മണ്ണുണ്ണി

Innocent Contrivance 2 : The Case Of The Missing Letter.

2008-01-22T13:37:00.000Z

It wasn’t a high priority bullet point in my list of Things-To-Do. And hence, it doesn’t surprise me that am writing a supposed-to-be sequel for ‘Innocent Contrivance’ this late.

‘Life goes on and gets busy’ isn’t a reason am going to pose for this. In fact, it has not been that busy lately. Well, if am going to murder somebody [ref: Innocent contrivance], I am not going to do it after publicizing about it. Turn of events - such as they are, made me stand on the opposite side of the moral road and ponder over things..

It wasn’t until I reached Milton Keynes that I came to know things have taken a really bad turn. I was visiting Sachin, though my real intention was to play a few good hours of cricket before he joins his new company, a British one. He was not there at the station [not that I expected him to receive me with a bouquet or something, but he always had been kind enough to come and receive me at the station]. He asked me to take a cab and reach his place.
As soon as I got inside the house, he started blabbering that what a lousy and absent minded person he is [as usual, I shall add] but this time with a real sad face. I would not consider him as lousy or absent minded, even though there are times I feel like puncturing his nose for what he does. Now, his face told me that there is something grave about it….

I was about to hug him and convey my best wishes in securing a nice job at the British company as soon as I entered the house. Now, he is so tense that I forgot how nice a meeting it could have been. His house was almost all packed. Can’t say fully packed because the house looked ransacked. There were several cardboard boxes and suitcases in the living room, all of them open and several things dragged out of them. My first impression was that his place was burglarised after he forgot to close the front door. What else would explain THIS?

It took sometime for what he told me to sink in. It was simple, yet confusing. He has misplaced his letter to join the new company. The hiring letter was supposed to be produced when he joins the new branch. He was sure he kept it on the upper column of his new suitcase, but now, was missing. As the one who he confided in, it was my responsibility to play down the importance of the event, though I knew how grave it was. The British are quite conservative. The company he joined is one of the oldest and all management is old- in all terms; to say the least. They would not like a person to walk in to their office, not even with a hiring letter they have sent him. THAT would be inappropriate and immediately inviting displeasure. He can’t afford to loose the hiring letter.

What could I do now, console him saying that everything would be okay when he walks in to his new office? Well, the sadist I am, I still didn’t have such persecution on him running in my mind. I asked him if he checked the suitcase in and out. In fact, I need not have asked him – the way the suitcase now presented itself on the floor of living room told me that he has ripped off every piece of it that could be taken off. Still, the truth remained – letter was missing.
As I said earlier, though there are times when I would have loved to change the shape of his skull by hitting him, I do trust him when he says he had kept the letter on the top portion of the suitcase – he was and is sharp.

I sat on the sofa after taking another look at the heap of mess in the living room.
He realized suddenly that I had just come over and wasn’t offered a place a sit.. not that I was looking out for niceties from him; he is a nice chap and takes care of these things usually.. He went to prepare a cup of tea to the kitchen – right next to the living room – in full view [ don’t ask me about the building sense of the British]. His face told that he was perturbed. And so was I. L
We talked over the tea and he somehow forced himself aloof from the saddening thoughts of the missing letter and started enquiring about my family. I was talking, but my mind was wandering.. I asked him about his friends in MK whom I had met the last time I had been to MK- Nivedya and Ananya. He told me they were fine and had visited him in the afternoon, the day before. I teased him asking how the romance between him and Ananya is progressingJ. He smiled as always and said they are just friends. It was noticeable for anyone that Ananya had a crush on him; but he always had denied that vehemently. He seemed to have eased off a little bit with the little pep talk we had..

I wanted to have a bath and the only thing I could think about while bathing, unpacking, changing dress and coming downstairs was the missing letter. Stupid as I am, I can’t take surprises and mysteries in my life – and that had been my minus and plus point several times in different junctures of life till now.
Mystery as this one is, and directly related to me through Sachin, I was also disquieted. It aggravated when I saw the mood Sachin was in when I came downstairs! L

The only thing he could tell me was that he clearly remembers placing the letter where he said he had placed it. I asked him to retrace what all he did in a vain effort to understand he remembers everything he did and that doesn’t, unfortunately, include taking the letter away from suitcase.
I asked him if someone had come to the house. He looked at me – can’t exactly describe the expression he had J – as if asking me which planet do you come from. That was an expression I used to get from almost all I have talked to. He couldn’t get himself to believe that someone would think about taking the letter away intentionally.
I had other thoughts, be it intentionally or not, the letter was – er.. MISSING. All I did was asking him if somebody had come to the house.
Of course Ananya and Nivedya had; but he didn’t consider their visit a point in answering my question. They were his friends, Ananya, his close friend. There was no question they had –intentionally or unintentionally- taken away a joining letter from his suitcase. I had only a slight acquaintance with both of them and didn’t care lesser!

He was shocked at my suggestion that they would have taken the letter and explained categorically, in an effort to clear them that they had no chance even to go upstairs and take anything and go out as he was talking to them both as long as they were in the house. His expressions and body language suggested something I had been through may times in my life – disbelief. That queer little face muscle contraction exuding: ‘How could you even….?’

HuH!! Like I care!

I told him am going to exclude Ananya and Nivedya from this discussion and he seemed to be happy. Then, I sheepishly suggested that we are going to do so by eliminating all chances [*conditions apply??]. I asked him to tell me exactly what happened since that morning. He explained that they came in. Nivedya and Ananya sat in the living room and then Ananya suggested making tea and went to the kitchen [ as previously mentioned right in front of living room] and came with tea for all. They had tea and they both left as Sachin still had to do chores.
Simple enough!
I cant explain the moment when the light bulb lit beside my head as in some calvin cartoon. Am not that good in explaining anything as you might have already gathered reading this long. All I needed now was a simple answer to my question.. But I could gather myself the courage to ask that directly. He would jump at the slightest suggestion of the question directly.
I asked him whether he would like a tea. Yes was the answer and so I went to make the tea. Am an ardent fan of hot beverages like tea and coffee and one of my marvels is a tea.[*earl grey??]Well, there it was, I boiled the water and added milk directly from the bottle – the English drink milk directly from the bottles and we have quite taken to that kind of habits..- making of a tea in England could be quite different from making of tea in India. I poured milk into the kettle along with the water and then when it boiled well, added tea and switched off the gas burner. DONE! Sachin was enjoying the tea when I asked whether he liked my tea or Ananya’s better! He answered with a smirk that mine was better. Returning the smirk I asked how much time did she take in making a tea? “WHY? The same as you do. Why are you dragging her again and again in to this?”

I chuckled and asked him to chuck all my questions from his head and told him that probably a walk in the fresh air would do some good.
Off we went to the Oldbrook ground. After taking two rounds where the silence prevailed most of the time, I suggested that we visit Nivedya and Ananya. He, though a little suspicious, finally agreed to the idea walked along with me towards 340 Grace Avenue.

We were warmly greeted at Ananya’s place. The first thing we were asked was whether Sachin got his letter back. Well, Sachin is of a touchy character and Ananya knew how much this would have disturbed him. Sadly the answer was still NO, even when the collective brainpool of mine and him still couldn’t explain the mystery.

We were offered tea and though Sachin was dismissive of that idea, I encouraged him to have another round to which he finally agreed. Ananya readily went to the kitchen and started making the tea. Though Nivedya was talking to me and Sachin, my concentration was on Ananya making the tea. I almost had an answer.

We had the tea and finally parted with them and walked out. I again asked him how wthe tea was. He was astonished and expressed dutifully that I didn’t change a bit and stayed the same obnoxious idiot. J He couldn’t believe my asking about the tea again. He understood it as my effort to tease him with Ananya’s name and didn’t answer first. Then he said he found it fine though not as good as mine. As if on a second thought, he added that he thought the tea which Ananya just made was better than that morning’s. He couldn’t explain why but on my probing admitted that may be – may be- the one in the morning was colder..

No sooner did we reach the Oldbrook ground, I realised that I had not taken my mobile from Ananya’s place. I asked Sachin to stay at the ground and went back.
As soon as she opened the door, I dragged her out to the patio and told her – I now know that the letter was taken by her and I know it was done out of Love. You didn’t want Sachin to leave Milton Keynes and hence you played this cruel joke on him. She turned white. She was weakly shaking her head when I added that I am not going to reveal this to Sachin if she tells me where the letter is.

I returned with my mobile back to Sachin and went home. At night, I went to the cooking range, moved it a little and found the letter thrust behind it. Carefully placing it under the carpet of the first floor room where he had originally kept the suitcase, it was easy for me to order a second thorough search of the room the second day. While he stood and watched in disbelief, I picked the carpet up and took the letter from underneath. Shoving the letter in hands of Sachin whose mouth was agape, I smirked at what things love could do when even hate become the second most fatal weapon!!

It was simple, as they say in Holmes stories. I believed Sachin. He couldn’t have misplaced it else where. If he told the letter was in the upper part of suitcase, it WAS there. The only people, considering his account, who visited the place before it went missing were Nivedya and Ananya. Logical conclusions – expect the unexpected. Blah blah blah,..
When he said Nivedya and he were chatting while Ananya made tea made me realise that Ananya had the remote chance of going upstairs, though the kitchen was in full view of living room. The stairs… the stairs were covered by the pillar and hence someone in the kitchen can quickly go up and come back.

She really loved him. She didn’t want him to leave Milton Keynes and leave for another place, away from her..

I had to leave my mobile at her place so as to get a reason to go back..
The main hit was the clue of the colder tea. The tea wasn’t that hot when Ananya gave Sachin the tea that morning so much so that Sachin noticed it as a difference. One who makes a tea in one style doesn’t change the style. Either the tea is made by boiling the water, tea and then only adding cold milk into it or the water and milk are boiled together. If it was the second case, the tea would have been as hot as it was when Ananya made us the tea at her place. I was watching her make tea and then I knew. She skipped from the kitchen, got the letter and came back, and she had only the time to add cold milk before the concentration of Sachin or Nivedya turned to her in the kitchen.

Sachin joined his new company a week later and never knew what actually happened to his letter. I left Milton Keynes for London and was thinking about crimes those are made for love than crimes that are made for hate!

This world is a strange place to live, indeed!

What shall I say unto her?

2007-12-04T09:32:00.000Z

My little one,
Waking up in the middle of a silent dream,
Whimpers, for the rest of the dream.
What shall I say unto her?

With the only two teeth,
When she gnaws at my fingers,
What shall I say unto her?

