Chronicles of an Eclectic Life

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

I should print this URL on my tee, so I need not say a word whenever somebody tries to elicit opinion on the "battle of the burbs". As a superficial response to a superficial curiosity, it should suffice.

SOPA was supposed to be discussed in the American Senate ~~today~~ yesterday. No updates on it yet.
On personal thought space, shifting the responsibility for copyright protection from copyright holders to service providers is futile. It will also kill Google - in the aftermath of this shift, search engines outside the US would see greater traffic.

"Coming Down" by NO from Donald Mahoney on Vimeo.

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Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Life Averages

Divine Comedy begins at the halfway junction of Dante's life, which, guess what, is not 50, but 35 years. This comes from the biblical life expectancy figure, that was 70 years (Psalms 90:10).
Since childhood, we've been led to believe the commonality of 100. People turn 100, then they die. Can't understand where the dumb figure of 100 came from - is it our decimal number system?, or were we brought up on an overtly-simplified treatise on life (100 sounds way more exciting than, say, 72, or 99)?

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Monday, November 14, 2011

Weekend, Aurally

The past weekend gave me a bumper opportunity to refine my aural taste. I was off to Rishikesh, that promised at least 12 hours onboard those rickety sarkari buses, another 6-12 hours of rambling about, and a chance few hours through a sleepless Saturday night (my body clock's messed up). The newly-possessed iPod Nano was guaranteed to be my best companion, if not some smalltalk-hobbyist in the bus or during my hike. So right before leaving, I loaded it with 'appropriate' music (a very selective choice, as dictated by my then-mood and sentiment); and further created a 'todo' playlist for the new stuff. Of the (potential) two dozen hours that I imagined I'd be plugged in, reality saw me at it for only a third of those - half the hours in the bus were dedicated to sleep, Rishikesh ghoom went sans any accompanying iPod, and the hike was best-enjoyed (and best-survived, too) tuning my ears to nature. But even those few hours gave me enough to listen, like, and reject.

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Dooba Dooba

me underwater

keepin' it crazy, keepin' it fun. HIGH FIVE!
Back from Rishikesh, dodging all make-believe spiritual invalidation again. Great Success!

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Its Leucauge Venusta time!

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Friday, November 11, 2011

Weekend Mistress

In the autumn I set out for my spring.
You,
in whose veiled face, I'll search
for the pieces to put together in the grand puzzle.
In whose playful heart I'll search
for the warmth that leaves me cold each day.
Fluctuating, receding, displacing,
you, to make me forget
some things that forget me.
With you,
I'll spend some hours under the sun,
endless and singing.
My weekend mistress, here I come.

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Monday, November 07, 2011

Wrong Math, Sir, Wrong Math!

I have a secret game. I had expected its disclosure with the publishing of my best-selling biography around 2030AD; but that motive can be given up for the short-term reward of sharing with a close circuit of netizens my worldly misadventures, and another malicious aspect of urban existence.

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Saturday, November 05, 2011

And... screw the day

The background music - generic piano mashing to what seems like Murder 2's "ऐ दिल संभल जा ज़रा" by who looks like Korky Buchek over at my neighbor's - to the time of my writing this blogpost was un-invited for, but it merely adds to the detail of this lousy day. It is 2150 now, when I had imagined either satiating myself on one of the world cuisines that Toystory was to introduce me to, or chilling out in the company of Sir R - a paranoid parallel to DFW, or out on a weed-hunt with the Pope.

I've been wearing the same yellow tee with "Tennis" print on the front that I had on myself the previous night, the one that was subjected to abuse by an uncapped red marker over the entire night, as I twisted and turned in my sleep, to now look like what I'd believe reminds of when Chip was mutilated by the twins in Submarine (but really it bears more similarity with the blood brothers scene in Superbad). My bedsheet also soaked up some red-marker love, and now bears eerie red patches, besides the black ones acquired from the uncapped-Parker-Pen-tragedy a couple of months back. Right now I will have to convince people that it isn't human or vampire menstrual blood. But some more misfortunes of this nature, and I can go entrepreneurial and try selling it off as an authentic Polka Dot bedsheet.

Visited the market sans any currency, only to find the ATM machine down as well - engaged for a while in learning about some old sethji's distress at the machine approving of his transfer but no cash being dispensed. Loitered a few blocks. Got lost. Disrupted my cousin's sleep, and mooched off some Peanut Butter while at it. Double Unders with the jump rope on first attempt.

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Rishikesh: back ON

Anticipating to be spending my next weekend at Rishikesh - the holy city of thug monkeys, misogynistic sadhu babas, and avant-garde architecture. Of all the commitments I've failed to meet (repeatedly) lately, Rishikesh would be there at the top. Having entertained my friends with the restrictive urban outings, and having entertained the demands of microscopic family politics, I can now briefly reveal the digit next to the index to all these factors, and go shuffle aimlessly about in the white sands, pet unpet dogs, chase away urchins, eat sooji (semolina) cookies prepared in teeny-tiny roadside ovens, and fight off monkeys (that often attack to steal those cookies). Also hope to catch on lots of narcissistic, Fritjof Capra wannabes wandering about with a predatory eye to anybody with a nice body, or a heavy pocket, or an empty expression - weekend peddlers of concepts like "light", "time", "being", "god", "oneness", "life", "death", "nirvana", and myriad others.

