Monday, January 31, 2011

Bittersweet day, but seemingly reaching a crescendo by the time I'm in the mood for bed - my hours always beguile me this way, though. Orgasmic shivers on discovering new songs within the same songs we always played: the Sennheiser are slowly growing on me; their sound quality, while not par brilliance at this virgin stage, is still stultifying in portions. Abhishek at the same time orgasmic over naked tanned luscious nipple-less beauties. Found new lease of life in MNP - the action initiates tomorrow. Found new fad in DSigs - the deliberation continues tomorrow.

Karmapa's shades are worrying, so is the turmoil in Egypt (that looks so revolutionary only on its face - JNU has promised to enlighten me on that). John's been cut off from from my communication circle. Pa's not too happy over my laxity. Friends excited about my visit. Roomie scored. My mental virginity returns, I'm as chaste as an illeterate (pun intended). Brought a sackful of my emptied drawers' worth home.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Before sunrise

I am broken out of my short spell of sleep, yet another incomplete one, yet another one on the couch, with the ringing of the phone in my ears at 0430. The voice on the other side gives a spring to the rest of my frame; I sit upright to take my mind on a fantasy journey of seeing those faces, of an aural infection, and of stepping on the Himalayan soils. All happening soon, I promise to the voice on the other side.

I enter my inbox, eyes partway open, partway fatigued, still puzzled about whether the early start holds any utility. What my eyes fixate for the next minute bring a spring to my being.
Floodgates of a distant heart opening -
a sea of emotion, a swell wave coursing towards me,
as I languish along the shores lost in my own thoughts,
sweeping me off my feet for a moment, reminding me of all that once was.
“It must wait, it must stand the test of time,” I once rephrased, and so I do again.

Then Comet picks me up from the ocean floor and takes me far away into a technology wonderland. Reverse Ajax, Push, Pull, Open-Get… I linger for a while around these innards of what makes the world spin. Nothing poetic there.


It just happened again. What triggers my present condition needs investigation. Is it the UI of Visual Studio environment? The color palette? Some anchoring deep in my head that has associated my work tools to this, sort of a defense mechanism? I would be having a lot of this earlier in the company of books, which had made my book reading seem like a curse; now I’m more comfortable and likely to read through a good chuck of literature without falling into this (No, it’s not merely cannabis to take
the credit here). Rolling back to the days of schooling and parent-sponsored-tutors, I would make this evident to my Mathematics tutor, and ultimately confuse him with my despondent opinions on the subjects, and life in general.

Lately I thought I was growing into an insomniac – “a raving insomniac”, to declare it poetically to friends - but conversely, my hits of drowsiness - the central theme here - in the office have dispelled that logic. Not only has my body managed to replenish itself of sleep starvation, occasionally it even puts me
into some more just to prove the dominance of biology over the brain fudge (aka mind).

PS: Must also write about inappropriately-timed hard-ons someday.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Highly high in the heights

Could I even imagine myself
Even half-there again?
Shivering, as I toss about
sandwitched between Saum's rale
and Ronnie's uneasy snores.
Shivering, as I reach for the headlamp
and flood Aadhar's contorted face with bright white -
the unorganic shapes that constitute his whole
protest and gesture, seething in anger, warning in pain.

Fidgeting with my bag, fighting with my hair
stuck among the zipper's teeth
finally wrenched free for a minor sacrifice of a few strands.
A cosmic lust takes over, and,
shivering even more I step out into those neverlands that are
a distant conception briefly manifest at this hour.

Shivering, as I trudge blindly on the soft mossy soil,
swept away, as the arms of nature
grip and lift me, high like a child,
raising me to the breasts,
and the mental machinery sets into motion
as the rest of me lapses into a stasis
that forewarns of hypothermia.

This could be the last I breathe.

Like on a deathbed, my head slowly tilts either side
only to study the obscurity of the terrain and the faraway lonely lights of Manali, when
whispers of a freshwater stream nearby comes to console your senses.
Then the head turns skywards, accompanied by deeper breathing and shorter spasmodic shivers:
the sky draped round my shoulders illuminated by an infinitesimal stars that
compel my heart to break into a song while
their the mute, affirming stare awakens inside the concept of pure being.
The ears still listen intently through the skullcap to pick upon the sounds of some forest creature, but finds none -
Even the foxes on the adjacent hill playing into last minutes of dusk have retired into a slumber.

"Couldn't do better on this day, could you?"
you tell yourself at 3800m,
that you must follow such spirit with more of the same.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

More jumps through the night. A day that felt more like three. Nothing textbook about it – as unpredictive as nature itself. Speaking of nature, did go out to the Aarey earlier with Mohnish and Abhishek to marvel at the sunset – the memory of that golden orb throwing its multi-hued radiance across the skies, at the edge of the building that seemed a fusion of shapes in two dimensions, and Mohnish experiencing that for the first time and the rush evident on his face from this outing. Consultation over life, being poetic to a realist’s dilemma. No progress on increasing the worth to the seeing of the potential we see.