The cat snarling at her,
She looks at me with a confused face..
Those beautiful lips curled up in an imminent weep,
What shall I say unto her?

She shakes my hand off from her hand,
And holds my little finger
And walks me through the streets,
Learning her own steps,
What shall I say unto her?

The bus horn making her happy once
And making her weep the next time..
What shall I say unto her?

She brings the beautiful rose to me,
The one she was just given by the neighbour uncle,
“Atchaa ee”….. oh, she always wants me to “ee” to see..
I look at her and smiles at the beauty of her face and the rose
And return back to my book
Only to turn back at her
Who curls her lips as she always do..
Showing the only two teeth
And the confused expression…
On why the beautiful rose doesn’t taste as beautiful..
What shall I say unto her?

When she refuses to bath,
And once in water, never gets out..
Wondering why the lines drawn are never shown..
What shall I say unto her?

When I proudly present her to my friends,
Who kiss her little bubbly cheeks,
She wipes the kisses from her cheek,
With the same confused expression,
What shall I say unto her?

When she covers her head in her mother’s dress
And looks at me through the transparent layer,
And puts up the best smile ever, with those two teeth,
What shall I say unto her?

In the courtyard, as she eats
Her daily dose of soil. I look up from my book,
And run towards her, when she sports
That “I-never-knew-that-can’t-be-eaten” look again
What shall I say unto her?

Then, when I see that earthworm
Crawling on the tea trolley again,
And she immediately turns to “amma” for help
What shall I say unto her?

When I wake from the nap in agony
Looking at her smiling face again
Wondering, why she hasn’t got
Any other games than pulling my chest hairs..
What shall I say unto her?

When my work goes wayward,
Only because she wants to sit on the keyboard,
To watch me work,
What shall I say unto her?

And the whimper, for my parker pen,
Only to experiment her teeth at
And sleep after a few minutes of weeping
What shall I say unto her?

On the dining table,
When she insists on having it herself
And she begins the rice trail to our bedroom
What shall I say unto her?

When she talks to me, at length,
With a language – only god and she knows
Consisting of only repeating sounds,
What shall I say unto her?

And the walk, as a parrot trots,
Faltering here, side-ways there,
But never failing..and always hands apart,
Adjusting her weight on one or the other leg,
But never on both together..
What shall I say unto her?

When I see, that light pink small dress,
I just adorned her with..
Lying on the floor, and she away in the kitchen,
Hiding behind her mother’s legs
What shall I say unto her?

And the beautiful, beautiful smile
Blooms on her face,
Whenever she sees me,
What shall I say unto her??

May be I don’t have to tell her anything.
May be she understands..
Understands everything that’s with me and her…

She understands or she doesn’t…

Smiles again…that heavenly smile……

----------------retarded--------------------------

ക്യാമ്പസിലെ രാത്രി

2007-11-15T12:04:00.000Z

ഇരുട്ടിന്റെ പുഴ
വെളിച്ചക്കാലുകളെ ഒഴിവാക്കി
വളഞ്ഞൊഴുകുന്ന ക്യാമ്പസ്.
ചില മൂലകളില്‍
ആഴമുള്ള ചുഴികള്‍.

മുത്തച്ഛന്റെ തുള വീണ കുട പോലെ
കുഞ്ഞുവെളിച്ചക്കീറുകളുള്ള ആകാശം.

ഏതോ പഴയ സ്ലേറ്റ് പോലെ..
നിറയെ കുത്തുകളും പുള്ളികളുമായി..

കണ്ണു മിന്നിച്ചൊന്നു നോക്കിയാല്‍
‍നെടുകെയും കുറുകെയും
കുഞ്ഞു കുഞ്ഞു സങ്കലനച്ചിഹ്നങ്ങള്‍‌ക്ക് മീതെ
മനസ്സിലാവാത്ത കണക്ക് പോലെ
ഗുണനച്ചിഹ്നങ്ങളും...

വിറങ്ങലിച്ചു നില്‍‌ക്കുന്ന മരങ്ങള്‍
ഇരുട്ടിന്റെ പ്രേതങ്ങള്‍ പോലെ..
ആകാശത്തേക്ക് വിരലുകളുയര്‍ത്തി..
നോക്കാനേ പേടിയാവുന്നവ..

വെളിച്ചക്കാലുകള്‍‌ക്ക് കീഴെ
ഉറുമ്പുകളും ഞാനും അഭയാര്‍ത്ഥികള്‍.........

[thus spake Retarded]

2007-10-16T13:42:00.001Z

Un-toward

വീണ്ടും...

2007-09-03T14:56:00.001Z

ഇന്നലെ ഉറക്കത്തില്‍‌ കൂട്ടുകാരിയുടെ
മിന്നുന്ന നോട്ടം.
മറക്കാന്‍‌ പറ്റുന്നില്ല;
ഓര്‍‌ക്കാനും.

മറക്കാന്‍‌ പറ്റാത്തത്ര മൂര്‍‌ഛ
ഓര്‍‌മിക്കാനും പറ്റാത്തത്ര മൂര്‍‌ഛ
ഉറക്കം ചുളിവു നിവര്‍‌ന്നാല്‍‌
മറക്കുമെന്നു കരുതി
ഇപ്പോള്‍‌ ചിരിക്കുന്ന മുഖം പോലും
ഓര്‍‌മ വരുന്നില്ല.
മിന്നുന്ന ആ നോട്ടം മാത്രം.

ഇനിയുമെന്തോ ബാക്കിയുണ്ടെന്നോ?
ഇനിയൊന്നും ബാക്കിയില്ലെന്നിതേവരെയറിഞ്ഞില്ലെയെന്നോ?
നോട്ടം - ചെരിഞ്ഞു നിന്നോ? നേരെ നിന്നോ?
മുടി ഒരു കൈ കൊണ്ടു മാടി വെച്ചോ?
പണ്ടത്തെപ്പൊലെ..

വേറൊന്നും ഓര്‍‌മയില്ല
രണ്ടു മൂര്‍ഛയുള്ള കണ്ണുകള്‍ മാത്രം.

ഇനി കുറച്ചു നാളുകള്‍‌ക്കെങ്കിലും
മനസ്സില്‍ ഒരു നോട്ടം മാത്രം.
രണ്ടു കണ്ണുകള്‍‌ മാത്രം..

കുറച്ചു നാളുകള്‍‌ക്കെങ്കിലും,
എനിക്ക് വേറൊന്നും ആലോചിക്കണ്ട.
അമര്‍‌ത്തിയ ഒരു ചിരി
എവിടെ നിന്നോ കേള്‍ക്കുന്ന പോലെ
ഇനി വേറൊന്നും ഓര്‍‌‌ക്കാന്‍ വയ്യ.

കനിവുള്ള ഒരു നോട്ടത്തിനു വേണ്ടിയെങ്കിലും
ഒന്നു കണ്ണടച്ചോട്ടെ..

കനിവുള്ള ഒരു നോട്ടത്തിനു വേണ്ടിയെങ്കിലും

{a small 'supposed-to-be' poem of mine, redone in malayalam. Was earlier posted as 'VEENDUM' in english script.. - retarded}

ഒരു ഗസല്‍

2007-08-28T05:58:00.000Z

വെറുതെയെന്നെ വിളിക്കേണ്ടനന്തതേ
വരികയില്ലെന്റെ ഭൂമിയെ വിട്ടു ഞാന്‍
ഇളയഭൂവിതിന്‍ പച്ചപ്പുമീര്‍പ്പവും
മതിയെനി,ക്കിതെന്‍ കാലവും സഔഖ്യവും

മൃതിയിലേയ്ക്കു നടക്കണം പുല്ലിലൂ-
ടൊരു ചെറുതത്ത തോളിലുണ്ടാവണം
ഒരു കുളിര്‍‌കാറ്റു ചെമ്പകത്തിന്‍‌മണം
ഉടലേറ്റിയെന്നൊപ്പം നടക്കണം

പുതിയ വീട്ടിലെന്നെ കാത്തിരിക്കണം
ഒരു പനിക്കൂര്‍‌‌ക്ക, കാന്താരി, നാരകം
ഒരു ബലിക്കാക്ക, ചീവീട്‌, നെയ്യുറു-
മ്പൊരു കുറുങ്കുഴല്‍, ചന്ദ്രന്‍, മഴ, മകള്‍.......................[]

by Satchidananthan in MALAYALAM magazine - dated: 27/02/02

Naming

2007-08-10T11:57:00.000Z

Now, no relationship
Should go unnamed..
This one - my co-student; this, my brother,
Him, co conspirator; here, my colleague,
You, master and him, my servant.

Each relation should be compartmented.

She, my student; her, my love;
She, friend and this girl, here is my reader.
Every distance must be set.
These many yards from him
These many feet from her..

Each hug’s meaning,
Should be predetermined!
Each kiss’ depth,
Should be pre-calculated!

My finger might get bitten off,
If I try to caress her hair..
Those folded hands of him,
Might be carrying a gun..

Those wonderful times
Of unnamed relationships-
Are now, over.

Every step, every deed,
Should not go uncounted.
Love consciously;
Poison knowingly;
Do not lose your consciousness,
Even when you die.
Write them down –
Each strutting breath;
Each contortion of heart;
Each degree of freezing limbs.

Count,
Measure,
Label,

Earth, Sky, Mountain, Ocean
Birds’ chirps, aroma of flowers,

Love, Like, Care,

Me, You, He, She,

Them…

{A direct traslation [ though i have taken some liberties] of 'Peridal' by Satchidanandan in Malayalam. Was dusting some old magazines when i noticed this(again)...
hence the above - retarde }

A Forlorn Thought

2007-07-02T19:38:00.000Z

If I were to find her sometime

In some busy street-

A river flooded with busy souls,

Would she smile?

Why?

A bloom of surprise; pleasant?

Then, like a storm seeping it off

And a mask of aloofness..

The daily grind has made her wary.

Wary; in a beautiful way

Whether she smiles at me or not

Does not matter any more.

There were days that smile

Lighted my days and nights

It would not hurt me -

Her not recognizing me

No. not any more.

The sea turns muddy

When rivers flood.

It never overflows

And I don’t react.

I, contain.

Art, Cartoons and thoughts

2007-06-21T22:28:00.000Z

The importance of cartoons in dailies is diminishing as the time progresses. Considering the history of cartoons in dailies does not go a long way back, the change graph has almost been that of a sinusoidal wave. The peak being the era of non-political cartoons getting the maximum exposure and attention. Dailies gave more space for cartoons and people took them seriously. The funny side of political cartoons and its impact on society are not considered here in a granular form.