Last, I remember being there with John, and hold fond memories of a bongo drum that I, sadly, couldn't steal off a weed-smoking Sadhu Baba who lives in a canvas hut near the river (the whole plan was to get him high as fuck, then run away with the drum, but we were short of time on the last day).
Before that I remember spending mere hours in Rishikesh with Saurabh, on the last leg of our suicidal retreat from Dodital. We had Paranthas, then we rushed for our bus.
And on the visit previous to that, I had befriended a Solvenian soul-traveler - our soulful bond born of her thin appetite that always brought forth an invitation to share, which made for my primary motivation to stick around her, especially around the meals - who was a tolerable company, until she came to sharing her spiritual quotient. In the end she was overtly joyed with our time together, I was too busy identifying the last of that banana cake on my tastebuds.

I'm already sniffling. My (pocket form-factor) scribble-book has re-emerged from the depths of my drawers. Rishikesh mode seems ON.

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Thursday, November 03, 2011

Manhood Cure विश्वास के साथ

Step I. Build up a cogent argument:

"Upon marriage the man cannot satisfy his woman, has to bear the embarrassment because the female has manifold lust inside her, and wants only the man who is abundant - not one who comes too early and goes limp. The female starts to loathe such men. At that time the man - who is ill of the disease of impotency - feels great pangs in his heart about why he's weak, why he doesn't feel the hunger, why his disposition is such, and why he has to face ridicule because of his lower stamina. Even with a proper diet there's no improvement in his body - waist, chest, and legs, why they develop a pain? When he sees all this, he is scared and feels guilt at his past actions, and in such agitated state, says to himself..."

Step II. Entrust faith in (quack) cure:

"You or your friend caught in any kind of illness for a long time, and finds wasting thousands of bucks on ridiculous medicines, and is depressed, then without hesitation visit our regal store.
WITH CERTAINTY
We will give you good advise that you shouldn't worry everything has a cure, but to understand it you need experienced practitioner and proven medicines. We have been into this for a long time, curing all complex and secret illnesses, and have thousands of patients who thought their life was a disaster but with our cure they regained their original potency and felt joyous, and have managed to make children. Come, today itself, to be filled with vigor and change the impotent man to a man, and the man, to a young man..."

Step III. Profit!!!

[१० रूपए की मूंगफली के साथ मिली काला नमक की पुडिया पर यह ज्ञान प्राप्त हुआ]

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Sinkholes

This page on sinkholes around the world is sure to pep Aditi up - she's very 'pakka' of the popular 2012 doomsday theory. The collection of pics on that page is quite daunting - even India (Ahmedabad) features.

How'd I latch onto the trail of sinkholes this morning? While at inside the Dhankar Lake, in Spiti with Yogesh, locals sitting along the shores of this desolate location shouted to us about a 60-ft "window" at center of the lake. At that time, both of us, n00bs at swimming, got a scare, and decided to stay to the sides. I have been intrigued by the prospects of dying of a fall into an unanticipated sinkhole ever since.

Sinkholes are also some fodder to thought: if such sinkholes would be common on our planet (something which the doomsday proponents would have certainty in), then would our societies have a more depressing take on life itself? This leads from the existing metaphors that derive from nature - i.e. mountains to suggest a challenge, or bogs to suggest decay, or a tree to suggest proliferation/prosperity, etc. What metaphors would a sinkhole give rise to? Would it lead to anxiety towards continuity in life? Would it lead to wisdom like "On the best of your days, you might find yourself buried 100ft under."?
Second line of thought (a straight inspiration from David Cooper): that if acknowledgement of such large un-fillable holes were common, would we ultimately - note that this is the far end of my deductive chain - see women in a more potent role in the society? The 'hole' - void, gap, vacuum - has traditionally been seen as something incomplete, and an invitation to 'filling up'. This consensus that a hole needs 'filling up' also derives from a certainty that it is always a minor fault in a major feature. But what when the hole is the feature itself? Women have also been, too often, compared with something incomplete. These are metaphors intersecting here. Go infer.

While we're at speaking on sinkholes, I'd rather pay for this {insert synonym list for 'incredible' here} 4:18 short, than Ra-One types shit in the multiplexes. Presenting: Dean's Blue Hole in Dahab, Egypt.

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Saturday, October 29, 2011

Invalidations over the weekend

Nike says my right foot is flawed - being shorter than my left.
The dentist says my chewing is flawed.
Pa says I'm not as aggressive as he was 'back in his days'.
Ma says I'm eating too much.
Gramma says I'm eating too little.