Inbound for the entire Sunday as well, counting out the morning’s tiring ride. Could feel Saturday riding on my lips and pulsating through my gums through the first half. I’ve been contributing time to the kitchen and these words, only trumped by the sleep through the other remaining hours. Have abstained from smalltalk and drinks - only Lemonade to fill my empty day. Need to sleep early tonight. Must also ask Karan out.
Sold scrap and empty beer bottles for INR 100 today; all that money went to my pocket. Success!

Road Eater Diaries

That feeling of your muscle blocks shifting as a cohesive packed unit, pulsing through every rotation of the paddle - which is actually their indicator to being on threshold of a muscle cramp – is painful but nostalgic. I get that every few months (irregularly) – that one assaulting morning in Manali in Oct before this, cycling to Karjat in Sept before that, and then all the way back in the Season 1 of cycling in Mumbai. My body, seemingly, uses a lot of water towards the welfare of those feet pumping on the paddles and synching the motion for the entire body, which on long distances always translates to a cramp or thereabouts.

This was this morning. About 45km (damn, couldn’t even touch 50). WE and onwards upto Varsava/Ghodbandar (lying in Thane district, not Mumbai), where the highway running along the national park forks to right, and skirts the land mass on lower side of the creek to join Thane city. At that junction we all had a gathering at this very popular eating joint, and cyclists with smiling faces (and some with envious bodies) exchanged small talk. Today was a disappointing affair – 0720 when we (Priya and I) left home, no pushing circumstances thanks to Zubair and Co’s pathetic cycling. 0917 when I made it to the gathering venue, and while waiting for the peloton behind me called up home to confirm of my resurgence in the action circuit: Not to say that I’ve been inactive and piling my weight in peanuts; I have really worked on starving myself during office hours to the point of achieving better control on my snacking, and then there’s the spirited skipping- pushups-and-crunches-while-dinner-cooks routine that I’ve lately enforced on myself. However nothing beats the kick from any outdoor activity, and with cycling it’s about a great start to a day, seeing the city while it sees you on the wheels sweating and pumping, and riding out with generally interesting folks. Let’s not lose the context of shivering winter mornings, or humiliating road conditions en-route, or the embarrassment of a midway puncture, or the painful journey post-cramping (in case you get one), or the statistical fact of your time spent waiting for the others equaling the time you would actually cycle. But nothing beats the experiential wisdom of it all. Living the life unlived.

On the mingling front, met with a bunch of old timers – mostly road bikers, possibly even with competitive history in the sport, proud of their mean old machines that still burn the roads, and a great capacity of making and sharing nonsense. The oldest of the lot – must be in his 60s or 70s – was an exceptional cyclist, ignoring his nervous affinity to conformity. Had audience and shared Keema and Masala Egg Scrambled with Kedar, Priya alongside. Among the bikes was a Mercedes one, one Eddy Mercx Special Edition, and one excessively-large-hybrid-wheeled Trek that caught my eye. Amitabh’s new Trek got stolen, as I heard, so he’s switched to a folding bike that he could well keep inside his home. Priya still cycles as bad – she had to catch an Auto from somewhere between Borivali and Kandivali on our return leg; it was freedom for me and I sprinted home thereafter.

Got back by 1144, bathing-and-shaving done by 1211, then next hour spent loitering about indecisive and conversing with Harsh Da, Aditi over chat, then the next four hours in deep restorative slumber.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

It gets out of hand

So much going through that lately I've found time neither to be singly focused onto a thing, nor schedule myself regular exercise or cycling.. I get my kicks from my unjudged/uninvalidated writing, cheap humor at office, commitments the size of a mountain, the occasional cooking with canabutter, subtly mocking friends over chat, and similar tendencies in rotation.

Friday, January 14, 2011

Schrodinger's Cat wouldn't Believe This

"Camera ghar pe thaa toh ghar par hi hoga", or A -> A, or Anti-Schrodinger's Cat.

"Ma you don't know discrete mathematics, stop arguing with me." I had an animated argument with Ma over the premise (or a collective tautology) of our arguments, which were based on an earlier incident of my camera having been found frighteningly missing.
"Camera obscura be at home, if I be" I laid the premise. (X -> Y)
"If it be where ye say, it be here since yesterday," laid Ma her premise. (Y -> Z)
X -> Y
Y -> Z
therefore, X -> Z
But Z is X, hence X -> X

Schrodinger says that his cat might not remain where it was. My Ma says it would, if it was. Whose theory holds more weight? I think the cat would vote for the latter, since it implies it doesn't end up being gassed (like those who chase Pepe LePew) - she's grown so tired of it.

I <3 (SS weaponry)

BBC details on how the Indian urban youth is growing to a weird sense of elation about Hitler. Well, India seems to be heading somewhere! 'Mein Führer' seems to be the next generation's singsong... as bad as that sounds, its still better than idolizing Mikka or Salman Khan. I could confirm to that BBC article, for I've myself been seeing the real estate Hitler's autobiography "Mein Kampf" gets on the pavements of Connaught Place in Delhi. Those booksellers might not have Gandhi, but they do have Hitler.