The Comics are now a bunch of xeroxed talking heads because there is no space to tell a decent story or to show any action. The commons should write to the dailies demanding more responsiveness for our interests than adjudging themselves what the customer/common man needs. There might be brows raised on the ‘funnies’ to be taken seriously. However lunatic, others consider the ones who seriously look into these matters, the fact remains that the sinusoidal wave is NOT at its peak!

When we consider the impacts, on the one hand, it is a good sign for artists that in this age of visual bombardment from all media, a simple drawing can provoke and shock viewers. It confirms that images still have the power. On the other hand, there are people, who actively devour on the type of art which is incomprehensible for the common man. They probably are culturally illiterate and can not tell a good art from a hole in the ground.

When artists of calibre have their say, through their artistic creations, it challenges the know-nothing complacency of those who prefer safe, pre-digested bucolic genre scenes. When these artists are avoided, we can certainly stand then on the cutting edge of avant-garde*.

Then the hardest part for these self accomplished avant-garde post-modernists is to decide whether to embrace the commercialism for the sole purpose of survival.

The critics would subscribe to what we can term as ‘commercial post-modernist agenda’. This would establish a trend for artists to follow on, to survive and probably make a life out of the fraudulent art creations which actually neither represents their interests nor what they stand for.

Should they allow their work to be hyped and exploited by a market that is simply hungry for the next-new-thing?

Should they participate in a system that turns high art into low art so that it suits the mass consumption?

Of course, when an avant-garde artist goes commercial, he makes a mockery of his status as an outsider and free thinker. He buys into the crass and shallow values art should transcend; He trades the integrity of his art for riches and fame.

When an honest incarnation of high end art is produced, which does not buy in to the crass of current commercial burgeon; the self-proclaimed apostles of art will get obviously irritated. They try to pinch it in the bud and wage the sword of a ban before them. The freedom of expression is squelched at this point. Any view contrary to their own will be tried to be silenced. We need to question whether this war is against the art which do not classify themselves into a particular order or against the people who can stage a classification of their own.

Let us take an example of complex conversion of low art into high art and vice versa.

When a painting is viewed by a non-subscriber of an avant-garde thought school, he sees the actual painting as a moving, spiritually enriching and sublime piece of ART – HIGH art.

When they view a cartoon, it presents to them a vapid, juvenile and commercial hack work of sorts – LOW art.

What if they are presented with a painting of a cartoon strip? Do they envision it as a sophisticated irony? Or is it philosophically challenging? – HIGH art?

And if we go to the depths of a cartoon of a painting of a comic strip, it goes to the levels of sophomoric and intellectually sterile piece, which would be translated as LOW art.

We can come to a partial derivative conclusion that the system is not the follower of ideas, but styles. Hence, those who look forward of buying into the cram should decide the crucial part of his career: which is the ‘ism’ to choose. ‘ism’s are again derivatives and hence it can be argued that a derivative of derivative doesn’t work as a constant unless it is derived from zero [A little spooky there? Read principia mathematica]. When we consider then styles to seek for, the questions pose before us in a hideous shape. Are the styles of sidewalk painters lesser in class than those who draw on a canvas on their own studio? Since the answer in the minds of readers can be read right now, I can hence say that the quality of art is not what we consider here as the baseline. A sidewalk painter can be dubbed as a suburban post-modernist. This can be weighed against the weighted words of a neo deconstructionist and the balance, I presume, would be almost equal. The side weighing ‘suburban’ art can be more appealing to a critic, considering the fan following lately for ‘ism’s with that label.

The times are tough for a suburban post modernist though. People are reluctant to pay for a sidewalk drawing [otherwise now termed as suburban post-modernist painting]. They stay where they are and the mere pleasure of enjoying it can not be retained by even a serious customer as the canvas is public. No corporation would underwrite such a painter who is not famous enough to effectively advertise their cultural enlightenment.

That goes without saying for art. Now, coming to the matter of cartoons or comic strips in dailies, I wonder what influences the caricatures being portrayed there. The women are portrayed as indecisive whiners, nagging shrews and bimbos. Do the men get better? The answer is a big NO. They are befuddled morons, heavy drinkers, gluttons and lazy goof-offs. All the kids are obnoxious brats as well. If there are any good ones, they are impersonated only to be ridiculed by the other messed up ones. All this makes one think that there is a behind-the-scenes insidious social programming going on. We need morally uplifting and politically correct figures in the comic strips to say the least. At the least, the moral ones should not be ridiculed on a comic strip.

People always mistakenly understand art as something that is created for them. But the fact is that art is a private language of the sophisticated to congratulate themselves for their superiority to the rest of the world. Sometimes a statement from an artist explains what he is conveying through his art than what the art itself does. This is understandable as mentioned above. It is a private language for the sophisticated. The statement might add that the art conceived is utterly incomprehensible for a regular audience who do not understand its deep significance.

*Avant-garde (pronounced /ɑvɑ̃ gɑʁd/) in French means front guard, advance guard, or vanguard.[1] People often use the term in French, English, and German to refer to people or works that are experimental or novel, particularly with respect to art, culture, and politics.

Avant-garde represents a pushing of the boundaries of what is accepted as the norm, or the status quo, primarily in the cultural realm. The notion of the existence of the avant-garde is considered by some to be a hallmark of modernism, as distinct from postmodernism. Postmodernism posits that the age of the constant pushing of boundaries is no longer with us. Postmodernism posits that avant-garde has less applicability (or no applicability at all) in the age of Postmodern art.

[A wayward comment instigated THIS. Full context will be set with the follow-up article.... - retarded]

The Violin - A Little Bit Nervous [Vladimir Mayakovsky]

2007-05-01T12:00:00.000Z

The violin got all worked up, imploring

then suddenly burst into sobs,

so child-like

that the drum couldn't stand it:

"All right, all right, all right!"

But then he got tired,

couldn't wait till the violin ended,

slipped out on the burning Kuznetsky

and took flight.

The orchestra looked on, chilly,

while the violin wept itself out

without reason

or rhyme,

and only somewhere,

a cymbal, silly,

kept clashing:

"What is it,what's all the racket about?"

And when the helicon,

brass-faced,

sweaty,

hollared:

"Crazy!

Crybaby!

Be still!"

I staggered,

on to my feet getting,

and lumbered over the horror-stuck music stands,

yelling,

"Good God"

why, I myself couldn't tell;

then dashed, my arms round the wooden neck to

fling:

"You know what, violin,

we're awfully alike;

I too

always yell,

but can't prove a thing!"

The musicains commented,

contemptuously smiling:"

Look at him-come to his wooden-bride-

tee-hee!"

But I don't care-

I'm a good guy-

"You know, what, violin,

let's live together,

eh?".

{ This one is the first Russian poem I might have ever read and obviously the first by Mayakovsky. I believe this poem has had influences over my style of writing [If I may reason so, humbly]. I first found this in the translation section of my village library, an old copy of translated russian magazines with withered pages. I copied it onto somewhere and it was with me for long.... It's pretty nostalgic for me and thus finds it's place here on my blog. -retarded}

Past One O'Clock - Vladimir Mayakovsky

2007-05-01T11:48:00.000Z

Past one o’clock. You must have gone to bed.
The Milky Way streams silver through the night.
I’m in no hurry; with lightning telegrams
I have no cause to wake or trouble you.
And, as they say, the incident is closed.
Love’s boat has smashed against the daily grind.
Now you and I are quits. Why bother then
To balance mutual sorrows, pains, and hurts.
Behold what quiet settles on the world.
Night wraps the sky in tribute from the stars.
In hours like these, one rises to address
The ages, history, and all creation.

This poem was found among Mayakovsky’s papers after his suicide on April 14, 1930. He had used the middle section, with slight changes, as an epilogue to his suicide note.

{ I had always respected Mayakovsky and his works. Him being a Bolshevik poet in the post-revolution Soviet Union did not degrade his poetic abilities - retarded}

Match1 - From My Perspective

2007-04-30T15:44:00.000Z

Match1: NewCity2 versus Eaton Socon
Date: April 21, 07
Venue: Eaton Socon Cricket Ground [Away]
Mode: 45 overs a side. Same leather ball for both innings.

It was a long drive to Eaton Socon from Milton Keynes. Was not in a very energetic mood with the persistent headache. But an enthused PA and Kailash brought the spirits soaring. The team composition was difficult since we were not even getting 11 club members to play initially. We did not know how Paul Patel would be playing who was included as the 11th man, who, I had never seen to turn up last season or net sessions for this season. I just wanted to have a nice game and try and see whether my new action on bowling which yielded phenomenal bounce during the indoor net sessions and kept some [at least someJ] batsmen afraid!
I was honoured to know that I will be opening the bowling. Was confident unlike the last season bowling where I opened bowling in only two 45 over games. Though both went fine, I still think I am better off as a first change bowler for my style of bowling [a revelation little too late J].
We chose to bowl first after winning the toss. I opted to bowl from an end where there was a tilt of the pitch down towards the right handed batsman. Though the wind was blowing in the wrong direction, I thought I would be able to cut the ball in and get some early wickets.

Dreams! Ah….

I started bowling taking thirteen steps from the bowling crease as usual. [ This was not usual in the last season, first few games, I did not opt for 13 steps considering it a bad omen.. I lost my run up at 12 steps and at 14 steps :)]
First ball, bowled at full vigour, though with control… ball pitched at right length marginally on the widish region and beautifully shaped away from the batsman.
AWAY????? I wanted the ball to cut in..not out.. that is called a WIDE and rightly so. I thought the tilt is fooling me and if I keep the line a little closer to offstump, it would be alright. After all, I was playing the first game of the season and first over….
The next ball also shaped beautifully out, was within limits, but was called a WIDE. And the next ball.. well, I was losing the fight there. First match of the season, captain believes in me and is allowed to open the bowling and I give him THIS? I resorted to good old holding back technique and reduced my pace and bowled on the middle stump line. There we go.. the ball is pitching in fine. Not much bounce, but the line and length makes the batsman stay at crease and defend the ball. Five balls went unceremoniously when I decided to pitch my pace in. Bounced well and to waist high wide of off stump, batsman cut it to the square[well-timed there] right into the hands of Sabareesan.
:) Renowned as a very good fielder, everyone else and me expected him to hold on to it. Naah… he puts it down. Eventful over :( though not in our favour. Three runs from it, but nothing off the bat!