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The Facebook Song

Stuck at Rohtang Pass in a minitruck for 6 hours, on the return leg to the Hamta Pass Trek, this 4-minute gem made my memory of those hours spent cycling through a thousand Punjabi songs that were on the truck driver's USB drive (attached to his truck stereo).
Ended up with a briefing about the song, as well some insight into the trucker's personal life, his gmail ID, his facebook life, and how his girlfriend who had recently broken up with him deleted him from his facebook and had changed her own password.

Some observations:
- The singer endorses Apple (Mac, iPhone); maybe Apple is subliminally trying to enter Indian market.
- The hot girl owns a Compaq. He will never date her once he knows she uses a Compaq.
- The guy could be a data hacker @ facebook. The girl doesn't pose in any corporate environment.
- The girl cycles through a dozen wardrobe options along the video. The guy changes into just one other shirt, and one suit.
- The girl spends time eating strawberries, applying skinpacks, manicuring, and cooking food (sauted vegetables, if I can guess correctly), besides using the laptop. The guy is only seen drinking coffee, and sharing a benign smile with his lifeless laptop; also dancing alone in a facebook cubicle.
- The guy's fb album (look at 2:39) hint he's a pro photographer.
- The guy's house has better light fixtures. The girl's got a better kitchen.

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random takes

ಪುಷ್ಪಕಣಿವೆ ರಾಷ್ಟ್ರೀಯ ಉದ್ಯಾನದ ಹಾದಿಯ ಸುಂದರ ನೋಟ *

An excursion to the airport yesterday. What an offensive affair - I've seen better railway platforms. You could find me sitting and staring offensively at: BMI > 40 crowd, poor taste in dressing, people infected with i-will-play-bad-music-on-my-phone-speakers disease, mismanagement, 'paan' spits, pariah dogs, 'sarkari' muscle, sad games the children invent, and parking spaces, among the other stuff that made it outrageous to have 5 sensory inputs (visual, auditory, tactile, haptic, olfactory) at disposal. Confirms why I don't want to live on this planet anymore.

कर्मवाच्य देशभक्तों के नायक अन्ना अब मौन व्रत पर हैं - कुछ भी नहीं कहेंगे | और फिर टी.वी. बोलता है की "अन्ना ने कहा है की वोह अपना मौन व्रत ३ दिन और कायम रखेंगे "| अन्ना कुछ कहे बिना सब कुछ अपने ब्लॉग पर कह रहे हैं| यह धोखे के बराबर है| शब्दों का लेन-देन वैसे भी आजकल ऑनलाइन होता है - मैं खुद कितने ऐसे दिन गिन सकता हूँ जब वाणी का प्रयोग न के बराबर रहा - तो फिर अन्ना के व्रत का क्या महत्व रहा? मौनी होने का अर्थ क्या अपने विचारों को समूचे समाज पर थोपना होता है? जहाँ तक मेरी समझ थी, मौनी तो अपने मौन से दूसरों को खुद अर्थ ढूँढने को उत्साहित करता है|
As for another aspect of keeping a resolve of muteness, I would contend that this entire nation sits in a state of muteness, anyways. When was the last you saw somebody heckle a policeman on the streets for accepting bribes, or stage a (non-politically-motivated) agitation outside a politician's for fooling an entire nation, or rescue a child labourer at construction site or hotel, or kill a misinformed conversation among their friends? Anna is just making us realize how impotent we'e been all our lives, and people hail him for glorifying the impotency?

* This is the link on wikipedia tamil page for Valley of Flowers to my 2006 travelogue. Bot translation on Google Translate gives "Puspakanive National Park and the beautiful view of the path" - [Puspa = flower] - can somebody help with a more accurate translation?

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Friday, October 28, 2011

Enfield trip to Nainital now online

Phew, I can catch some much-needed sleep in company of spasmodic festival lights, now that my Moradabad/Nainital/Guniyalekh on Enfield picture gallery is online as well.

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Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Kickass Rangoli streak

All moi.
And oh, Happy Diwali, world.

To append to the day, was a dream where I had forgot where my office was, and was walking while suspiciously eyeing an office complex. Eyes met with a svelte girl walking next to me, who was welcome to our exchange. She felt stupid why we were walking this way. Then she made for the exit of that complex, and sure thing, I stayed with her. Now she felt weird about herself, firstly coz it was her first day back in the office after some time abroad, and secondly coz her actions and eyes and movement were a mirror to mine. I assured her that there was nothing weird about it. She turned out to have a tounge-twisting South Indian name. I asked her to go out with me, and she replied in affirmative.
Whoo!

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Enfield trip now online

Double whew, my Enfield trip's image gallery was finally uploaded and curated. Right before the festive spirit of Diwali. Now I don't have excuses to stay indoors.
This is only the first set of images, however, and my second leg of Delhi-Nainital solo still remains to be uploaded. I will need to break open the codebox and relearn some PHP/JS to make that possible.

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Hamta Pass Trek now online

Whew, my Hamta Pass trek's image gallery was finally uploaded.

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Bhrigu Tal now online

Phew, I can take a breather now that my image gallery for the Bhrigu Tal Trek, from Oct of last year, is finally online. It took a whole year in curating, ahem.

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