Coincidentally, a few days back, this guy was also busy feeling immortal holding that Shutzstaffel dagger - those bleeding beautiful magnanimous blade weapons - that bore the etching "Meine Ehre heißt Treue".

It translates to - "My Honor Is My Loyalty", motto of the Armed unit of SS (Waffen SS). These were long-blade HJ knives, in an etymological sense... did I mention they are bleeding beautiful?...
Now even his office messenger status goes "Meine Ehre heißt Treue". He might even borrow it from PD for a few weeks; feel a new surge of vitality, even more than those herbal supplements that promise to turn you into a neighing horse. It is Rishi-Sadhus' hundreds of years of 'Tapasya' vs German steel works, to pick one.

Then there's also the occasional endless affinity to some aspect of the German life and history; but in no way does that put me in the above article's referred crowd mindset. No Hitlergruß to turn me on.

Thursday, January 13, 2011


Odd finding me watching Feroz Khan serenading Hema Malini among a flock of sheep, and the general prancing about on some barren hill slopes. I did not get why he came looking for her in such arid inhabitable region, or why she was hiding there in the first place with no cosmetic or medical relief nearby, or how a jeep could drive over such terrain, or why she would be prancing along dust storms and crevasses, or why she was barefoot and yet had no calluses on feet, or who was really herding that huge flock of sheep if not her.

However, leaving aside these puzzling coital rituals, my fingers immediately got googling over something else.

It wasn't the hyper hero or the whitewashed heroine I was after, but the flattering backdrop, of what seemed like a chain of lakes, which was as blue as I'd never seen in an old Indian movie.
Turns out, this song (from Dharmatma, Indian remake of Godfather) was shot around the ethereal Banda-e-Aamir lakes in Afghanistan in 1970s. This movie, in fact, was the first Indian movie to be shot in Afghanistan. Feroz Khan (being the Producer-Director here) had a bug inside him that saw him filming in places like Afghanistan and even Uzbekistan, and raise the style quotient of Indian cinema by manifold. And it were unspoilt features out there, like these Banda-e-Amir lakes, to complement his bug.

Banda-e-Amir (often spelled Band-e-Amir) is a chain of 5 lakes in central Afghanistan, in the Hindu-Kush mountain range (these lie 75km N-W of Bamiyan). Water rich in carbon dioxide left huge calcium deposits that formed the walls that today separate and encircle the lakes. They now hold the credit of being Afghanistan's first national park (in 2009), as well as being on UNESCO's World Heritage List. Read more technical stuff on wikipedia.

Another coordinate on the globe to mark my attendance now. But don't even think having this on itinerary for your winter vacations as temperature falls upto -20C.

Sunidhi Chauhan

The week before, we had the Android-based Notion Ink Adam hands-on at CES, which totally rocked and now sets this India-based startup as a challenger to the iPad - like none other in its competition.
The day before we had Astronomers discover a supermassive black hole in a nearby dwarf galaxy which they claim will shed light on black holes and galaxies.

Then yesterday, it was as if the entire Universe collapsed into a single function. Sunidhi Chauhan was seen in flesh and bones at the Oberoi, which sent this guy into a frenzy, them having made out in one of his dreams, and her being a prominent character in a few others.

Later, to much surprise, she went in for Paranormal Activity 2 - same as us - with her balding boyfriend. The movie being a less subtle and less frightening affair than the last; most eyes were occasionally meandering to Sunidhi's direction. Had I been the Mathematics Man, I would've applied a Fourier Transform on the boyfriend, given Sunidhi an infinite series to solve, and carried her away by the time he could apply a Reverse Fourier Transform.

Sunday, January 02, 2011

Copper skies tonight

I step outside to sample the night. This night bears a very different characteristic; it takes me a moment to register and mull over this fact. Copper skies greet me, such brilliance is an instant kick, and the cold wave presently afflicting these northern plains hits me, which I conversely find refreshing and upbeat. The nature of the night is gradually riding on my senses: I notice the way everything seems lit up by a pale metallic sheen – this is the effect of those rain-bearing clouds; such detail in surroundings is hard to believe at 3 in the morning (the last full moon I encountered was on 19th, 13 days back, hence another moonlight night is out of context, which further perplexes me). These moisture-laden winds carry the smell of earth (Petrichor). Leaves occasionally communicate through a murmur. There is perfect isolation, this being post-11AM and pre-5AM time. I am nearing a sensory experience akin to the hills, and considering rolling in my bed later in mute satisfaction, if not for the discordant ambulance siren, and a persistent stream of loudspeaker noise (sounds like a ‘Jagran’ somewhere about our X-ing, or in Daliganj) that disturb this romantic murmur.

I come back with a chill. Fingers shift to the adjacent keys in their rapid irrythymic shiver. My nose bears some sensation, finally, after several days of staying indoors inside the warmth of faux furs. I again failed to develop a winning strategy to life in my Zen state, but that's usual. Pensively I blog.