The second over was bowled by Burjor Bugli. He wasn’t in touch to say the least and some byes, wides and full length balls driven beautifully to the boundary was the result. I came in again and then on was lucky in bowling medium pace right on the stumps for the next 5 overs. A couple of wides which were definitely debatable. An LBW shout turned down and a few singles. NO WICKETS, though.
The other end saw the first change in Jay Singadia, the left arm swing bowler and he found three preys to his good swing bowling.

Though we were bowling considerably well, the extra runs in the form of byes, leg byes and wides and odd loose balls put to boundary cost us dearly. Sabareesan was also bowling with good pace and bounce, but lacked the penetration.
Paul Patel, the senior New city club player came in soon with his accurate off-spin and I was brought back again from the other end.
The wickets were falling from one end and I chose it as the right time to experiment with offcutters. One ball of my eighth over cut in from offstump line and took the leg stump of one of the middle order Eaton Socon batsman.
I howled :) as usual and was teased by the team mates for my way of celebrating the wicket !

10th over got me another leg stump out of the ground when the ball kept straight after pitching and the left hander who was staying long at the crease got out. That over was a maiden as well JJ. My figures were 10 overs- 21 runs-1 maiden and 2 wickets. Only one ball of mine was hit for a boundary. Not bad in containing the runs, considering the total by the end of 45 overs was 199.

Chasing 200 in 45 overs was not a big task, given the batting line up we had.
Sabareesan started brilliantly and scored boundaries with ease. A straight SIX was the highlight of his innings. But the senior players and Sabareesan, unfit, turned the threes to twos and twos to singles and singles to dots. Paul Patel chipped in with a clean 29 and Sabareesan was done with a 63 which was the backbone of NewCity’s innings. Kailash disappointed by getting bowled for 2 runs.
We were still in command of the game.
Then Arun went in.. the usual traps on the leg side pads made me think he is gonna play the usual wide-open-get-me-out stances and will come back to pavilion soon.
Well, surprise-surprise. He flicked, drove, pulled, chipped and ran into a useful knock. When Jay Singadia went in at around 140, we were still comfortable only a 60 to win in 20 overs or so. Jay got out fast and I had to go in. I considered myself in good touch from the net sessions and just wanted to play some overs off and give chances to well-set Arun.
Hiya, there we go--- two new bowlers were brought in, who were bowling wicket-to-wicket and were able to maintain the line and length beautifully. I was defending them off but not taking singles myself. Arun wanted me to run, but I just wasn’t in the groove :(. I scored a single and ran like crazy whenever Arun called for a single to convert it to a two. :)

Finally, the time came. I defended a good length delivery and played it on to my own pads. I could not believe myself seeing Sharad Dave, the umpire, raise the finger for that appeal!!!!!!!!!! Good lord. I play off all these balls and am done in with a ball played onto the pads???
I walked back heart-wrenched but still had faith in Arun. He was pushing in a little too much and two shots which was in the air brought my heart half way up the throat.
The rest of them were not in a mood to play, I think. Wickets tumbled even before I had a chance to remove my pads.Arun also joined me in the pavilion soon by scooping one down the legside but by then had scored a fabulous 43. We were all out at 188 - a shame, 12 runs shy.
Well, not a bad start. We have a long way to go.
Will be back soon with the report on second game.

{only my perspective - retarded}

Moor

2007-03-12T23:20:00.000Z

A moor of lies.

Love, drowned -

Now floats on it.

Bloated now with lies,

It will never reincarnate.

No Jesus, this, i say!

To come alive the third day.

Murdered coincidences,

Scapegoats for the falsehood.

Fibs turning grey

And gaining experience.

Now are LIES - A whirlpool of 'em.

Dragging into nowhere.

Several teeth of this cog,

Now are worn out.

One who knows the truth,

Is called the enlightened.

Who, may I ask, is - ENLIGHTENED?

Who pretends to be a know-all?

Who sits under the Bodhi?

Who smiles even when seeing the vices?

Designed it to be this way-

Funny does God.

Moors he builds -

Peaty soil covered with heather

And bracken and moss

To make us believe it is strong soil,

And to make us set our foot.

Funny doth God.

{Funnier doth people - retarded}

Remembrance of Eyes Past

2007-02-08T20:42:00.000Z

A streak of grey cloud,
Cuts through the winter moon
And splatters blue blood,
On the shady night around.

Hazel, with grey shades
Her eye, in the shade..
When the other half her face,
Is painted golden - by the evening sun.

A tears-to-be feeling
Turns her eyes ocean blue
When she visits
The hill we last met.

In the dream I last saw,
Her eyes so sharp.
They were steel blue,
Glare as death does.

The occasional sun in autumn
Finds the maple leaves turn
Yellow, orange and brown;
So does her eyes.

Plain carbon black
Narrowing the eyes,
As jealousy takes over
When I talk to some one else..

Icy blue with tinges of pride
As I compliment her
For being herself
As she always does

Charcoal grey with mist
A question being asked
And when she knows
There is no answer.

Reddish black – dilated
When her fever reflects
In the 40 watts room
And stays there, for days on..

The words fail
So do the colours
When those beautiful,
Beautiful eyes smile.

Oh, when they smile…

A streak of grey cloud,
Cuts through the winter moon
And splatters blue blood,
On the shady night around.

And I remember
Of things past
And our worlds part.
I sit here, now,
With eyes transparent.

{ ... }

Reverse Buddha

2007-01-26T21:28:00.000Z

I started when the snow fell
To the horizon to acquit the truth
‘To free the mankind;
From its tyranny’, I said.
‘To free the mankind’, huh?
Soured his voice from behind.
‘Truth will triumph’, I insisted.
‘We all have heard fables’, he grunted.
‘Which way?’, he ventured..
As if he was coming along.
I did not have an answer.
Not that you can blame me for that
I still did not have an answer.

‘What are you searching for?’
The cynicism in his voice – creepy.
I turned around to explain.
His eyes grinned.
I started, then fumbled and stopped
His eyes became narrower
‘I am going to cure world’s disease’
‘I am going to realize truth’;
‘And open the door of it to the world’…
I was panting just after three sentences
His grin extended to his ears
With two looping jumps, he reached my side
‘What for?’
I tried to say, but stopped. ‘What for?’
Then finally my words came out..
‘GOD WISHES ME TO!’..

‘God is crazy.
Your family is worried.
Why to see other terrible things?
Why to hear them, terrible beings?
You, your better half, and yours and hers
Anything else is worthless.
Play the idiot game – be the idiot
Life is an idiot game
Play the idiot game, live the idiot life
Your interests will be well kept’
The grin enlightens.

I whispered a meek ‘NO’
And with two looping jumps,
He flipped sides.

‘Huh?
Hmpf!
What about another theme?’ he said
‘Say, you have accomplished it;
Pretend that you achieved;
Feign the truth you now intend to seek;
You say you reached there
You act you reached there
You relish the expiation to the world
You say,
You are everything!’
He stood there, elated.
He seems to relish in the solution he gave.

The snow has hardened.
My feet are no longer moving.
Screaming of snow flakes
On the leaves around, blinds my eyes.

Where is my dreams’ labour room?
Where did stupidity find abode?
Not abode, but sojourn….
Not abode, but sojourn….

This night,
This walkway,
These fiery decisions,
These must be dreams.

Must be.
MUST BE.

Why am I out in the snow?
Its cold out here.

{ no explanations - retarded }

Veendum

2007-01-21T21:55:00.000Z

Innale urakkathil koottukariyude
Minnunna nottam.
Marakkan pattunnilla;
Ormikkanum.

Marakkan pattathathra moorcha
Ormikkanum pattathathra moorcha.
Urakkam chulivu nivarnnal
Marakkumennu karuthi
Ippol chirikkunna mugham polum
Orma varunnilla.
Minnunna aa nottam mathram

Iniyumenthokkeyo baakkiyundenno?
Iniyonnum baakkiyillennithevareyarinjilleyenno?
Nottam cherinju ninno? Nere ninno?
Mudi oru kai kond maadi vecho?
Pandatheppole..

Veronnum ormayilla
Rand moorchayulla kannukal maathram

Ini kurachu naalukalkkenkilum
Manassil oru nottam mathram.
Rand kannukal mathram..

Kurachu nalukalkkenkilum
Enikk veronnum alochikkenda
Amarthiya oru chiri
Evidunno kelkkunna pole
Ini veronnum orkkan vayya

Kanivulla oru nottathinu vendiyenkilum
Onnu kannadachotte..
Kanivulla aa nottathinu vendiyenkilum..

[retarded -thanks to umbachi for upsetting the mind with just two words]

Death, Candle-white.

2006-11-01T00:57:00.000Z

An unanswered question

A half dead prayer
And an unstated consent
On briefly parted lips

An invisible death volition
Held in the frozen hands

Mark of an unworn wedding ring
On the partly folded finger.

Revolution of death caravan around,
On its thousand legs

On the fly clumped forehead,
A prematurely dead, vexation.

On the dry blood under the ears,
A paper piece and dust.

In the still eyes, wide open,
Serenity of plain death.
Sole serenity of plain death..

------------------------------------------------
a meek transcription of some untamed thoughts - retarded.
------------------------------------------------

Innocent Contrivance -1

2006-10-21T19:59:00.000Z

“Hey, you buy that while I get that painting from the corner shop. You got money with you? Okay.. I ll pay you through netbanking once I get home..

It’s a pity that shops close early in this part of the world”

Meet you before the corner shop in fifteen minutes Nehaa..”

And there she went into the pawn shop and me towards the corner shop which sold paintings. This part of my thought process seemed to have no grey shades.

Everything was working out.

I am not a person who takes things for granted. And NO assumptions. If it were to rule my life, I would never have been here, in the first place. It has been now years since I started planning for this. And luckily in execution, the big picture is turning brighter by the day. Neha had been here for 1 and a half years now and has been a nice partner in the joyous roaming I have had in London. She did find time for me on weekends and the days I get off from work. This was the first time I have taken her to this part of London. Well, I had been here several times before..I had to. Carefully picking up the stores we would visit, which would seem random for Neha and any one, who would be interested in watching me. I had visited this street last year, same season, and had taken down what it takes to get the things I wanted to lay my hands on. This pawn shop, which Neha is in just now, was under my surveillance for 2 hrs last year and for another 1 hour last week. I had deduced this time of the season and week would be the best to execute my plan.

“Gimme that black and white one”

“ Is it that one in the corner, mate?”

“ yeah, that’s the one…”

“ That would be £55, mate..its a good choice!”

