. Never clearly. Never clearly enough.