Aaaaaah, these sales men.. they knew it wasn’t even worth £20… and inform us it’s a better piece than anyone in Louvre! I had the money ready with me. Didn’t ask for a receipt. I had no plans of returning this nor make the sales guy notice my face.

Got the painting wrapped in a dull brown paper, and quickly walked off the shop.

Was waiting in the corner when Neha showed up with a confused face. The shop was about to close and she had to plead to get what I wanted her to buy for me. Though she wasn’t amused at my choice, she asked, “ Where the hell are you going to display this thing off?” Well, she obviously did not need an answer because she didn’t press more when I replied back with just a smile.

I certainly knew that that shop was going to get closed at 4. and four EXACTLY for that matter. I visited the place with Neha around 2:30, while the place was swarming with people who wanted to get some cheap artefacts. ‘Pieces of history’, Mr Waggor, the shop owner boasts on one of the boards on the shop..

After pretending before Neha that I became genuinely interested in what I wanted which I had just then seen, I showed her a face of shock after turning to her and pointing at the price tag. She was also amused to see that item.

“ Not my cup of tea, Neha, its quite expensive”.

“Yeah, as if you would have bought it otherwise…”

Oh, that tone of sarcasm. She always gets it right. I smiled inside; she doesn’t know she is the part of a big picture plan here..and would never ever know.

“ Let’s find if there are nay paintings in this street, which would be okay for my purse”

I dragged her out of the pawn shop and walked down the street.

It took us more than an hour and 15 minutes and two ‘supposed-to-be-selling-art’ shops to finalise on a medium size black and white painting. One that I had earlier managed to fix on, but Neha never knew. I was growing confident by the minute that everything is going picture perfect and Neha did not have a clue.

She would be returning back to India after her MBA in Leicester Univ and would never ever know she had been a part of such a big plan. The only time she ever came near was when she asked me what my smirk meant while I was looking at the painting. An as always, another smirk quenched her thirst for an answer in words!

I had taken her to several places like this in the last one year and she wasn’t now amused at where I would take her or what I would buy. I had psuedo-shadowed a character who buys things which I leave behind for some reason and would buy it as if a bee stung me and I changed my mind. I did not want her to be surprised when my plan actually –today- works out.

So far, I was satisfied. As satisfied as I can be. I had two pairs of shoes and several items which I did not actually NEED in the first place, but had bought to make Neha think I had a changing mind in buying things. It has now worked out fine.

After finalising on the b/w painting, I dragged her out of the shop and almost ran towards the other end of the street while telling her that I thought there were better pieces of ‘art’ there. Then, after a calculated few minutes, and a few finger on the chin thoughts, which she was familiar of by now, I said “ I think we better buy that river and fort painting at the corner shop…” and walked back. She was, obviously, a little upset about me running through the street and never finalising on anything.

It was 3:55 by then. I had timed everything perfectly. And then I told her, “ I think I should buy that old gun we saw there in the pawn shop as well.”

And then, looking at my watch, and with a grin, told “ we don’t have time though”

And then, the conversation at the starting of this note happened.

I would now have the gun I wanted. It is from a pawn shop and there would be hundreds of cheap-buyers coming here in this time of the season. There was no tracing back.

I had noticed the gun down two weeks back. An old one, probably from the colonial time, but the best part was that, it would work and had 7 silver bullets in a small pack near the gun.

It certainly was a show piece. But can be handy when its in the hands of someone who knew how to use it. No traces back on to someone registered. No need of ID cards to buy that gun in a pawn shop. And if…. IF, somebody somehow traced it back to the pawn shop, even Mr Waggor, who himself is a sharp observant would not remember about an Indian guy six foot and two inches tall coming and buying a show piece gun. IF he remembers, it would be an Indian lady, who seem to not even look a the gun, but bought it without even fighting for a slash in the price. All the more, I had timed it so that Mr Waggor might not even remember anything ass he would be in a hurry to close the shop, at 4.

The only chance of knowing anything about it was on Neha’s side; which again I had timed so that any news of a show piece gun used to fire a silver bullet would not reach her since she would be in India by the time I put this baby to use!

It all felt nice. Neha thought my smile reflected the satisfaction of buying that black and white painting which I proudly carried. I had not taken any interest in seeing the small brown packet in her hand, with the gun.

We took a longer, new route back home by bus. It was my suggestion. I was in a mood to swap my hot headed thoughts with some calm scenic beauty of suburban London.

The bus turned on to another, even more isolated road. On this stretch the trees were replaced by denuded fields awaiting the final scrape of the bulldozers.

I thought about my plan again. Huh, I really needed to dumb those thoughts for a while. Until I get some break, I was not going to kill the beauty of it by overthought.

In a year’s time there would be almost as many homes here as there had been trees before, as suburban sprawl continued its push. Now the land simply looked ravaged, naked. And bleak, perhaps because of what was to come. In that regard, the land and the target of my plans were as one! I felt uneasy thinking about me involving Neha in all this. I had no choice. I had to prove myself. My theories. All my thoughts. All my efforts to perfect the plan. Neha did not know anything, and would never know. I consoled myself…..there was enough time…

Another winter passes by……

---------------------------------------
retarded : forgive me for being naive; I will delete and stop once I get the negative feedback am expecting
---------------------------------------

A New Fairy Tale

2006-08-13T23:23:00.000Z

I have a new fairy tale to tell.
But am afraid kids won't like it.
It has'nt got a good ending.
Infact, it is distressingly sad..
It does not make a conjunction.
Ever been told a sad fairy tale?
Where prince loses the princess?

Ever been hit hard between your brows?
With normal words, which conjure
the news of a great loss?

Ever been told how to behave?
And that what you had been doing -
Is totally wrong?

Ever felt a cry choking your throat?

Ever felt ur heart implode,
which leaves you thoughtless?

Ever reliazed you are staring-
at nothing but vaccum?

Ever?

If yes, you would understand me.
yes, you would understand me.

at the least, you should .

HOLY...

2006-08-08T20:00:00.000Z

If any one could prove to me that Christ is outside the truth, and if the truth really did exclude Christ, I should prefer to stay with Christ and not with the truth.

-Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Foreword:

I do not have in depth knowledge about bible or the life of Jesus Christ detailed in the Bible. My views may be naïve and lack character. The views I have had about bible, the language and the religion has evolved from the view of an outsider(if I may say so).

I have gone through bible long back on my own interest as I did with the Quran. My superficial knowledge was not helped at all by my Christian friends who failed to answer questions which appeared simple for me. I had attended Christian prayer meetings while I was doing my pre-degree. Those times were the best when I could have cleared all my doubts with theologians who lead prayer meetings. But, as I always am, reluctance to pose my doubts before others held me back. Now that I have got some opening, let me make the best of the opportunity.

I met, on orkut, one Christian friend named Remya Abraham [introduced by Bibin(partner in crime)], who has good knowledge of Bible and Christianity. Here are a few questions I asked and her reply for it. I don’t know why am blogging this. Yet, am doing it as usual.

Context:

I approached bible not only as a religious text, but also as a philosophical guide. I strongly felt that it contained the simple message which would change any man’s life better. I was searching for this in the New Testament where I came across the death of Jesus Christ in the gospels of New Testament.

I always had wondered about the relationship god and Jesus had shared. I had always understood it in my mind as a father-son relationship which my Christian friends approved of.

But, as I went through the gospels of Mathew, Mark, Luke and John, new doubts arose on the relationship.

Let me get straight to the point here. Death of Jesus is portrayed as below in four different gospels:

Mathew : Jesus cried out in a loud voice “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”

Mark : Jesus cried out in a loud voice “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”

Luke: Jesus called out with a loud voice, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit."

John: Jesus said, "It is finished”

I have read explanations on the narrations in Bible. And the time and different factors those influenced the writings on Jesus and how they differ from each other.

My question/doubt here would be that why is the relationship with god different in different testaments?

If Jesus really asked why God has forsaken him, wouldn’t that change every single belief of Jesus as son of God? My understanding is that he is in ever unison with his father and hence knew what exactly is going to come. That includes the things (going to be) done by Judas Escariot as well. The very basic belief of mine was shattered as I kept on reading this time and over and started asking my friends about it.

They have had explanations on the belief side of things and one even monologued: ‘If jesus had really asked like that, there should be a reason! Hmmmmm..’ Some had explanations on why the portrayals on death of Jesus differ in different gospels. My aspect of the question would rather be philosophical than historical/logical/religious.

This might be an easy explanation for you to do as you seem to know a lot. But be aware that my thirst does not get quenched by loose explanations. I need to find the philosophical meaning of uttering such a sentence when Jesus parts life. More so, since it does not appear to be there in Luke’s and John’s.

In my thoughts, jesus as he appears in Mathew’s or Mark’s is differ much from the one who appears in Luke’s or John’s. That contradicts the whole bible…

-Ragesh.

Remya’s reply, though not answering the questions directly, impart a good insider view:

Hi Ragesh

No doubt is stupid.I completely empathise with your doubts cos I've
been the biggest skeptic I ever knew...but that said, I really dont
even UNDERSTAND what your doubt is.

And I am not sure I can give you a 'theological' explanation cos I am
not a theologian. My walk as a Christian started just two years ago,
and I am still learning to walk! But one thing I have learnt....that
Christianity can never be understood as one understands Nietzsche or
Schpopenaeur, Dostoevsky or any other great philolospher. It is not a
philosophy and it is not a religion. It is a relationship and for a
relationship, you need to actually KNOW the other person.

I've also learnt that there is a world of difference in looking at the
Bible as an outsider and as an insider. The difference lies that when
yu look at it as an outsider, your mind does not really understand
everything but when you are an insider, the Holy Spirit, (am sure you
came across the Holy Spirit in your readings??) gives you revelation
in the spirit. It must be experienced to be really understood

That said let me move on to your questions, which again, I must say
that I do not completely understand....because how can I give you the
philosophical meaning of something that was never meant to be a
philosophy?

The exact relationship of Jesus is that of Father and Son and He knew
what was coming. So, why does He cry? His anguished cry just reflects
His humanity. It is asomething that's difficult to grasp--but just
like Jesus was 100% God, He was also 100% human!! He went through the
same pain, the same self-doubt, the same anguish, the same darkness.

Which is why in the book of Hebrews, Paul tells the church that Christ
understands everything because "He was in all ways as we are, yet
without sin."

Being human, when we are in deep anguish, we DO tend to think that God
has forsaken and forgotten us. You would not in fact be able to
understand it from the outside. So let me tell it to you from the
inside.

My Bible tells me that the minute I accept and acknowledge God's
sovereignty and supremacy, I am allowed to lay claim of the promise
found in Jeremiah," For I know the plans that I have for you, plans to
prosper you, plans to give you a hope and a future." And my faith in
God allows me to KNOW that the end is gonna be good. But when I am
actually travelling the tough, uphill road, that knowledge is marred
vy very REAL pain and suffering.

When everything in the natural world contradicts my KNOWLEDGE of God's
goodness,when my pain doesnt cease and the hurt still hurts, my cry
would be very similar to that of Jesus.

A feeling of having been LET DOWN by God.... It is an emotion that I'd
call the flip side of extreme intimacy.

There have been times without number when I have cried out to God and
He has seemed elusive. Does that invalidate my belief and make Him
less of God? Does it make me less of a child?

Or shall I believe that God is allowing me to walk the valley of the
shadow of death by sheer faith that is not founded on sight?

I dont think the gospels differ in their perception of Jesus as Son of
God. In fact, they are unanimous about the fact. But it has been
recorded by people and people are subjective. They highlight things
that stand out for them and that could be because something that was
said or done struck them with peculiar force...for instance, if I was
going through a financial crunch at the time, and JEsus had spoken
about money among other things, I'd latch on to THOSE teachings and
when I wrote a gospel, because the money stuff had personally
benefited me, my version might have a lot to do with money.

Or, if I had been goin through a rough time in my relationship with
God and if I'd been struggling with not being able to FEEL God's
presence, I'd latch on to the forsaking statement cos I'd think,"Hey,
I am not alone! Even Jesus felt forsaken, but God hadn't really
forsaken Him."

And I'd take heart cos the Bible is transparent enough to admit that
even God when He came down as man went through the SAME darkness, the
same loneliness, the SAME agony that I am now going through. Even the
Son of God felt forsaken by God but because I know that God had not
really forsaken Him, I take heart!

The fact that Jesus as God who dwelt among us, has travelled the same
path as me, makes Him more approachable somehow cos I don't feel
quite so guilty about crying out to God. And when my deliverance
finally comes, I will be able to understand that kind of anguished cry
that comes from someone else, who travels the same path...which is why
elsewhere Jesus is called our Mediator, Intercessor and High Priest
who presents our case before God because He's been there and done it.

I think the four gospel 'versions' put together give a fuller view of
Jesus...and I didnt realise it until now. And I realise that Jesus's
reaction is very much like mine when I am disturbed.

Stormy tears(Matthew and Mark)-->Surrender(Luke)-->Peace
(John).Consider it in isolation or consider it as a whole--but it
still shows you pieces of the same person, and it showcases the very
charged emotions of the people narrating it.

But all said and done, Let me leave you with just two thoughts :

"For we know in part and we prophesy in part but when that which is
perfect is come, we shall know even as we are known."

Meaning that God never revealed EVERYTHING. If He had, nobody would
require faith. Faith is that which believes beforehand what would only
make sense in reverse!!

The 2nd thought is this : "For since, in the wisdom of God, the world
did not know God through wisdom, God decided, through the foolishness
of what was preached, to save those who believe. For Jews demand signs
and Greeks desire wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified, a
stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those who
are the called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the
wisdom of God."

Which means that the gospel when analysed with our minds will never
make sense...perhaps the reason why Remya the Philosopher and Poet
never quite "got it":)

Do keep mailing. What I've told you makes perfect sense to me, but
that could be cos I am an 'insider'. Ask me the outsider questions. I
am still learning, so contrary to what you think I dont know it
all.And as for convincing anybody, I can't do that even. Cos what you
choose to believe is ultimately just that--a choice...YOUR choice.

I do pray (yes I do!) that some day, what I say will make perfect
sense to you too.

***********************************************************
I asked Remya's permission to post this a month back. She did not respond. I now take the liberty to publish this [ if my blogging can be called publishing- i.e.]. Thank 'you', the reader, who had the patience to read until this sentence.
***********************************************************
- Retarde

Mezhukinte veluppulla maranam.

2006-08-01T15:11:00.000Z

Marupadiyariyatha chodyam pole..
Alpam thuranna chundukalil
Paathi maricha praarthana
Parayathe maranna sammatham.
Virangalicha kaikalil
Adrisyamaaya maranapathram.
Paathi madangiya viralil
Idatha vivahamothirathinte paadu.
Aayiram kalukalil
Maranavandiyude pradakshinam.
Eecha parakkunna nettiyil
Prayamethathe maricha vihwalatha
Nischalamaaya kannukalil
Maranathinte maathram saanthatha
Maranathinte maathramaya santhatha.

WHAT SHALL I SAY UNTO HER?

2006-05-29T14:38:00.000Z

The Purple Dinosaur

2006-04-30T10:20:00.000Z

There lived a purple dinosaur in my neighbourhood
Not that we used to see him everyday..
He used to appear when it was totally unnecessary.
‘MESOZOIC ERA’, he used to shout..
And tales were there about fires from his nose
We believed all tales, we were supposed to. We were kids
‘Mesozoic era’, he used to shout..
‘Oh, stop; its a trillion years past, since..’
We used to shout back at him, though it was a little lame.

Nobody feared the purple dinosaur
Nobody cared about the purple dinosaur
He was dumb in his own way,
Not that we were sharp back then..
But he appeared in all of our little stories
We made little stories, we were supposed to. We were kids.
Mesozoic era, he was from
He must have been a placing mistake, from the supreme one
But there he was, among us, around us

There lived a purple dinosaur in my neighbourhood
‘Mesozoic era’, he used to shout..

Nobody knows where he went..
It’s long since anybody has seen him or heard him
Or is it just that I dint see him or hear him?
He might still be there,
It’s me who is not there.
It’s me who hasn’t seen the purple dinosaur lately
It’s me who is away.

Yet I still tell some of my friends,

That there USED TO BE a purple dinosaur in my neighbourhood.
And that ‘Mesozoic era’ he USED TO shout..

There he LIVED...I tell my friends…

He probably might still be there.
It’s me who has not seen the purple dinosaur
Or heard him shout ‘MESOZOIC ERA’ lately……

MESOZOIC ERA....
As you all know,
Is a long time back.

---------------Retarded---------------
****resinstating:- am not mad. The above makes sense to me****

English Earthworms Are Funny

2006-03-31T22:35:00.000Z

Two days back, i.e. a long time back in the history of a man, I was walking towards my office, drenched in thoughts and rain.
The fact that I had my friend with me walking dint make any difference to me. I was thinking. Usually I stay on the shallow ends of the thought pool... so I was listening to what was my friend was saying. What he was saying has no relevance to this earthworm business, so lets get along..shall we?
I was crossing a roundabout as fast as a car can hit me if it is driven thoughtlessly. I noticed an earthworm slowly (well, slowly in man-terms. It must be as fast as he can..) making its way to the concrete road. The first question that crossed my mind was why he should cross the road!! Well..Why cant he? ‘I’ am crossing the road. He has equal rights to cross the same road the other way. Good good. Let him cross… I made my way ahead by gently passing over him/her! For my ease, am going to refer to them as ‘hims’.[spot a male chauvinist pig here :o)]
As the word goes, one has to cover many roads before he makes to office, isn’t it?
As we were walking through the pathways, alas! there goes another one.. .. there.. another… another one too… oh.. here’s one.. by Jove, there must be a conference or something…. Well, I was going for a conference, why not them? Boy, this is strange. Never have I seen such a number of earthworms out of the soil.. together.. i.e.

My friend was ignorant about whatever was happening down there on the road.(head held high, perhapsJ.. Don’t ask abt me… am a down to earth guy after all……) he went on and on about something. ….. I could hide my surprise… after all, they are mere earthworms…. Nothing not seen in India..

There were black guys, white ones, plump, lean, short, long(tall would be a wrong usage), and mixed coloured ones. Well, see.. I wasn’t listening to what my friend was saying…. I was walking with all earthworms around. Careful not to step on anyone..why to make another earthworm mourn the next day.. u know what I mean :)… well, as we progressed.. I got bewildered… wait a min guyzzzzzzzz….”whats goin on!!!”

As I always do, I started thinking scientifically :-))). {forgive me for this.. those who read this know how poor I am. In ‘thinking’ .tht too scientifically :O)}
Facts first. Earthworms out of soil- normal. I have seen earthworms in India too. Lots of earthworms out- abnormal??? Soil on one side of the road – exactly similar to the soil on the other side. Whats the day? It’s a Thursday. Shouldn’t be the holy-day for earthworms.. there are lot of Thursdays in a year. Climate? Well, its windy, drizzling, cold.. aaah.. it’s the same as other days… what the…..
Hmmmm…. I thunk again( thought as past-tense of think is confusing.. isn’t it?)
Well, you should consider that I was thinking very fast as well… the whole thing was during the short walk to my office.
What could have caused these earthworms to come out? Is it the doomsday? Hey, Nobody told me!!! “Is it?” I asked my friend… he said no.. and went on with his end of talking… boy, nobody other than me worries about all these earthworms being out!!!!

I tried lighting the idea bulb beside me.(refer any comic book for illustration). It doesn’t.. nor does it ring a bell! ( is the electricity out?) SIGH!!! This is beyond me…
I noticed that not all of ‘em were going oneside ( thank lord, it helped me not to walk towards that side of the road so that I would also be out of danger) there must be something…. And it slips me…. Phew…… how many things in this small world do I not know…..

It was time for my conference call. I appreciate you guys not thinking that I should have stayed back and researched more. I have got a show to run, u know….

The day went past quickly…. And so did the thought about earthworms…..
Time for lunch.. ting ting…
I was chatting to my friend while walking towards home…
Eh… there is one- done with…another.... there is one here… huh… another..

“Tell me, my friend, why would an earthworm commit suicide? “

He looked at me in astonishment for a second or two…by my brutal stopping of his train of thoughts… then as he looked high up in the sky, exclaimed..
“ Allah, mujhe bacha le” ( “God, save me”)

Well, I was not surprised. After all, I had seen enough to be surprised for the whole week.
There were lot of them… lot of shoes would have crushed them under.. many men and women would have passed those walkways in a span of 4-5 hours. Nobody than me would have paid a penny for thoughts about earthworms springing out of soil…
Uh-uh….

Earthworms stay in soil. Earthworms can be male or female in the same life span. Earthworms can live ass different entities if cut in to two. Earthworms do a lot of things. But why on earth did they come out in herds and cross the concrete pathways and present themselves to the imminent danger of being over run or over walked???
It is not an eternal philosophical question. Nor does a simple love failure answer lots of such suicides in a day.
On a normal, cold, windy and drizzling Thursday, which is normal in this time of the year, all earthworms come out, Some of them suicide while others make it to wherever they were going to… and here I am, thinking about what all this business is about…
Now then, you tell me.
Aren’t the English earthworms funny?
I have been in my dear India for so long a term that I would have found something like this if it ever happened. I have been in England for the past 3-4 months to know that no earthworms suicide everyday (or on Thursdays for that matter). I have passed several days after the suicides to make sure that from that day onwards no earthworm suicides/crosses pathways like that.

Aren’t the English earthworms funny?
Aren’t the English earthworms fun? Holy bullock carts! I would definitely say YES!

Yester day

2006-03-14T10:55:00.000Z

when memories fall behind...
when a decision helped make another...
yesterday,
when joys galore...
a sweet little voice calling from behind...
yesterday,
a day spent inside the house..
day spent for that festival and love..
yesterday,
when things undesired happen...
distemper making things worse...
yesterday,
when love is forlorn..
and yet asked to be forgiven..
yesterday,
joyous shouts seem faraway...
yet the vibes inside hear it loud...
yesterday,
my name being called as sweet..
as my mother only could...
yesterday,
the proud look on my father's face..
when he secerns me from others..
yesterday,
each fight with my bro..
when ends finally in a silly laugh..
yesterday,
tears welling in sis' eyes..
for every reprimand i stamp on her, oh but with love...
yesterday,
when friends seemed to be friends..
and seemed not to mind a crazy prank..
yesterday,
when i could cry...
without shame in heart..

yesterday, why! only yesterday...
when everything was fine.
when everything seemed all very right...

yesterday, the day before.. and the day before that..

{mood out.. helped a lot by Beatles - retarded}

Forgive me for being mad (Calvinized)

2006-02-20T17:41:00.000Z

Calvin is me. Me is calvin. (who cares about grammarwhen everything is rhyming?)

Rwefj934i

Erterogj459mdvl;fsvgfsdgkme;w’gmegmerkl;qagnklsdngfasdklfn;sdlkgnwriogtjqsd

U kno something????? Some aliens are behind me.. [[we cant see them with naked eyes////
U have to put limejuice in ur eyes to see them! ]]
They were reading what Calvin was writing , cuddling behind my chair….
Thay always doubt Calvin is writing secret letters to report abt them!

HahahaJ
But for a guy as smart as calvin, their powers are nothing.

I pressed ENTER key for sometime… so tht it was a blank page before me….
Then I started pressing keys in random.. and thts wht u see above…

Its actually their language..( it will look like english to u, but Calvin have cryptised it with a software so tht YOU wont be able to decipher nything . [[am sorry, but its classified business, boy….]] )

Wht Calvin was writing was tht, Calvin need a good player of cricket so tht whenever I need to play cricket …….and I have a software to load to his chip….
Haha… they got confused… they thought I was writing it to some other alien( was using their lang) and they thought there is a double agent among themselves…

They left the place hurriedly( they think they can find out tht guy by just checking who all were mailing at 8.00pm from their spaceship!
Haha!

I ll tell u something.. aliens are so gullible…… hoooooooooooh! One just has to have the right knowledge.. u kno..
I did have a nice laugh after they were gone…..

Now.. coming to think of it…. Calvin feels a nice bad smell from somewhere.
As calvin got a guy to play cricket for sometime out of his flat… I thot it was me who was stinking.
And the fact is tht it is not me.

I am still searching for its source.
I think I should really apply for an all-time-limejuice carrier to calvin’s authorities.
U never know when and why the aliens do something. U have to be alert, u kno….
I think they have planted some terrible smelling tracking device under my left shoes!

Yes. It has to be that!

As Calvin was playing on the road, I stepped on a piece of dog-shit which was not there a minute before and after!

Now, logically thinking,
aliens wud have planted it there while I was playing [ for it wasn’t there when we started playing]
It would have stuck to my shoes for sure [ for it wasn’t there when we stopped playing]

{ and..i was foolish enough not to put lime-juice in my eyes while playing…. ALIENS… u nvr know when they take their chances.. tht is onething I admire in them.. they make most of their chances….}

As we are speaking… I check out the external factors commanding the present situation[ u guys probably might recall my consideration to the external factors in solving the problem of no-vent-still-water-on-the-floor which yielded phenomenal results]

The external factors:
AUGUST 15th.
AC has been switched off. (bloody security….talk about comfortable working (sorry, blogging) conditions)
its hot in here
the tracking device under my shoes is working good.( it smells)
I have to take bath immediately
shake off the tracking device so tht aliencs cant follow
keep tracking device in working condition so that aliens wont know they have lost me.++++++ I ll leave it inside a toilet of MBT++++++

Considering all these things, calvin should leave now!

And HERE comes the novel idea from calvin ( imagine a light bulb[ lighted one] just near by calvin’s head…. U will get the image)

Why don’t I write down in a piece of paper “ ALIENS , LAND HERE “ and paste it on terrace of MBT !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

:))))

Wow.. its really a nice idea!

They will surely fall for it.
They will have a look at it from their spaceship( invisible ofcourse if not with lime-juiced eyes)
Then they will land here on MBT terrace, right into my waiting hands… my guns will quench their thirst for alien blood! Huahahahaha!!!!

So, see u then! Lemme move to execute my plan! ( its not a simple plan it’s a planATERIUM…huaaaaahahaha :))

{---------- inspired by a moment of madness- got calvinized-----------}

Son To Mother

2005-11-13T16:43:00.000Z

Get too chummy with girls,
Your ears will dry up and drop, you said.
If you are naughty,
God will strike you blind, you said.
I got you in exchange
For a winnow of bran, you said.
What a lot of lies, mother, you told me
When I was young !

What made you stop?
Did you see my innocence drying up?
Or
Did you thinkI could survive with truths only?
Perhaps you thought,
Lies for grown ups were beyond your ken !
I don't like it.
Wean me Mother, when you like,
But feed me your liesfor all time..
You love me,

Don't you?

-----[ -Gnanakoothan {Tamil} ]-----

the others'

2005-10-14T07:11:00.000Z

A hungry man
steals food to be alive.
how can i write about my 'alter-ego'?

A mentally disabled
prays with meaningless words.
how can i talk about psycho-analysis?

Another, limp tiredly onto a walking stick.
how can i converse about theories of Socrates?

A father, lost everything in the quakes,
walks with his son, hand in hand, undecidedly.
Should i read Jacques Lakan seeing this?

Another, shivers in cold,
coughs up blood.
how can i open my mouth about simmering self-pride?

Another, searches bones spat
and rotten fruits thrown in hotel garbage.
how can i write about infinity?

Another, falls down while building,
and dies out of hunger.
how can i reform literature with contributions?

A seller fools a man,
one gram in ten.
do i have to discuss 'fourth dimension'?

A rich man earns lakhs,
out of tax fraud.
how can i scream in cinemas, watching 'entertainment'?

A beggar sleeps on today's newspaper,
before a closed shop.
should i keep talking about 'Guernica' by Picasso?

Someone walks to cemetery,
sobbing, to attend a funeral.
should i enroll myself for a PhD in 'eternity'?

Someone, polishes his hidden shotgun,
for imminent use.
should we discuss life after death?

Someone, walks past me calculating
on his fingers how to buy food for his daughter,
I dare not think any more.

------------------------------------------------
inspired DIRECTLY from a poem by a Latin-American poet, Cesar Vellajo [Pronounced sess'ar wayeho]
i have changed the context of that poem which wud have moved people of last century.
------------------------------------------------

CRoSSWoRD

2005-10-01T05:51:00.000Z

I,
've filled the first letter of that crossword incorrectly..

i know it can't be redone now.
i have erred.
hastened to conclusions.

i know i can't finish it now.
pieces wont fall into places..
as the creator desired.
we went on to think two different solutions
- for the same set of clues.
strange..

The squares from the calender stare at me.
yet another crossword..

i dare not fill this, might err again.

------------------------------------------retarded

{ go ahead and call me a coward. i deserve it }

Sunglasses And Pride Of A Nation

2005-09-21T13:09:00.000Z

A thought on the mindgames and strategies - Fifth test – Ashes05.

Its weird how some symbols and events stand out for holding a nation’s pride high.

We have had several examples in history where unknown people emerge as heroes holding their nation’s pride high through simple but expressive deeds.

I was watching the fifth test of ashes between England and Australia. It was day five. The umpires declared tea.I was switching channels since it was tea and found my haven finally in the ashes back after Tea.

I was surprised to see Ricky Ponting leading the team to the ground with his sunglasses on. The level of surprise rose to a higher degree when I saw Mcgrath and Warne following suit. Then came Damien Martyn and then Hayden and then Shaun Tait….

Every single player wearing sunglasses and moving on to the ground. The surprise level rose to its highest levels when I understood what sunglasses stood for.

It stood for the pride of Australia.

The bodylanguage didn’t seem to be familiar with drooped shoulders and bent heads, walking close to each other as if watching others’ steps…..
The beautiful ground of Oval was as clouded as the speculations hanging afloat…

Walking towards the ground under the clouds were a team with sunglasses on.[Note that the verb used was “WERE” and not “WAS”. When a team is split into pieces and they no longer stand united for a cause, one should not use WAS. – thus thought retarded]

A country’s pride was at stake.

Aussies had had a bad series and the final test was the decider.A small cup containing the ashes was to be left with England if Aussies didn’t win the match.

Aussie batting failed once again and it seemed like England now had an upper hand. Then Warne spun the ball wickedly to claim five wickets and England were staggering now. If warne could claim two or three more wickets soon, and if Aussies could bat, everything was possible with such a formidable side…

All they wanted now was time and umpires had already declared two or three intervals due to badlight.

Aussies now wanted to move from sledging to a mellower mindgame and that effectuated a sunglassed team on a cloudy oval!

What a picture…. They clearly wanted the umpires to believe that there was enough and more light that they had to wear sunglasses. They simply believed warne sould perform the magic of pecking the rest of wickets and Aussies winning the game to retian the ashes. Still, they had to remove their glasses and put them neatly above their Aussie test caps to see clearly in the cloudy overshadowed atmosphere.Atleast they could see the ball wizzing past them which were well-connected by Kevin Pieterson.

They failed… and they failed miserably. Pieterson scored a fiery century with a nice backup from Ashley Giles to close the score at 335.

Hayden and Langer walked on to the pitch to bat for a few minutes and in four overs, umpires called for bad light and the call came at 18:15pm on September twelfth 2005.

Ashes is returning to England after almost two decades.
I was happy. Freddie Flintoff was happy. Kevin Pieterson was happy. And a milder face with a smirk, of Micheal Vaughan’s said it all.

England won the Ashes back.

[Read this in connection with the interviews Aussies gave before the Ashes05.
Glenn McGrath predicted a 5-0 win over England. Some Aussie heads rolled after the ashes (Martyn, Gillespie and Kasprovich) and were not selected for Superseries 05]

Read Aussies admitting that the best team won ashes here -http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/cricket/4239174.stm

The Next Sunday

2005-09-21T06:19:00.000Z

nizhalukalude mazha vaathilinu purath cherinju peyyunnu.

sooryanu munpe sancharikkunnavarkk nanayaam.

mesappurathu vecha kuppiyil ninnu

baakkiyaaya vellam nilathekk otti veezhunnu.

puthappinte thulayiloode kaalinte peruviral neetti

njanum jeevitham aaswadikkunnu.

innu njaayaraazhcha!
-------------------------------------------------------------
Slanting shadows drizzle outside the door.
Those who walk before the sun may drench.
Water drips down from the bottle
placed on the table.
Sticking my leg-thumb out through the
hole in the blanket,
I also enjoy the life.

Today - another sunday.

{ a feeble attempt at noting down dampened thoughts. and a feebler attempt to translate it . Forgive.}

Why i own a blog......

2005-08-12T19:05:00.000Z

I believe Cartoons can create a stronger opinion on a subject than explaining it in hundred words.
I love cartoons and I AM Calvin.

generally it is drawing some martians attacking indianapolis that i do here!!!

illicit jaunts - this business...

2005-07-28T09:54:00.000Z

Whats the point? eh?

I am equally flabbergasted.

illicit jaunts - suicide

2005-07-28T07:53:00.000Z

I am not a suicidal maniac…
but it just makes me think a lot..

If a person commits suicide, he is defying all the rules …

A person becomes a rebel when he defies rules… God wants us to live and oneday he impels death on us when he wants….. Y does he do so? So, its him who decides wht to do with us….

One who suicides always poses a question to GOD..

He committed suicide because his mind was not feeling well, he could not face certain circumstances…. why did they arise - in the first place?

But when he decides to do this on his own rather than waiting for GOD to walk him through all those problems.. or take his life meanwhile…. then is it an scarper?

God wants us to play tht role beautifully.
Man defies his decisions.. what if one questions God’s authority?

Thts what is happening with a suicide…
One who has responsibilities of life…. Wife, children, parents, friends….
These are forced on him , attached to him without his permission being asked..( this shud b the way the one who suicides will think.. i have diff. Opinion)
So why not run away from the forcibles?

He is seeking freedom from his image….

Let him.

illicit jaunts - Death

2005-07-18T11:49:00.000Z

Every post-death story is about a person who was greater than the original one who passed away.
All say gracious things about him....

Did he try to become the person others hail he WAS ?
Did he hide such a person deep inside?

Or is it that the words come from each beneficiary show a particular perspective of the deceased?
How come then when we see these profiles together, the image always becomes larger than life?

OR was it because he didnt get enough time and circumstances to adjust into the tailor-made image?

We always see him as the one who he always wanted to be...........
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Death took him. Not me.

Not that i will finish what he had started..

It could have been me - instead of him.... Still..

We were not doing the same thing... Still..

Death took him. Not me.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

How many days have it been since Death got a victim...!
It returns most days empty-handed. Starved for most days lately.
Somehow when it gets a chance, new medicines arise, new surgeries, new methodologies...
Victims, who watch each of their steps not to fall in its trap...
Victims, who stays at different places not to be confronted with it...
Persons, constitutions, Projects, Calenders...... every planned step interrogates the very being of Death.

Sometimes,
Sometimes Death goes crazy.
Mines fall. Volcanoes erupt. Earth quakes. Mountains overturn. Vehicles crash.
small small treats...delicacies...

illicit jaunts

2005-05-25T01:51:00.000Z

whatever it is, it is still a 'whatever'.
so, never mind.

oneliners are always nice to read, but hardly practical.

illicit jaunts - Umpires

2005-05-21T03:00:00.000Z

Whose resemblance does an Umpire in a cricket field carry around?

Look at the Umpire, who, though in the cricket field, though having complete control over the game, does not indulge directly in it.

Though he has the illicit-freedom to see something which is not happening and not to see something which is happening, he still maintains a cold impartiality....

Nothing happens without his knowledge. Nothing eludes him, though he doesnt even touch the bat.
His punishment makes the game safe, faultless.

Even if the ball is out of the ground, even if one side removes all 11 of the other side, the match is still on. But not if there is no umpire.

There is only one infinte player in Cricket, it is the Umpire.
He is not regulating the freedom of the game, he is regulating the limitations of it.

if..

if umpires were gods..

[all illicit jaunts - inspired by kalpetta narayanan, bhashaposhini]

illicit jaunts - a new dress on me.

2005-05-19T02:07:00.000Z

wearing new dress brings about a flavour of a NEW life.
freedom and oppurtunities.
there is a satisfaction of metamorphosis in it.

" Look who has come " says my brother and sister.. with fun filled eyes and smirks on their faces.

There is this magic of the same person coming as a different person in wearing a new dress!
infinite probablilities........

[Most of illicit jaunts have been influenced by kalpetta written in bhashaposhini]

Puts an end to one so-called era!

2005-03-28T13:01:00.000Z

Another march 25th came and sabotaged my
rights to stay in the prodigy of " i m jus 22..."

well, it `as a good day! !

2005-03-17T09:36:00.000Z

I am going..

no, i shouldnt confirm it..

i shall say i may go...

i feel someone is waiting...

though i donno who it is... or who they are...

i am not running away.

no, i am not..

but what should i expect from here?

i have walked onto this bridge...

the other end is still fogged.

may be, there is no other end...

i stay, for a while,

yes, the fogged end frightens me..

am i going to see a more loving one than i have here?

i dont know is the answer...

or may be i know.. i guess i have a hint..

creaks the bridge, somewhere below my legs...

is it asking me to push on?

or am i asked to go back?

in any case, stopping midway and thinking wont do any good..

may be i should go...

back?

i still dont know..

NO, may be i do have a hint...

but yes, the fogged end frightens me..

and, may be

and may be, there is no other end................................

2005-02-08T14:50:00.000Z

well,

dont know who have been seeing my so called LOG with a B.
have not been updating lately, thanks to the restrictions by MBT security.
have been facing a cliched writer's block( yeah yeah.. u read it right,WRITER) .
wondering what i hav been working on? ( well i do not WONDER as i kno what it is.. but i wonder who is going to wonder since i ll b the only person to read my bLOG!!!)
well.. the title is ' Love - a non dimensional perception '.
i guess if anyone had had the least idea of reading an article by me, they wud drop that idea after seeing the title itself!
and i guess anybody who knows me wud find me the wrong person to deliver on SUCH a subject!
too many guesses in a single paragraph? huh...
i dont consider these as simple guesses.. they are derived from close observations in the past.

now, havent i constructed a good entry for my bLOG?
not bad after all.. eh?
"good start" i say! i will be updating my bLOG again ..soon..
okay thats all for now ragesh.
see ya!
adios uni amigo. :)

Robert Mitchum - The hard Boiled Actor

2005-01-03T10:14:00.000Z

Robert Mitchum

Born: August 6. 1917 in Bridgeport, Connecticut

Died: July 1 1997, in Santa Barbara, California, USA. (lung cancer)

Born to a railroad worker who died in a train accident when Robert was two, Mitchum and his siblings were raised by his mother and step-fatheron the East coast. An early contempt for authority led to discipline problems, and Mitchum spent good portions of his teen years adventuring on the open road. On one of these trips, at the age of 14, he was charged with vagrancy and sentenced to a Georgia chain gang, from which he escaped. Working a wide variety of jobs, Mitchum discovered acting in a Long Beach, California amateur theatre company. He worked at Lockheed Aircraft, where job stress caused him to suffer temporary blindness. About this time, he began to obtain small roles in films, appearing in dozens within a very brief time. In 1945, he was cast as Lt. Walker in The Story of G.I. Joe, and received an Oscar nomination as Best Supporting Actor. His star ascended rapidly, and he became an icon of Forties film noir, though equally adept at Westerns and romantic dramas. His apparently lazy style and seen-it-all demeanor proved highly attractive to men and women, and by the 1950s he was a true superstar. This despite a brief prison term for marijuana usage in 1949, which seemed to enhance rather than diminish his "bad boy" appeal. Though seemingly dismissive of "art", he worked in tremendously artistically thoughtful projects such as Charles Laughton's Night of the Hunter, and even co wrote and composed an oratorio produced at the Hollywood Bowl by Orson Welles. A master of accents and seemingly unconcerned about his star image, he played in both forgettable and unforgettable films with unswerving nonchalance, leading many to overlook the prodigious talent he can bring to a project which he finds compelling. He moved into television in the Eighties as his film opportunities diminished, winning new fans with "The Winds of War" and "War and Remembrance".

My fav: Cape Fear, Heaven Knows Mr. Allison, Night of The Hunter.(not necessarily in the order of regards) - Ragesh

2004-12-31T03:20:00.000Z

Reverse Swing
- Pakistan's gift to modern day cricket.
The story says that the Pakistani stalwart Sarfaraz Nawaz, discovered the art and passed it on. Today it is one of the most important features in cricket. Mastery of this art can have prodigious effects on the game. Famous two Ws of Pakistan, Wasim and Waqar achieved miraculous wins this swing. Grip is on display here to get movement with an old ball. Remember, some work should be done on the ball to keep one side glossy and the other retaining its natural roughness, then the ball starts reverse swinging in the direction of the shiny side. It is common to see a more pronounced swing with reverse than normal swing. Very important to have a good, basic bowling action, and for best results you need to be quick in the air, hence a great body effort is required. The wrist again should be firm behind the ball. Pushing at the ball to achieve that speed in the air. Crucial here, is the direction in which the ball is released because the ball has a big late movement. In case of the incoming delivery, do keep the ball wide outside the off stump, so when the swing finished it should be hitting the stumps. Length must be very full. Waqar Younis is a master of this particular delivery. Off course, needs hard work and skill.
But when you have it you have a trump card up your sleeve!